Undercover Frequency

Vienna was dressed in secrets.

Moonlight spilled across the old city like silver silk, glinting off rain-washed cobblestone streets and gilded opera house windows. The city moved with quiet elegance, but beneath the beauty, Elise felt the danger humming in her bones.

Midnight.

The gala was already in full swing.

Inside the historic palace, chandeliers dripped with crystal fire, casting fractured light across a sea of masks and velvet gowns. Diplomats, socialites, musicians, and men with far too much power drifted through the ballroom in practiced smiles.

And somewhere among them was the truth.

Elise descended the grand staircase in a black satin gown slit high at the thigh, a silver mask framing her eyes. Beside her, Philip cut through the crowd in a tailored tuxedo, blond hair slicked back, his own black mask lending him the look of something dangerous and impossible to read.

Perfect.

Tonight, they weren’t stars.

They were ghosts.

The orchestra swelled.

A waltz.

“Any visual?” Elise murmured, her lips barely moving.

Philip’s voice came softly through the hidden comm.

“North balcony. Male, gray suit, raven mask. Been watching you since we entered.”

Elise smiled for the room and crossed the floor as if she belonged there.

Because she did.

At the balcony doors, the man turned.

Raven mask.

Tall.

Gloved hands.

He held a champagne flute, but never once lifted it to his lips.

“Ms. Hart,” he said smoothly.

Elise’s heart skipped.

He knew her real last name.

Not the stage name.

Not the cover.

Her.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He gave a slight bow.

“Someone trying to keep you alive.”

Philip appeared from the opposite corridor, expression like ice.

The man noticed.

Then smiled.

“You should stop looking at Director Moreau.”

Elise stiffened.

“So it isn’t him.”

The raven-masked man leaned closer.

“It’s worse.”

Behind him, the ballroom lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then the glass doors shattered.

Gunfire.

Guests screamed.

Masks scattered across the marble floor as black-clad operatives stormed the room.

The network.

Philip moved first, tackling Elise behind a marble pillar as bullets tore into the balcony railing.

“Move!”

They ran through the upper gallery, weaving past panicked guests and overturned tables.

The raven-masked man was already gone.

Of course he was.

A flash grenade detonated below.

The ballroom erupted in white light and chaos.

Elise’s vision blurred, but Philip’s hand found hers in the smoke.

“Service stairs!”

They burst through the backstage corridor of the palace theater, now dark except for emergency lights.

Then footsteps.

Behind them.

Fast.

Too many.

Philip shoved Elise into the wardrobe room just as the door burst inward.

Three agents.

Silent.

Precise.

One wore an agency insignia.

Elise froze.

Agency?

Philip saw it too.

Not the underground network.

Someone from inside.

The betrayal cut deeper now.

He disarmed the first attacker with a brutal strike to the throat while Elise swept the second off his feet and drove his weapon across the floor.

The third lifted a blade.

A gunshot split the air.

The attacker dropped.

Elise turned.

The raven-masked man stood in the doorway, gun still smoking.

“Follow me,” he said.

“No,” Philip snapped.

The man pulled off the mask.

Elise stared.

Agent Rowan Vale.

Dead for three years.

Or so they had been told.

Philip’s face hardened.

“That’s impossible.”

Rowan’s expression was grim.

“Moreau isn’t the mole.”

He looked directly at Elise.

“The leak is inside your tour crew.”

Silence.

Her breath caught.

The crew traveled with them every city.

Every venue.

Every mission.

Every step.

Someone close.

Someone they trusted.

Philip’s jaw clenched.

“Who?”

Rowan’s voice lowered.

“I don’t know yet.”

Then the palace windows exploded inward.

Snipers.

The room erupted in gunfire.

Rowan shoved them toward the hidden corridor.

“Go! Prague is next.

They’ll make their move there.”

As Elise and Philip disappeared into the dark tunnel beneath the opera house, one thought refused to leave her.

If the mole was inside the crew…

Then they had been standing beside them on stage all along.