A harsh voice shouted from outside. A scream followed.
My feet carried me forward before I fully realized I was moving.
When I reached the open door and stepped into the frame, everything hit me at once.
Men and women I’d never seen before swarmed the compound, guns drawn, black vests with bold white letters—FBI—emblazoned across them. Dust had been kicked up from the chaos, hanging in the air like smoke.
Children cried, clinging to one another as the strangers herded them.
Mothers were shouting for their families. Some were being handcuffed, others pushed to their knees.
A man I recognized—Brother Gideon—was face-down in the dirt, a man’s knee in his back.
Sister Miriam sobbed into her hands as two agents escorted her away.
And above it all, commands cracked like gunfire.
“Get down!”
“Stay where you are!”
“Clear that side—go, go!”
“Hands up—now!”
I stood in the doorway, gripping the frame so tightly my knuckles burned.
This wasn’t real.
This wasn’t happening.
This couldn’t be happening.
My lungs couldn’t decide whether to gulp in air or refuse it entirely. The ground seemed to tilt beneath me, the noise swelling until every sound blurred into one shrill, pounding rush.
I didn’t see Father anywhere.
I didn’t see Jace either.
Suddenly, the air felt too thin.
The world too loud.
A hand grabbed my arm—firm, unfamiliar, gloved.
“Sir,” a voice barked beside me, “you need to come with—”
And I flinched so hard my knees buckled.
The man’s grip tightened, sending a burning jolt up my arm. I ripped myself free, crying out.
“Hey—!” the stranger shouted, reaching for me again.
But I was already moving.
Running.
Not away from the noise, not toward safety—justforward,blindly, stupidly, into the screaming heart of it all.
