I can feel it.
“We still haven’t pinned the exact location,” she says, handing me the tablet. “But it’s the same username posted again. Same phrasing. Same timestamp pattern. They’re active.”
I take the device, jaw clenched. The screen glows with encrypted filth—coordinates, usernames, coded language we’ve learned to decipher like a second tongue.
We haven’t cracked the source yet, but we will. Because they’re still moving her. And I’m still breathing.
“But there’s something else…”
Something worse?
“Show me,” I order, handing her the tablet back reluctantly.
Talia’s eyes are locked on the screen, her fingers moving with practiced precision as she tunnels through layers of encrypted data. She’s navigating the dark web like a surgeon—cutting through firewalls, bypassing proxies, digging into hidden directories. Each click feels like a heartbeat.
Then she stops.
A video feed loads—no sound, just a grainy, flickering stream and a live chat window scrolling beside it. The interfaceis crude, and completely anonymous. A black background, white text, and a list of usernames that mean nothing on the surface. But I know what they are.
Buyers.
Predators.
People who treat human lives like collectibles.
The chat is already active, filled with coded language and numbers. Bids. Comments. Sick jokes. I’ve seen this setup before—too many times. It’s a digital auction house for the worst kind of trade.
And then—
She appears.
My breath catches. My heart doesn’t just sink—it plummets.
Nell.
Even through the low resolution, even with the hood pulled over her head, I know it’s her. I’d know the shape of her body, the way she moves, the way she tries to hold herself upright even when everything inside her is failing.
She’s stumbling, her balance shot. Her limbs are sluggish, her steps uneven. They’ve drugged her. I’ve seen this before—girls sedated just enough to keep them docile, to make them easier to parade, to strip them of resistance without taking away their value.
My grip tightens on the tablet, fingers digging into the edges like I could crush it. I want to reach through the screen. I want to tear the whole system down with my bare fucking hands.
“I found this in a buried cache,” Talia says, her voice low, almost apologetic. “It’s not live. Timestamp puts it at about six hours ago. I’ve got two of the guys working on decrypting the buyer’s metadata. But so far, it’s a dead end. They’re using a rotating VPN and a spoofed MAC address.”
I barely hear her. My eyes are locked on the screen.
The camera pans slowly, showing Nell from different angles. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, panicked bursts. Even drugged, she’s fighting. Her body is trying to resist, to stay upright, to stay herself.
And the chat keeps scrolling.
“$25,000. Virgin?”
“Look at her—barely conscious. Perfect.”
“#19’s got taste.”
I want to scream. I want to throw the tablet across the room. But I don’t. I can’t. I need this footage. I need every second of it.
Because this is the closest we’ve ever been.
