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CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Cam

The dim glow of the security lights casts long shadows across the hallways.

Every step I take feels too loud, but I can’t slow down.

The compound is quiet, but not empty. I can hear voices echoing faintly, guards talking in the distance.

I slip around a corner, pressing my back against the cold wall, and listen.

“She fought back,” one of them says, his voice low but clear. “Almost stabbed me in the neck.”

"Got Givens in the leg. Nasty cut."

“Yeah, but did you hear what else she tried to do?” another voice replies, sharp and mocking. “Tried to stab herself. Right in the chest. I saw the knife.”

My breath catches in my throat. My heart pounds harder, a mix of anger and fear rushing through me. I clench my fists tighter, my nails digging into my palms.

“She didn’t have the guts to do it, though,” the first guard says, laughing. “Not like that chick at the auction who hung herself. Now that was messed up.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to be really broken to pull something like that,” the second guard says. “This one’s tough, but she’s not that crazy. Yet.”

Their laughter echoes down the hallway, sharp and cruel. My chest burns with rage, and I have to force myself to stay still, to stay quiet. My vision blurs for a moment, red at the edges, but I take a deep breath. I can’t lose control.

Not now.

I peek around the corner. Two guards are leaning against the wall. They’re relaxed, too busy laughing to pay attention to their surroundings.

I step back, my mind racing. I can take them out. Quick, quiet.

I’ve done it before.

I grip the knife at my side, the handle cool and solid in my hand. My body moves before my mind catches up, my footsteps silent as I close the distance between us. The first guard doesn’t even see me coming.

My arm wraps around his neck, pulling him back into a chokehold. He struggles, his hands clawing at my arm, but I hold tight.

Then I snap, hard.

His body goes limp, and I lower him to the ground, quiet and careful.

The second guard turns, his eyes widening in shock. “Hey?—”

My fist slams into his jaw, and he stumbles back, crashing into the wall. He reaches for his radio. I grab it and throw it to the ground, crushing it under my boot by accident. He swings at me, wild and desperate. I block the hit and drive my elbow into his ribs.

He doubles over with a grunt. I grab the back of his head, slamming it into the wall. He collapses, unconscious.

I stand there for a moment, breathing hard. The hallway is silent again, except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. I kneel down, patting the guards’ belts until I find what I’m looking for—access cards. I slip them into my pocket and grab the other guard's radio, clipping it to my belt.

No guns on any of these guards. I'd do anything for a gun right now.

The anger in my chest hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s burning hotter now. They think they’ve won. They think they can break her.

They’re wrong.

The next hallway is longer, lined with doors on both sides. Most of them are locked. I move quickly, my steps light and silent. The radio on my belt crackles, and a voice comes through.

“Unit three, report in. Any sign of the girl?”

I ignore it, switching the radio to mute.

I grin in the dark. Oh, Paigelynn. Go, go, go .

I reach the end of the hallway, stopping at a set of double doors. A keypad glows faintly beside them, the red light indicating they’re locked.

I pull out one of the access cards, swiping it through the reader. The light turns green, and the doors click open.

The room beyond is dark, but I can make out the outlines of equipment—tables, machines, monitors. The smell of antiseptic hangs heavy in the air, sharp and sterile. My stomach churns as I step inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.

This isn’t just a room. It’s a lab.

I move deeper into the room, my hand on the knife at my side. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the machines. I scan the tables, the cabinets, looking for anything that might tell me where she is.

My eyes land on a clipboard hanging by the door. I grab it, flipping through the pages. Most of it is medical jargon I don’t understand, but one word stands out.

Heart.

My grip tightens on the clipboard, my knuckles white. They don’t see her as a person. She’s just an organ. Mother’s organ.

My jaw clenches, and I drop the clipboard, the sound echoing in the empty room.

I have to keep moving.

The next corridor is even quieter than the last. The walls feel closer, the air heavier. I can hear my own breathing, my own heartbeat, but nothing else. It’s like the compound is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

I stop at another set of doors, swiping the access card again. The light turns green, and the doors slide open. My breath catches as I step inside.

Blood.

It’s smeared across the floor, a dark, glistening trail that leads to the center of the room. My chest tightens as I follow it, mind racing. The blood isn’t fresh, but it’s not old either. My stomach twists as I imagine what they might have done to her, how much she might be suffering.

She’s alive. She’s still fighting. I have to believe that.

The trail ends at a chair in the center of the room. The restraints hang loose, the leather straps stained dark. They had her here. They had her, and they let her go. Or she escaped. My heart pounds at the thought. If she escaped, she might still be nearby.

She still needs me.

The radio on my belt crackles again as I move into the next hallway. This time, I turn up the volume, listening carefully.

“Unit six, report. Any sign of the target?”

“Negative,” a voice replies. “She’s not on this floor. Last sighting was near the medical wing.”

My pulse quickens. Has she been caught? Or is she running around, helpless, trying to escape?

I slip the radio back onto mute and pick up my pace, my footsteps echoing faintly in the empty hallway. As I near the medical wing, the sound of voices reaches me. I press myself against the wall, straining to hear.

“She’s tougher than I thought,” one of them says. “But she’ll crack. They always do.”

Why the hell are the guards saying that? Makes me think they've got her somewhere.

“Yeah, if The Mother doesn’t kill her first,” another voice replies, laughing. “You see the way she threatened to off herself? Thought she had the guts to do it.”

“Lucky for us, she didn’t,” the first guard says. “Still, pretty bold move. I’ll give her that.”

My blood boils as their words sink in. Off herself?

She was ready to die rather than be slaughtered for parts. My chest tightens, a mix of pride and anger surging through me.

She’s stronger than they’ll ever understand, but she shouldn’t have to be.

She shouldn’t have to fight this alone.

I grip the knife at my side, my resolve hardening.

She won’t.