Signal Continued

Her hands flew to the laptop, slamming it shut like that could erase what she’d seen.

The Fox had been in the room.

Not a metaphor. Not a symbol. Not a digital phantom.

He had stood behind her—watched her. Unmasked. Vulnerable.

Dominique tasted bile in her throat. The WREC Room had security. Hidden cams. Locked doors. And yet…

Her spine pressed into the cool wall behind her, trying to steady herself.

How long had he been there? What else had he seen?

Her heart pounded as memories raced backward—every stream, every whisper, every breathless command she’d given, thinking she was alone in power.

But he had been a step ahead.

Watching.

Cataloguing.

Waiting.

She called Marco.

No answer.

She texted: “Red alert. He was THERE. I have a video. Meet now.”

Still nothing.

Dominique grabbed her hoodie, slipping it over her sleepwear, and crept through the darkened halls of the house like a hunted creature.

Outside, the night was still.

Too still.

As she slid into her car and pulled out of the driveway, she noticed something chilling in her rearview mirror.

A car. Two lengths back. No headlights.

Following her turn for turn.

She didn’t speed—didn’t show panic. But her hands gripped the wheel hard enough to ache.

Instead of heading to Marco’s, she veered into a 24-hour diner and parked directly under the brightest security camera she could see. The car behind her didn’t follow in.

Good.

She stayed there for twenty minutes, watching the mirror.

Finally, the phantom car rolled past, vanishing down the highway like a ghost giving up the hunt.

Inside Marco’s apartment, the chaos of her thoughts spilled out.

Marco played the video three times. Froze it. Zoomed in. Ran it through filters. His face grew tighter with every second.

“That mask isn’t a replica,” he said, voice low. “That’s real. The stitching. The blood patina. That thing is old-school.”

Dominique shook her head. “And the necklace—he’s holding mine. The one I left at the WREC Room locker.”

Marco didn’t respond.

“Which means he got inside after I left. Knew my locker. Had access to security feeds—he’s in the system, Marco. Inside it. He’s already past the firewalls.”

Marco looked like he wanted to throw his laptop out the window. “Then we need to bait him.”

Dominique’s eyes snapped up. “What?”

He grinned grimly. “You want control back? Give him something to chase. A public stream. High risk. No pre-planning. No safe room. Just Domica—raw, unrehearsed. Let him think you’re slipping.”

“Make myself prey?”

“No.” Marco’s gaze sharpened. “Make yourself irresistible.”

Dominique’s pulse roared in her ears.

That night, she stood in front of her mirror, unmasked for once.

Her reflection didn’t blink.

“I’m not running,” she whispered.

She pulled open her closet, choosing the black leather gloves, the choker with the gold charm, and the sheer robe that flowed like smoke. Then she paused. Her fingers brushed the edge of her vanity drawer.

She opened it.

And pulled out the fox pendant.

She held it in her palm, tight enough to press its sharp edge into her skin.

“If you want to play, Fox…” she whispered, tilting her head as the camera light blinked red from her desk.

“…then I’ll be your fire.”

Dominique took a long breath, rolled her shoulders back, and exhaled as the ring light’s glow painted her skin in warm gold. The studio she’d set up in her walk-in closet felt smaller tonight—tighter. As if the walls knew what she was about to do.

No rehearsal.

No script.

Just her… and the Fox.

The interface blinked: You are now LIVE.

Her masked face flooded the screen.

“Obedience,” she purred, “is earned. Not expected.”

The chat exploded instantly.

Chain_Me_Pls: SHE’S BACK

KneelBefore_Me: Omg goddess. We missed you.

Anonymous8751: Look closer. She’s not the same.

Her eyes narrowed. That last one wasn’t a name she recognized.

She shifted her stance, letting the robe fall just slightly to reveal her shoulder. Not enough to break policy. Just enough to suggest.

“Tonight’s session isn’t about pleasure,” she said silkily. “It’s about power. About what happens when someone thinks they can stalk the storm without being burned.”

The chat lit up again, mostly incoherent praise and begs for commands. But there—buried—was another comment.

FoxinFrame: The storm doesn’t scare me. It feeds me.

She froze for just a fraction of a second.

That wasn’t subtle.

That was him.

Her fingers hovered just above the keyboard, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t break.

She smiled instead. “Tonight’s lucky participant knows what it means to be watched. Doesn’t she?”

Offscreen, the submissive—a trained partner Dominique trusted—moaned in affirmation. She was masked, anonymous, her posture a perfect blend of defiant and waiting.

Dominique circled her like a predator assessing prey.

She used her voice like a whip—sharp, arousing, and controlling—while watching the chat from the corner of her eye.

FoxinFrame: Do you think pain makes you powerful?

FoxinFrame: Or does it just distract from how fragile you really are?

Dominique leaned close to the camera, lips near the lens.

“Some people think watching gives them control. But voyeurs forget something…”

A pause. Her eyes glinted.

“The show is never for them.”

She ended the stream abruptly, mid-movement, without a climax, without warning.

The screen went black.

Her phone vibrated seconds later.

Message from Unknown:

Cute performance. But next time, don’t hide the necklace. It suits you.

–🦊

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she smiled—not softly, but with teeth.

The bait had worked.

And the Fox?

He was hungrier than ever.