Nina looks down at her knees. “I always heard about stuff like this, you know? People talk. True crime. Documentaries. Girls disappearing.” She shakes her head, almost dazed. “It always felt terrible, but far away.”
“I know.”
“Like it happened in other places.”
“To other people,” I whisper.
Her gaze meets mine. We sit with that. Because there’s nothing else to say. It happened to us.
The van slows.
My body reacts before my mind does. Every muscle tightens.
Nina’s eyes widen.
One of the men in front says something into a phone. Too low to catch. Then the van turns again, smoother now, tires whispering over pavement instead of bouncing over broken road.
A gate buzzes. Metal rolls open. The van moves forward.
Nina whispers, “Oh God.”
I turn my head toward the small dark window. At first, I see nothing but my own reflection. Then lights. Warm. Golden. Controlled. The van passes through a long driveway lined with trees trimmed too perfectly to belong anywhere real. The house appears slowly, like something from a magazine or a movie about people who have never worried about the cost of anything.
No.
House is too small a word.
Estate.
Massive stone exterior. Tall windows glowing from within. Balconies. Columns. Perfect landscaping even in the dark. Security lights placed so carefully they look decorative until you notice how there are no shadows near the entrance. Clean. Beautiful. Untouchable.
My breath catches. This doesn’t match. That’s the thought that breaks through everything else. This doesn’t match what I thought evil looked like. I expected rust. Darkness. Dirty floors. Men with cruel faces and rooms that smelled like blood.
I didn’t expect beauty. I didn’t expect wealth so polished it could hide horror behind gates and warm lights.
The van stops. Doors open. Cold air rushes in again.
The man with the remote appears, looking bored. “Out.”
Nina trembles.
I look at her, holding her gaze as long as I can. “We stay alive,” I whisper.
She nods once. Small. Terrified. But there.
They unstrap us and guide us down from the van. My bare feet touch stone this time instead of pavement, cold and smooth beneath me.
I look up at the estate. Somewhere behind those glowing windows is the man who bought me. Somewhere beyond this place, Cobra is coming. I hold both truths at once. Fear presses against my ribs. Hope burns under it. Not soft. Not bright. Sharp. Necessary.
I straighten as much as the collar allows. They bought me. They moved me. They brought me here. But I am still not theirs. Not in the way that matters.
Stay alive.
He’s coming.
Waiting is the worst part. Not because I can’t do it. Because I can. That’s the problem.
I stand beside the back doors of the first van, armed, ready, still enough that anyone who doesn’t know me might mistake it for calm. It isn’t calm. Calm is soft. Calm has space in it.
