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Sometimes, I’d search my name and watch videos of his appeals. My brave, strong dad handing out flyers of pictures of a girl that no longer exists. There were hashtags for me at the beginning. Search parties in the hundreds. Documentaries on my disappearance.

But time moves on. The world keeps turning. People forget.

But my dad never did.

He never gave up hope.

I know Darcy birds don’t exist, but sometimes I look for them. Maybe the day I see one is the day I’ll be free.

Tears drop on the desk, and I round it to grab a tissue and wipe them away before Felton comes back.

Something is out of place, though. Disturbed. I pause and run my fingertips over the desk drawer that’s not closed.

Pulling in a breath, I smile.

Sunday got a phone.

She’s going to try and get out.

And I’m going to help her.

SATURDAY

PM

“You found her!” I say breathlessly as I reach the garage door. Sunday is on the floor, Christian advancing on her, and I glance behind me. No one else has followed, which is annoying. I was hoping more of those fuckers would volunteer so I could take them out one by one.

Cage’s phone call triggered an alarm that I got to first. When Felton enquired, I’d told him I was playing on one of his phones and forgot. After what I walked in on in his office, he didn’t reprimand me.

And I was right about Cage. Or Cole, whatever his name is.

“Open those pretty thighs. I want her to already be screaming when I cut into her.” Christian doesn’t need any more encouragement, quickly fumbling with his belt. Disgusting. Just like the rest of them. “Christian?” The sweetness of my voice has him looking up at me, his cheeks flush, eyes wild with the desire to hurt. A stained soul. A rapist, murderer, a man who will surely lay on the coals of hell when he’s dead. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he smiles, genuine adoration in his eyes. “Really?”

“Nope.” I swing the poker into his temple. It connects, the sound sending a thrill through my veins. Blood spills down his face and he releases Sunday. She scrambles back and Christian recovers slightly, his hand pressed to the wound in his face.

“Darcy,” he chokes out. “Why⁠—”

I hit him again.

And again.

He falls to his knees, and I kick him onto his back.

And I cave his skull in.

I’m panting by the time I’m finished, the poker and me covered in blood. I can smell it on my face and probably in my hair, but I’ll wear it with pride.

“God, I hated him.” I drop the poker, the clang of metal echoing, and kneel in front of Sunday. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” I touch her cheek, examining her eyes, and she trembles as if waiting for me to swallow her whole. “Ooft, you have one hell of a blown pupil. We need to get you to a hospital, bestie.”

She frowns, clearly grasping at words. “What is happening right now?”

“I’m one of the good guys. Do you think I’d side with the men? Ew.” I tuck my hand into my pocket and take out the phone I stole from Felton’s office, turning it on and dialing the number I have memorized. I disabled the alarms earlier, so any outgoing calls won’t garner any attention this time.

He answers after two rings. “Frost.”

“Guess who?” I sing.