120
I pulled my cap tighter over my head, my fingers shaking as I checked my surroundings for the tenth time in a minute. The weight of paranoia pressed heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe properly. Every glance felt like a threat, every shadow a sign of impending doom. I paced up and down, fidgeting, tugging my sleeves, my trouser waistband—everything felt loose. I had lost weight. Too much weight. Eight days on the run had stripped me down, making my body feel unfamiliar, weaker, almost foreign. I wasn’t healthy, I wasn’t strong—I was barely holding on, but I had to push forward.
A group of kids exited the school building, their laughter ringing through the air like chimes in the wind. One of them—a little girl with bouncy curls and a bright smile—paused, looking directly at me. "Hi," she chirped, her innocence cutting through my nerves like a knife.
I forced a small, tight smile, nodding in acknowledgment before looking away quickly. The last thing I needed was to draw attention. My gaze darted across the street, landing on a cop lingering too close to the school’s front entrance. My heart lurched. He wasn’t doing much, just leaning against a patrol car, chatting with another officer, but his presence was enough to make my skin crawl. I turned my body away slightly, keeping my head down. I couldn’t afford to be seen too clearly, to be recognized. I adjusted my sunglasses, my breath shaky as I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket.
Five minutes passed. I counted each second in my head, every nerve in my body pulled taut like a bowstring. Just as I was about to take a step forward, ready to slip inside the school building, a sleek car pulled up at the curb.
Not just any car. A presidential-looking vehicle, the kind you only see in movies when a high-ranking official or some billionaire arrives at an event. The sleek, black machine gleamed under the afternoon sun, trailed by multiple others. People instinctively stepped out of the way, their murmurs filling the air as they hurried to avoid getting hit. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the world around me.
My breath hitched.
They were here.
Fuck.
My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms as my heart pounded so hard I thought I might pass out. Beneath my sunglasses, my eyes widened in sheer horror as I watched one of the security personnel step out first. The man moved with practiced precision, his suit crisp, his earpiece glinting in the sunlight. He approached the rear car door, hand on the handle, and then—
The door opened.
I saw the shoes first.
Polished, sleek, expensive men’s dress shoes.
Then, the man stepped out, straightening to his full height. My stomach dropped like a stone in water.
Alaric.
My fucking uncle.
I felt my ribs tighten, crushing the air out of my lungs. Right behind him, another door opened, and Clarissa emerged. My gut twisted. And then, finally, stepping out last, was Mitchell. Adam’s foster father. His wife followed after him, her face pale, her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She looked scared—almost too sad—but the old man beside her? He didn’t. His face was unreadable, devoid of emotion, devoid of regret.
One thing was certain. They had been paid.
Paid to hand over Adam.
My vision blurred for a second, my pulse skyrocketing. My hands trembled at my sides as I took an instinctive step back, lost between the small crowd that had gathered, students spilling out of the school doors, some stopping to gawk at the arrival. My lips parted, the words barely a breath.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Without another second of hesitation, I turned sharply and bolted into the school building.
The hallway was clustered with kids. So many of them. Too many of them. My breath was already uneven, but now, as I pushed through the sea of bodies, panic wrapped itself around my ribs like a vice. I tried not to shove them away, but my nerves were too frayed, my desperation too sharp. My hands made contact with shoulders, backpacks, arms. "Sorry," I muttered, but I didn’t slow down. Couldn’t slow down. My legs moved on instinct, my feet barely touching the ground as I raced down the hall, my vision swimming.
Where to? Where the fuck was I supposed to go?
Tina. I needed to find Tina. If those people got in before I reached her—
My stomach clenched violently, bile rising in my throat. My body wasn’t handling the stress well. Everything felt too loud, too hot, too suffocating. The school was supposed to be a safe place. But now, it was a goddamn maze, and I had no idea which turn would lead me to my son or straight into the hands of the enemy.
I rounded a corner, then another, and before I could stop myself, I started spinning in place. My body shook uncontrollably, my breath coming in rapid, ragged bursts. My hand flew to my throat, pressing hard against my skin as if that would steady me, as if that would stop the world from tilting beneath my feet. My gaze darted across the hall, scanning every face, every child, every damn person.
Parents. There were parents here. A few of them standing near the classroom doors, waiting for their kids. A mother with blonde curls chatting with a teacher. A father adjusting his son’s backpack straps. Another woman, arms crossed, checking her phone impatiently. None of them looked dangerous. None of them looked like they knew what was happening, what was coming.
But I knew. And I didn’t have time.
I moved faster, weaving through the clusters of students. My hands reached out, grabbing the shoulders of children, twisting them slightly so I could peer into their faces. No. Not Adam. Not Adam. Not—
Fuck.
Where was he?
The school doors behind me creaked open. Voices carried. Sharp, firm. Too familiar. Too fucking close.
I turned and ran again.
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