"Where did they go?"
"I don't know. They were right behind me, and then—" Marlee shakes her head, frustration and fear warring across her features. "I'm sorry. The kids were panicking, one of the little ones fell and I had to pick him up, and when I looked back—"
"It's not your fault. You were doing your job." But my gut is twisting, instinct screaming that something is very wrong. A conditioned child and a facility staffer, both vanishing at the same time. That's not coincidence. That's intention. "Jace, stay with the group. Get them to the vans. Do not stop for anything."
"And you?"
"Marlee and I are going back. Someone has to find those two before they complicate things."
"Asher, we don't have time—"
"Then we move fast. Go."
I hand the sedated boy to one of the older children, a girl maybe fifteen who seems more present than the others. "Can you carry him?"
She nods, takes him without hesitation. Her arms are thin but strong, and she holds him like she's done this before. Carried smaller children. Protected them when no one else would.
"Get to the vans. Don't stop for anything."
Another nod. No words. Words are dangerous in places like this.
Marlee and I backtrack through the corridor, weapons up, scanning every doorway and shadow. The facility is quiet now,the alarms silenced, the guards dealt with. But quiet doesn't mean safe. Quiet means waiting.
"There." Marlee points to a door hanging open. A supply closet, by the look of it, shelves lined with medical equipment and cleaning supplies. And huddled in the corner, the assistant we'd found tied up in Helena's office.
She's maybe thirty, mousy brown hair, trembling hands raised in front of her face. Her scrubs are splattered with blood that isn't hers.
"Please," she whispers. "Please, don't hurt me."
"We're not going to hurt you." I crouch down, try to make myself less threatening. "Where's the girl? The one from cell twelve?"
"I don't know. She was here, and then she had a knife, and then—" The assistant's voice breaks. "She's going to kill me. She said she's going to kill me because I helped them. Because I was part of it."
"Part of what?"
"The conditioning. I administered the drugs. I monitored the sessions. I didn't want to, I swear, but they said if I didn't cooperate—" She's crying now, ugly sobs that shake her whole body. "I had no choice."
There's always a choice. That's what I want to say. But she's a cog in a machine that's bigger than any of us, and right now, she's not the priority.
"Where did the girl go?"
"Back. Toward the director's office. She said she had to protect the facility. That it was her purpose."
The director's office. Helena's office.
Where Jinx is.
I key my comm. "Jinx, we've got a problem. One of the kids has a weapon. She's heading your way."
Static. Then his voice, strained, "I know. I'm looking at her."
"What's her status?"
"She's got a knife to some guy’s throat. Helena's got him positioned between her and the door. The kid is standing guard."
Helena using a traumatized child as a shield. Using a conditioned weapon as a protector. Of course she is. She's been doing it her whole career.
"Can you talk her down?"
