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Down the stairs.
Fast.
Faster.
No hesitation now.
No restraint.
They didn’t take her because she ran.
They didn’t take her because she fought.
They took her—
Because I left her alone.
And now?
Now this isn’t a mission.
It’s personal.
18
Lark
Location: In Transit — Unknown Vehicle
Time: Same
Pain wakes me.
Not sharp.
Heavy.
Like something pressing down from the inside out.
Chemical.
I keep my eyes closed.
Don’t move.
Don’t give them the moment.
My hands are bound behind my back—tight enough to cut circulation, not tight enough to damage.
Zip ties.
Plastic bites into my wrists every time the vehicle shifts.
My head swims, slow and thick, like I’m underwater.
Drugged.
Not fully.
