The emptiness presses against my chest, stealing oxygen before it reaches my lungs. My fingers remain locked around the edge of the mattress, knuckles blanched, my tendons straining beneath my skin. The bed seems untouched, the sheets pulled tight as if Hope never occupied this space at all. As if it were nothing more than a fever dream conjured from desperation and fear.
But she was here. I held her hands. I felt the tremor in her fingers, the coolness of her skin, and the relief flooding through her when she recognized me. She was real. She was safe. And now she's been ripped away, stolen in the chaos while I stood in this very room signing papers that meant nothing.
My vision blurs at the edges. I blink hard, forcing clarity back into focus because falling apart will not bring her back. Panic costs time, and time is the one thing I can’t give up when every second distances Hope further from me.
I move before my mind can form the words to stop me. My pulse beats inside my throat, hot and uneven. I dart into the hallway, scanning faces as nurses herd patients toward their rooms and guards shout into radios, their orders swallowed by the noise of hurried feet. The alarm has finally gone silent, leaving behind a hollow ringing in my ears and the faint scent of disinfectant clinging to the air.
Albert’s voice rumbles behind me, deep and commanding. “Back inside, now.” His hand clamps around my arm, firm enough to leave no room for argument as he steers me toward the doorway. I stumble when he pushes me into Hope’s room, the air inside muted after the noise of the corridor.
“Stay here,” he instructs, pulling a small tablet from his jacket. His eyes flit across the screen. “Security feed is glitching. I need to see what is happening outside.” He steps into the hall, leaving the door half-open as he walks away, his attention already on the footage.
I stand frozen, my pulse hammering against my throat. My gaze drifts to the window, its glass smudged and streaked, framing a narrow view of the staff parking lot. Movement stirs at the edge of sight, two figures near the back gate, one of them wearing a nurse’s uniform. My breath catches. A white van idles beside them, its rear doors open.
I can’t move. My focus locks on the scene below, every muscle taut. Then one of them lifts something into the van, and blonde hair slips forward, catching the light.
Hope. It’s her.
The doors shut with a muted thud. The van drifts toward the service road, its restraint more chilling than haste.
I don’t think. I just move. The hallway blurs around me as I push through the nearest exit, following the path I saw from the window.
The stairwell door looms ahead, a gray metal barrier between me and my sister. I shove through it without hesitation, the metal vibrating under my hand with a hollow clang that echoes down the concrete shaft. My lungs burn as I take the stairs faster, skipping steps, my hand sliding along the cold metal railing for balance.
At the bottom, I burst into a narrow corridor that opens toward the rear exit. The sound of my heartbeat fills the space, each pulse a drum counting down seconds I don't have to waste. I keep going, my focus narrowed to the door ahead and the slice of daylight visible through the gap at the bottom.
I burst through the door into the staff parking lot, the cold air biting against my skin. The sudden quiet stuns me. After the confusion inside, the stillness out here feels wrong, like the world has paused mid-breath. A few vehicles sit empty, engines idling, exhaust curling in thin streams that fade into the gray sky.
At the far end of the lot, the white van glides toward the gate. Its movements are too careful, as if the driver knows exactly how not to draw attention. My stomach twists. Hope is in there. I know it.
I take off across the pavement, my shoes slapping against the cold ground, every step powered by the single thought that I will not lose her again.
“Hope,” I whisper, the word tearing from my throat like a prayer torn from reluctant lips.
The sound of her name breaks me. All the careful composure I’ve tried to maintain since Bean & Bloom burned, since I learned about the Bratva, and Luka pulled me into his dangerous world, shatters in an instant. There's no room for strategy or patience. There's only the primal need to reach my sister before she disappears completely.
I sprint toward the fence. Gravel grinds beneath my shoes, the sound gritty and rhythmic in my ears. Small stones scatter and strike my ankles, but I barely feel them. The wind cuts at my eyes, forcing tears that blur the world ahead, yet I don’t slow down. I can’t. Every instinct drives me forward, chasing what logic insists is already gone.
My lungs burn, each breath tearing through me like glass. The cold air scorches my throat, but I drink it in anyway, my body running on sheer will. The white van slips farther into the trees, its retreat pulling Hope beyond reach one heartbeat at a time.
I slip through a gap in the fence, the chain-link catching on my jacket for a moment before I wrench free. The fabric tears, the sound insignificant compared to the roar of blood in my ears. I stumble down the embankment, loose soil and dead leaves providing treacherous footing. My arms windmill for balance, and for one terrifying moment, I think I'm going to fall, but I land hard and stay upright, momentum carrying me forward even as pain shoots through my ankle.
The road curves toward the forest’s edge where the pines rise dense and tall, their branches filtering the light into streaks of muted gold. The van moves steadily ahead, its white frame cutting through the trees like a ghost refusing to vanish.
For a split second, the brake lights flare red. The rear door jolts open, and I glimpse movement inside. A slumped shape, blonde hair slipping into the sunlight before disappearing again.
My stomach twists hard enough to steal my breath. The world tilts, the ground unsteady beneath me. For that single, paralyzing moment, all I can see is Hope being dragged into darkness.
“Hope!” The sound rips from my throat, hoarse and useless, swallowed by wind and distance.
The van glides around the bend, turning off the asphalt onto a dirt road that snakes through the trees. The sound of the tires changes, softer now, as they grind against soil and rock.
I follow. A branch catches in my hair, tugging sharply. I wrench free, leaving strands behind as I force my way through the trees. My breath comes fast and uneven, each inhale scraping my throat raw. Mud sucks at my shoes, threatening to pull me down, but I keep going, every movement fueled by sheer panic and will. My heart hammers against my ribs, so loud it feels like the only sound left in the world.
Then the forest opens. A clearing spreads before me, wide and pale under the sunlight, and in the center sits the white van. Its engine hums, exhaust curling upward in faint spirals. The taillights glow faintly red, waiting.
For a heartbeat, hope surges, wild, irrational hope that I can still reach her. Then the driver’s door swings open. The sound echoes through the clearing. A man steps out, dressed in dark clothing, moving with the quiet assurance of someone trained to kill. His head tilts once, scanning. Then his hand rises, and metal flashes in the light.
A gun.
