Chapter 7

The chat scrolled at lightning speed. It was flooded with thousands of users demanding tarot readings and asking if the 50k tip was fake.

A private direct message popped up on Lana's interface from User_7749.

Sterling's message read: "Name your price for an exclusive, NDA-bound retainer. I need your oversight 24/7."

Lana read the message. Her eyes were cold. She despised being leashed to anyone, especially secular billionaires.

She typed back a single sentence.

"The Oracle speaks when the stars align, not when the wallet opens."

Without waiting for a reply, Lana ruthlessly hit the 'End Stream' button. She cut off five thousand viewers instantly.

She immediately routed the 50,000 USDT through three decentralized tumbling protocols. She scrubbed the digital trail clean.

She cashed out a portion of the funds into an anonymous digital debit card on her phone.

In the Dubai service shaft, Sterling stared at the 'Stream Ended' screen. His jaw clenched in disbelief.

No one had ever rejected Sterling Astor IV. Let alone walked away from an open checkbook.

Sterling tapped his earpiece. He connected to his fixer, Marcus Thorne, who was already securing the building's perimeter.

"Deploy the cleanup crew and prep the private jet," Sterling ordered. "We are flying back to New York immediately."

He forwarded the Twitchy stream link to Marcus.

"Have the Astor tech division trace the streamer's IP and identity."

Marcus hesitated. "Sir, the IP is bouncing through multiple international proxies. It shows high-level hacker evasion."

Sterling's eyes darkened with obsession.

"Use the military-grade backdoor if necessary. I must find her."

Back in New York, Lana unplugged her cheap microphone. A sharp pain stabbed her chest. Her body protested the mental exertion.

She changed into a black hoodie, a baseball cap, and a medical mask. She completely concealed her features.

She slipped out of her bedroom window. She used the ancient 'Swallow's Flight' technique to land silently on the grass two stories below.

The physical strain of the landing caused her to cough violently. She tasted copper in the back of her throat.

She checked the estate's security patrol routes from memory. She slipped through the blind spot near the rose garden.

Lana exited the Beaumont estate. She pulled her hood up as she walked onto the cold, damp pavement of the affluent suburb.

She hailed a passing yellow cab. She paid the driver with a digital tap and ordered him to drive to Chinatown.

During the ride, her cracked smartphone buzzed. Serena had sent a furious text demanding Lana pack her bags by morning.

Lana swiped the notification away. She was completely unfazed by the threat of being kicked out.

The cab dropped her off at a neon-lit intersection in lower Manhattan. She navigated the narrow, bustling alleys.

She located a 24/7 traditional apothecary tucked between a dive bar and a pawn shop.

The bell chimed as she entered. The air was thick with the scent of dried ginseng, wolfberry, and rarer, pungent roots.

The old proprietor looked up. He dismissed her as a lost teenager.

Lana slid a handwritten list across the counter. It contained highly toxic, regulated herbs.

He read the list. His eyes widened in shock. It was the lethal combination that formed a forbidden mystic restorative brew.

Lana tapped her digital card on the counter. Her eyes gleamed dangerously above the mask.

"Skip the questions and pack the order," she commanded. She then pointed to a dusty, glass display case in the corner. "And add that set of ancient, tarnished silver acupuncture needles. I know the previous owner pawned them here. Put it all on the card."