Selene nodded. “I tested the brand’s logs once more. It passes. As soon as the event ends at midnight, the House’s reason for forcibly anchoring anyone should vanish.”

  I paced near the windows, my mind spinning. “Which means we need to survive till midnight with the diffusion mesh intact. So how do we handle the House’s last-ditch attempts?”

  Selene pulled up a schematic on her laptop. “I can track the real-time pulses. Once the final surge starts—probably after 9 p.m.—the funnel tries to coalesce. We’ll see a massive spike in synergy. If any single person is flagged by the system as the ‘best match’ for that synergy, they get branded, anchor or no anchor.”

  “But we’re scattering synergy across thousands of micro-transactions,” I said. “They can’t funnel all that into one place quickly.”

  “Yes, but the House can throttle everything in the final hour. They can fully freeze kiosks and table games, leaving only the big VIP bets. If that happens, the synergy lumps come from those high-limit rooms. We can’t rely on normal micro-churn because it won’t exist.”

  “Then we fight with a new tactic,” I said, a plan forming. “We can forcibly open the floodgates in the final hour. If the House tries to freeze everything, we send a storm of transactions through their audit charm. Overwhelm the system with so many micro-exchanges that it can’t finalize the synergy. We basically bury them in legitimate nonsense.”

  Selene’s eyes gleamed. “That might work. The system has to verify each one or risk losing track of real money. If we jam the entire pipeline with tiny requests, they either let it through or risk a meltdown.”

  Mira nodded in agreement. “We’ll need a big network of players to do that.”

  I thought of Eddie’s crew. “I’ll get them on standby. We’ll have them keep their phones ready. One text from me, they all hit the system with a million micro-bets.”

  At 7 p.m., the first wave of the Luck Redistribution “celebration” began. Scenes of confetti on the digital boards, glamorous music over the loudspeakers. Tourists and gamblers flocked in. Security was tighter than ever: ID checks at the elevator, roving teams of black-suited watchers. I told Lana to stay put in the penthouse, with instructions to lock the door. She insisted on wearing street clothes in case she had to bail quickly—jeans, a simple blouse, hair tied back.

  Selene, Mira, and I split up. Mira hung back in the penthouse to keep watch on her brand for any new red flags. Selene accompanied me downstairs, using a staff corridor pass for “maintenance.” We made our way to a side utility closet, a cramped space with a faint smell of cleaning chemicals. There, Selene set up her laptop on a metal shelf.

  “All right,” she whispered. “We’re about to see the House try their big synergy push.” She pointed at a set of real-time transaction logs on her screen. “Wait for it.”

  Sure enough, around 8:30 p.m., transaction volumes started to forcibly compress. Certain table games froze entirely. The kiosk redemption line soared to 20 minutes. People were grumbling, but the House posted messages about “temporary maintenance.” On Selene’s screen, the synergy curve rose. We had maybe half an hour before it peaked.

  Suddenly, her phone beeped, and her face paled. “They just forced me offline. My partial admin access is gone. They flagged my account as ‘non-essential.’ I can’t directly manipulate the kiosk reboots.”

  I swore under my breath. “That means we can’t route new micro-bets from that channel. We have to go nuclear with the flood approach we talked about.”

  She nodded. “We still have the remote network triggers. If we release them, it’ll spam the House with thousands of small claims and refunds near-simultaneously. But it’ll be obvious sabotage. They’ll likely know it’s you.”

  I let out a tense laugh. “They probably suspect me already. Let’s do it.”

  She typed fast, her fingers flying over the keys. “I’m hooking the code to respond to your text message to Eddie’s group. Once you send that, micro-requests for payouts will flood the system.”

  “All right,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Ready?”

  She nodded. “Ready.”

  I typed the single word message to Eddie, “Launch.” Then I pressed send.

  Within moments, Selene pointed at her screen. “Look at that spike.” The transaction log soared as hundreds of new claims started piling in from the House’s official channels. Each one was a legitimate “refund request” or “promo voucher claim” or “loyalty point redemption.” The House’s system had to process them. If it refused, it would be in breach of its own policies, risking a shutdown scenario. The synergy curve fluctuated wildly. Our avalanche was working.

  However, the House fought back. They automatically throttled some requests. The synergy curve tried to climb. It was a tug-of-war, microseconds turning into eons in magical terms. If they overcame the flood, the synergy might still converge on Lana, who was the best conduit for their system… or worse, they’d brand Mira through her forcibly embedded marker. We had to keep the traffic heavy enough so the synergy never found a single anchor.

  Suddenly, Selene gasped. “They found a kill switch for my code. The console’s locking out. If that triggers, our transaction storm might freeze.”

  I leaned over her shoulder. “Can you override it?”

  She shook her head. “No direct override left. But I see a backdoor in a dormant enchantment channel. Something the House set up ages ago and forgot. Maybe it’s for an old event. If I re-route through that—”

  “Do it,” I said. “We don’t have time to ask questions.”

  She typed furiously, sweat beading on her brow. The cramped closet seemed to close in around us, the hum of the air conditioning overshadowed by my pounding heart. For an agonizing minute, she hammered away at the keyboard. Then her eyes widened with relief. “Yes. The kill switch didn’t trigger. We’re good.”

  I dared to look at the synergy curve. It was spiking in chaotic waves, never forming a single peak. Good. No anchor yet. My phone buzzed. Mira. “Collin? The inspectors just tried to get into the penthouse. Security told them you’re out, so they left. But I’m worried—maybe they plan to come back.”

  “Lock yourself in,” I said, stepping away to speak quietly. “Stay with Lana. We’re close, Mira. Don’t worry.”

  She gave a shaky sigh. “I trust you. Don’t get yourself cornered.”

  We ended the call, and I turned to Selene. “Are we still jamming the synergy?”

  She winced. “Yes, mostly. But the House just throttled payouts again, this time on the main floors. We might need a new wave of tiny transactions from somewhere else. The system is stalling. If it stalls entirely, the synergy might forcibly latch onto the next big winner.”

  I racked my brain. “What about the sports-betting channels? The game tonight?”

  She snapped her fingers. “Yes. The big football game. Live bets, in-progress wagering. People do that from their phones. The House can’t freeze them all without risking losing that entire line of business.”

  I nodded. “Let’s do it. We can push out a new code to redirect micro-bets via the sports lines. Then we dump them on the audit charm, same as before.”

  Selene typed again, but her face fell. “I can’t access the sports-betting system from here. My admin privileges are completely revoked. I’d need a direct login. Or we physically break into the sports kiosk on the main floor.”

  I let out a frustrated grunt. That kiosk was heavily monitored. Wait—I remembered a detail from old intel. “The sports desk had an old second terminal behind the bar. You told me once that it was basically running a maintenance version. Could we use that?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes. It’s in a back corner of the sports lounge, near the big screens. We’d have to do it physically, but sure.”

  I zipped my jacket. “Lead the way.”

  We slipped out of the utility closet and pushed our way through crowds heading toward the sports lounge. Neon monitors displayed live game stats, and a sea of fans cheered or groaned at each new play. The kiosk lines extended around a corner while bartenders served overpriced drinks. A single uniformed security woman lingered near the lounge’s back door, presumably an inspector or House guard.

  Selene whispered, “That hidden terminal is behind that locked staff door. We need a distraction.”

  I spotted a group of rowdy fans ordering a round of shots by the bar. “Give me a second.” I went over, tapped one of them on the shoulder. “Hey, you guys want some real action?” I flashed a hundred-dollar bill. “I bet you can’t chug your drinks faster than me.”

  They grinned, clearly tipsy enough to take the bait. In under a minute, we turned it into a mini-challenge, shouting and hollering. The group crowded the bar, calling the bartender over. The security guard frowned and moved closer to keep an eye on things. Perfect.

  Selene slipped around behind the guard and used a small keycard to open the staff door. I chugged a portion of my drink in pretend bravado, hearing cheers from the fans. Then I feigned needing to run to the bathroom. I quietly maneuvered behind the guard and vanished into the staff door. The guard was too busy glaring at the rowdy fans to notice.

  Inside, Selene had already found the dusty old sports terminal. It was a metal station tucked in a cramped office, a flickering overhead light. She booted it up, typed a few lines. “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s running the old code. Perfect.”

  I hovered near the door, heart pounding. “Hurry.”

  She typed more, face bathed in the glow of the ancient monitor. “I’m injecting the micro-bet script, tying it to thousands of user accounts we seeded earlier. They’ll each place repeated in-play wagers on minor game outcomes. That should create a new wave of micro-transactions.”

  “Do it.”

  She hit enter. The system whirred. Then, a beep. “It’s done. We just triggered a flood. Now we watch if the House tries to freeze sports bets entirely. If they do, the entire event might go up in smoke amid public outcry.”

  I exhaled. “They can’t freeze it without looking suspicious. Let’s hope they don’t find a quick fix.”

  We hurried back out the staff door. The rowdy group was still celebrating. Selene and I blended into the crowd and made our way to a side exit. Once outside the sports lounge, she checked the synergy curve on her phone. “We’re creating a massive spam of small bets. The synergy curve is so scattered now, it can’t unify. That’s good.”

  I nodded, relief flooding me. “We just have to hold out until midnight.”

  We decided to return to the penthouse. The message from Mira still ran in my head, the inspectors had tried to enter. We needed to check on them. On the elevator ride up, Selene’s phone kept pinging with updates—it seemed the House didn’t know how to handle the storm of micro-wagers. Perfect.

  At the penthouse door, we found Mira standing guard inside, a makeshift metal baton near her hip. Lana was behind her, arms folded. “No one came back,” Mira said shakily. “But we stayed ready.”

  I met Lana’s gaze. “We might just pull this off.”

  She inhaled deeply, letting tension seep from her shoulders. “Good. Because I’m about to lose my mind if we get one more scare tonight.”

  Glancing at the living room clock, 10:15 p.m. We had less than two hours until the official midnight finale. “It’ll be a long two hours. But if we can keep the synergy in chaos, the House doesn’t get its anchor.”

  Selene opened her laptop again, scanning logs. “So far, so good. They’re definitely not capturing the funnel. The question is, do they have a final trump card?”

  I ran my hand through my hair, stepping to the wide window. The city glowed with the neon promise of a wild night. “We can’t assume they’ll just accept defeat. Let’s stay vigilant.”

  Outside, the massive digital billboards trumpeted the big finale. Inside, we huddled and hoped our sabotage was thorough enough to keep Lana and Mira safe.

  Chapter 9

  Shortly after 10:30 p.m., the House made its counterattack. We felt it first as a quiet that fell over the entire system. Selene’s screen showed a sudden drop in transactions. The House seemed to have paused everything for a forced “system check.” On the overhead announcements, we heard a polite female voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re experiencing technical difficulties. Please stand by.”

  I paced the penthouse rug in agitation. “They’re halting real-time bet processing, aren’t they?”

  Selene double-checked the logs. “Yes. The House is forcibly blocking all new bets or claims. Everyone in the casino is stuck waiting. If no new micro-transactions get processed, the synergy might begin to unify from the existing pool.”

  Mira’s voice trembled as she said, “So all those thousands of transactions—if they stay in limbo, they could eventually finalize in a single batch. That might create a big lump again, right?”

  I nodded grimly. “Exactly. We need to ensure they finalize in a chaotic distribution, not one big chunk. If the House lumps them all at once, the funnel might automatically attach to an anchor.”

  Lana had her arms crossed, eyes flicking to me. “How do we force them to process transactions individually? If they’re holding them in queue—”

  “We need to break that queue,” Selene cut in. “Find a way to force each transaction to finalize or fail on its own. Otherwise, the House might do one big final release at midnight, channeling everything into a single unlucky target.”

  I drummed my fingers on the coffee table. “We can try one more trick, spamming the House’s audit charm with micro-updates. If we mark each transaction as requiring immediate audit for a ‘discrepancy check,’ they can’t batch them. They have to address them one by one or risk losing track.”

  Selene’s face lit up. “Yeah, that’s brilliant. The House’s code has a mandatory policy that any flagged discrepancy must be resolved before that transaction can be merged. By auto-flagging everything, we can keep them from shoving it into a single release. But it’s going to be an absolute meltdown in the system.”

  Lana narrowed her eyes. “Sounds good to me. Let them meltdown.”

  We all turned to Selene. She hesitated. “We have to get into the system’s core to set the ‘discrepancy’ flag. That means hooking into the main House’s audit charm. I can do it from here if I had my admin privileges, but I’m locked out. We might have to pass it off as a legitimate request from a real staff manager. That probably means we need an actual manager’s credentials. Or we rummage in the system code if there’s a leftover backdoor.”

  Mira suddenly startled, as if remembering something. “Wait—when they forcibly scanned my brand, I saw a staff manager’s badge in the room. He had a key fob. If I can recall the pool of credentials from the forced brand imprint—maybe there’s a leftover handshake we can use to impersonate him in the system?”

  Selene’s eyebrows shot up in excitement. “Yes! Because your brand got scanned by House manager-level hardware. That data might be in the brand’s memory. Let me see it.”

  She led Mira to the couch, rummaging in her bag for a portable brand-scanner she’d rigged. Mira lifted her shirt slightly so Selene could hold the device near the magical mark on her side. Lines of code scrolled on Selene’s laptop. She let out a quiet laugh. “Jackpot. The scanning device stored the manager’s unique credential inside a temp buffer, which is still in your brand. We can replicate that ID for about half an hour until it times out.”

  I stepped behind, glancing at the data. “So we can mimic manager-level access to the audit charm. Perfect.”

  Selene nodded. “Let’s do it. Everybody cross your fingers.”

  She typed away, connecting to the House’s network through a less official route. Then she wove in the manager’s ID gleaned from Mira’s brand. Gradually, a new dashboard loaded. “We’re in the manager console, folks.”

  I gave a victorious grin. “Mark every single queued transaction with a discrepancy code.”

  Mira watched anxiously as Selene typed. “Transaction queue is huge,” Selene mumbled. “But if I can set a rule that all transactions older than one minute count as suspicious, it’ll auto-flag everything that’s stuck in limbo. Then each item must be manually assessed or at least singled out.”

  In a flurry of keystrokes, she launched the script. For a moment, none of us breathed, waiting for the system to respond. Then, line by line, the logs changed from “Pending” to “Flagged.” Tens, hundreds, thousands of them. I let out a slow exhale. “That should break their attempt to batch everything.”

  A moment later, the sudden silence in the casino gave way to a chorus of bleeps, chimes, and partial announcements. The system apparently was forced to address each flagged transaction. Confused gamblers might see random prompts for ID checks or disclaimers on their screens. The meltdown began.

  “Look,” Selene said, pointing. On the synergy curve monitor, we saw a swarm of micro peaks, each finalizing in isolation. No single wave soared high enough to anchor. The House’s funnel buckled under the load.

  Then an alarm-like beep erupted from her laptop. “The inspectors spotted an anomaly signature in the aggregated totals,” she read. “They’re searching for an anchor. Shit.”

  A message popped onto screen: “Conduit mismatch—Potential anchor flagged: Staff ID #391-Lana?” Selene hissed. “They’re labeling her as the primary suspect anyway. They must see her name in some corner of the logs.”

  Lana, who stood behind us, cursed softly. “They auto-flagged me, even though I was blacklisted from the stage. I guess the House’s system still thinks I’m their best candidate for funnel synergy.”

  I turned to her. “We’re not letting them take you. We just broke their final synergy push, so maybe that anchor flag is worthless. They can’t funnel if every transaction is forced to finalize singly.”

  The next beep was more ominous: “Security override called. ‘Remove suspected conduit to restricted suite.’” My jaw clenched. The House had escalated from an automatic label to an official order to take Lana away. I glanced at her. “We have to hide you. They might come up here with a whole squad.”