Page 85 of Fallen Heir

I felt the children cling tighter—to me, to each other, to anything that felt even remotely safe.

And I moved. Slowly. Silently. I shifted in front of them. Arms spread. Shoulders squared. Body aching.

A shield.

I wasn’t strong. Not in that moment. I was starving. Tired. Weak in every physical way that counted.

But I would protect them anyway.

The doors opened. Light poured in, harsh and blinding. The world outside came flooding in all at once—noise, footsteps, voices. Commands barked in languages I couldn’t understand.

I didn’t flinch.

Not for me. But forthem.

I would be strong.

Even if I had to pretend. Even if it meant I had to die to protect them.

Chapter 28

Jaxson

The stench hit first. Rot. Sweat. Something coppery underneath it all—blood, maybe. My stomach churned.

I pushed through the front doors, weapon drawn, boots echoing against cracked concrete. Ben swept in behind me, gun raised, jaw tight. The building stretched long, low, and silent—like a tomb that hadn’t been sealed yet.

"Clear left," Ben muttered, sweeping his corner.

I nodded and moved right, following a narrow corridor with low ceilings and fluorescent lights that flickered overhead like they were gasping for power. The place looked like it used to be a storage facility—unit doors lining the hall, each one numbered, each one hanging off rusted hinges.

We opened the first room.

The air hit like a punch.

Urine. Feces. Chemical stench. Vomit crusted into the corners. Thin, dirt-caked mattresses lined the walls, some folded, others flattened where bodies had once laid. Chains were bolted into the floor. Syringes. Empty water bottles. A bucket in the corner.

My grip tightened on the gun. Ben didn’t say a word. Neither did I.

We moved to the next room.

Same setup. Another makeshift cell.

This one had a body.

A girl—barely older ten—sprawled on the floor, her arm draped limply over her chest. Pale skin, lips cracked. No blood. No visible wounds. Just… gone.

Ben stepped forward, checked her pulse. He shook his head.

"Still warm," he said quietly. "They haven’t been gone for long."

A few more steps down the hall were two more who had been dead long enough for the flies to come. We kept moving. Room after room. All the same.

Hell, replicated.

Some were empty. Some weren’t. We found another girl barely conscious, too drugged to respond.

Ben stepped back, already pulling his phone. “Calling this one in,” he said, glancing at me.