108

I hadn’t even had the chance to react when Sophia grabbed my wrist and yanked me hard against her, the force of it sending a sharp jolt through my arm. My body didn’t know what to do. It was fight or flight, but my legs weren’t cooperating, turning soft under me, knees threatening to give out as if they had been hit with a hammer. I wobbled, completely useless, like some pathetic, lost penguin, and realized in that moment that if it came down to fighting, I wouldn’t stand a chance. Not against these girls. Not against Sophia, who had been trained for god knows how long. Not against Clarissa, who had a fucking army behind her. Not against Adeline, who had the eerie calm of someone who didn’t need to raise a fist to kill you.

And the worst part was I knew nothing about any of them. I had walked right into their world, straight into their grip, like an idiot who thought she was making smart choices. For all I knew, I had handed myself over to my enemy, walked into the perfect little trap, delivered myself on a silver platter for Vaughn to pick apart. The thought twisted in my gut, making my breath come in shallow bursts, but there was no time to dwell on it because Sophia was already moving, already spinning on her heels, her grip on my wrist so tight that my fingers started to tingle from the lack of blood flow. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause to look back, just yanked me forward and bolted down the hallway like she was being chased by something far worse than the sound of footsteps behind us.

I had no choice but to follow, feet dragging at first before my body caught up with my brain. The footsteps had quieted, so faint now that they barely registered, but it didn’t feel right. Like they weren’t really gone, just waiting. The flickering red lights above us blinked in and out, bathing the hallway in quick flashes of color before plunging us back into darkness. Every time the light came back on, I half-expected to see something behind us. A shadow stretching out, something moving just beyond our reach, but every time, there was nothing. It didn’t make sense. The sound had been so close, right behind us, but now it was like it had never been there at all.

Sophia didn’t slow down, her breath coming out fast and uneven as she pulled me along. “You don’t know anything,” she said suddenly, voice rushed, barely above a whisper but so sharp that it sliced through the quiet. “You think you do, but you don’t. This was never about helping you. It’s all a fucking setup.”

My stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer right away, just kept pulling me forward, rounding a corner so fast that I nearly tripped. The hallway was darker here, no flickering lights to guide us, just a stretch of blackness that made my skin crawl. I tried to keep my steps light, but the floor creaked beneath me, and my fingers curled into a fist as I held my breath, listening for something, anything. The silence felt too thick, pressing in from all sides, but Sophia moved like she knew exactly where she was going, like she could see through the dark.

I wasn’t sure when I realized that I had started to believe I had imagined the footsteps. Maybe it was the way my mind struggled to make sense of what was happening, the way my paranoia twisted things into shapes that weren’t there. But then I remembered that Sophia had heard them too. I wasn’t crazy. It had been real. And if it had been real, that meant whoever had been following us had chosen to stop. Not because they had given up. Because they wanted us to think they were gone.

My skin prickled, the realization sending an unpleasant rush through me, but I kept quiet, focusing on the sound of Sophia’s voice as she spoke again, fast and urgent. “Clarissa works for Vaughn,” she said, voice clipped, like saying the words out loud made her sick. “She’s been working for him this whole time. She’s the one who got our leader killed. She set her up, just like she’s setting you up.”

I almost laughed, the absurdity of it hitting me in a way that made my ribs feel too tight. “That’s not true,” I said before I could stop myself, shaking my head even though she couldn’t see me in the dark. “Clarissa told me she had nothing to do with it. She told me—”

“She lied.” The words came out quick, cutting me off. “She lies about everything. That’s what she does. She’s good at it.”

We kept moving, her grip never loosening, like she thought I would run if she let go. And maybe I would have, if my legs weren’t still working against me. The hallway stretched on, the darkness making it impossible to tell how far we had left to go. My breathing was loud in my ears, matching Sophia’s, both of us slightly out of breath but still pushing forward.

I didn’t want to believe her. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, that she didn’t know what she was talking about, but I couldn’t. Not when the facts were starting to pile up, forming something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I swallowed, throat dry, voice smaller than I wanted it to be when I asked, “Why are you telling me all this?”

Sophia hesitated for the first time, but only for a second. “Because you need to learn not to trust just anybody.”

Her words sent something cold through me. I didn’t know what to say to that. Couldn’t say anything. Because she was right. I trusted too much. I was way too vulnerable. I kept close behind Sophia, trying not to stumble as she led me through the blackness, her grip tight, like she was afraid of losing me. The air was heavier here, harder to breathe. The silence felt unnatural, thick with something unseen. My heart hammered, my skin crawling with the feeling of being watched, even though I couldn’t see anything.

Sophia suddenly stopped, and I nearly slammed into her back. “Where are we going?” I asked, voice sharp with unease. “Why aren’t we going back to the room?”

She turned so fast that her breath brushed against my face. “Because I’m getting you out of here before daybreak.”

The words hit me hard. My mind barely had time to process them before she yanked me close again, urgency pressing into every inch of her. “You have to leave. You have to leave now. I don’t know what Vaughn wants from you, but it’s not good. He fucking hates you. I don’t know why, but he does. And if you stay, you’re not going to survive whatever he has planned.”

She was too close, her breath uneven, her fingers digging into my arm, and I felt the weight of everything crashing down at once. My throat tightened, my chest a mess of emotions I didn’t have time to sort through. “Why are you helping me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She exhaled sharply, grip never loosening. “Because I need you to save your son.”

My breath hitched. The world around me tilted, my body suddenly feeling too small for the enormity of those words. My son. She knew about my son. But I hadn’t told anyone. I hadn’t breathed a word, not here, not to anyone. The knowledge slammed into me like a tidal wave, and suddenly, the memories from earlier that day resurfaced, disorienting and raw. It hadn’t felt like a dream. It had been too vivid, too real. The time of day blurred in my mind, slipping through my fingers like sand, but I knew, I knew with bone-deep certainty that I had seen him. My little boy. He had been there, with me, in the car. We were together. We were being attacked.

The memory crashed down hard, breaking apart in flashes of color and sound, the sheer terror ripping through me as if I were reliving it. My fingers clenched at the air as I recalled how they had gripped the steering wheel in that dream, knuckles white, arms burning from the pressure. The way my voice had torn from my throat, raw and desperate, screaming as my baby sobbed in the backseat. The way his tiny hands had clutched at his seatbelt, his little face streaked with tears, as the shadows of the men loomed against the windows, their fists pounding, the glass rattling, shuddering under the force of their blows. The sound had been unbearable—the frantic knocking, the muffled shouts, the sheer panic choking the air inside the car. And then—

Shards of glass exploded around us. I remembered that moment as if I were there again, feeling the sting of the tiny, jagged pieces cutting into my skin, the way my baby’s cries had turned shrill, his terror piercing straight through my chest like a knife. The hands reaching in, grabbing at him, yanking him away. His scream had shattered something inside me, something irreparable, something I could feel breaking all over again now as I stared at Sophia, my breathing coming in sharp, erratic gasps.

I grabbed her, my fingers digging into her arms with a strength I didn’t know I had, my panic spilling over, my entire body trembling uncontrollably. “What do you know about my son?” My voice cracked, frantic, desperate. “How do you know about him? How?!” My head was spinning, my vision darkening at the edges, heat crawling up my throat like nausea, like sickness. I could barely see straight, barely breathe through the sheer terror squeezing my chest like a vice.

Sophia didn’t flinch at my outburst, didn’t pull away from my grip. Instead, her expression softened, just barely, a flicker of something almost like pity flashing across her face before she spoke, her voice quieter this time, steady despite the urgency laced in her words.

“There’s an operation to take him,” she said, slow and deliberate. “They’re planning to kidnap him tomorrow. After school. They know where he is. They know his routine. They’re going to his foster parents' home right after school hours.”

My heart stopped. The air in my lungs turned to ice.

“No,” I whispered, but it wasn’t a denial. It was horror. It was realization.

She kept going, her grip on my wrist tightening slightly, grounding me, keeping me from spiraling further. “You have to get to him first,” she said. “You have to take him before they do. Warn the foster parents. Tell them to run. Get him out of there before it’s too late.”

I stumbled after Sophia, my legs barely keeping up as she pulled me down the hallway, her grip on my wrist bruising, but I didn’t care. I could barely process the rapid pace, my mind stuck on one single fact—my son was in danger. My son. My baby. My boy. I could see him, his little hands gripping the edge of the backseat, his round face twisted in terror as he screamed for me, the sound swallowed by the relentless pounding of fists against the car. The memory—or was it a nightmare?—flashed behind my eyelids so vividly I could almost hear the glass shattering again, could feel the bite of it against my skin, the desperate burn in my throat as I screamed his name, screamed for someone to stop, for someone to help. But no one had. And now, now, it was happening again.