???
The dream crashes over me without warning, dragging me back two years, to the night everything shattered. I’m twenty years old again, sitting cross-leggedon my bed in the small house I grew up in, textbooks spread around me, laptop glowing with half-finished code.
It’s a quiet Tuesday evening, nothing special, just another night of cramming for midterms. Then my bedroom door flies open so hard it bangs against the wall.
My dad bursts in, face white with terror, eyes wild. “Hide, Christopher… now! Don’t make a sound!”
Panic explodes in my chest. I’m just a college kid; I don’t understand. My hands fumble with the books as I scramble off the bed, heart slamming against my ribs. “Dad, what…”
“Closet! Go!” He’s already shoving me across the room, his grip bruising on my arm. I stumble into the narrow closet, tripping over shoes and hanging clothes. He yanks garments off their hangers and piles them in front of me, pushing me deeper into the corner until I’m completely hidden behind a wall of fabric. “Stay quiet. Whatever you hear… stay quiet.”
I nod frantically even though he can’t see me, curling into the smallest ball possible, knees to my chest, arms wrapped around my legs. My heart is racing so fast it hurts. Then I hear heavy boots thumping and the front door crashing open downstairs with a splintering crack that makes me flinch violently.
Dad’s voice cracks with panic. “Please… listen, just…”
Two sharp, deafening gunshots cut him off; the sound punches through me. I whimper deep in my throat before I can stop it, a tiny, broken sound I barely recognize as my own. Deep down I already know; someone has just killed my parents.
Footsteps thud up the stairs, before my bedroom door is flung open so hard it slams against the wall. A rough male voice shouts back toward the stairs, “Boss! I think Vincent had a kid!”
My breathing spirals out of control. Fuck. I clamp both hands over my mouth, forcing myself to take tiny, silent sips of air through my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly that white spots dance behind my eyelids.
The closet doors are suddenly wrenched open. I can’t help it… a scared, helpless whimper slips out, giving me away. Strong hands seize me instantly, yanking me to my feet with terrifying ease. I’m hauled out of the closet by a muscled, intimidating man dressed entirely in black combat gear. He doesn’t look like any robber I’ve ever imagined; he looks like a soldier, cold and professional. In that moment none of it matters. A large gun is pressed hard against my ribs and I gasp, the cold metal biting through my thin t-shirt.
“Let’s go, kid,” he mutters, nudging me forward.
My legs move on autopilot, reluctant and shaking. I nearly stumble down the stairs, knees buckling, but his iron grip on my arm keeps me upright. He marches me into the living room. Several other men are already there, all of them turning to look at me the second I enter.
I fight back the sobs clawing up my throat, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. My parents are on the floor. Two neat bullet holes, one in each forehead, dark and final. Their eyes are open, staring at nothing. I flick my gaze up to the ceiling, waiting for the shot that will end me too. I don’t understand why they’re dragging it out. Just do it, just get it over with.
Then I look down again and notice him… the man who’s clearly in charge. He’s dressed far too smart for the blood and chaos around him: tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, an expensive watch glinting on his wrist under the living-room light. He rises slowly from where he’d been kneeling beside my parents, unfolding to his full height. Oh my god, he’s so tall. Everything about him radiates power and control.
I bow my head instinctively, overwhelmed by the sheer intimidation rolling off him in waves. He has a thin scar running over his right brow, and his dark hair is slicked back, though a couple of loose strands have fallen across his forehead. He steps closer until I can smell the faint scent of gun oil and expensive cologne.
He lifts his gun and presses the cold muzzle under my chin. I stop breathing entirely, every muscle locked in terror.
The gun tilts my chin upward until I’m forced to meet his eyes. His head tilts the tiniest fraction, studying me with an unreadable, ice-cold intensity. For one endless second the world narrows to just his face… those sharp features, the scar, the dark hair, the complete lack of mercy.
Then he speaks, voice low and calm, carrying absolute authority. “Take him.”
The man behind me immediately lowers his gun from my ribs and starts dragging me toward the front door. I don’t resist; my legs move because they have to. Outside, a row of black SUVs sits idling along the curb, engines purring softly in the night.
The man stops at the nearest one, yanks open the back door, and says flatly, “In.”
I do exactly as I’m told, sliding onto the cool leather seat without a word, my hands shaking uncontrollably in my lap as the door slams shut behind me.
I jolt awake so violently that my entire body jerks upright in the narrow bed, the thick covers tangling around my legs.
Soren’s voice booms through the quiet morning air like thunder… deep, commanding, and unmistakably furious as he shouts my full name from somewhere inside the house. “Christopher!”
My eyes fly wide open, heart instantly slamming against my ribs so hard it feels like it might crack them. After the dream I just had… the blood, the gun under my chin, Soren’s cold face staring down at me… the last person on earth I want to see right now ishim. Panic surges through me, hot and choking. I don’t even think, I just move.
My hands scramble for the thin robe I keep draped over the end of the bed. I yank it on and fumble with the tie, knotting it tightly around my waist with shaking fingers. The fabric is barely enough to cover my pyjamas, but I don’t care. I rush to the small window beside my desk, push it open as quietly as I can, and throw myself out of it.
I land hard on the gravel outside, the sharp stones biting into my bare feet and knees through the thin material. A tiny hiss of pain escapes me, but I bite it back. With trembling hands, I reach up and slowly pull the window shut behind me, wincing at every faint scrape of wood on wood. Then I’m moving again… scurrying low and fast around the side of the bricked building, heart pounding in my ears, until I reach the tucked-away little nook where the large bins are kept.
I squeeze myself behind the biggest one, pressing my back against the cold brick wall and drawing my knees up to my chest.Fuck. Soren will know I was in my room. I didn’t make the bed. I didn’t turn the night-light off. The evidence is right there for anyone to see. My breathing comes in short, panicked bursts as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying desperately to steady myself, to push down the wave of terror that wants to swallow me whole.
???
