Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was never fast but today speed meant life.
Smoke clawed at his throat, stinging his eyes. The acrid tang of ash coated his tongue. Feet pounded the dirt road. He stumbled over roots and stones, twisted his ankle once but forced himself to keep moving. The village that had once tolerated his family now wanted them gone. His father had done nothing wrong and still he ran.
His mother who had baked cookies for the village children, who had smiled at them, who had been kind to everyone, was gone. The same children now threw rocks at him, their laughter sharp and cruel. Tears ran with him. He was prey and the mobs were predators.

The fire hissed behind him. Sparks floated like angry fireflies, landing on the scorched dirt and singeing his hair. Every movement reminded him of his parents’ bodies, hanging like shadows, branches bending as if to weep. His chest burned and his lungs screamed. He ducked under a low branch, scraping his arm, and felt the sting of a fresh cut.A dog barked nearby, claws scratching the cobblestones. Snitching his location to everyone else. Shouts echoed off the walls of burning homes. Jia pressed himself flat and waited, counting the seconds until the danger passed. Every nerve screamed to run, yet he stayed still, heart hammering.The road twisted through the village, mud sucking at his boots. A cart tipped over in the chaos, sending a wheel spinning across his path. He vaulted it, barely keeping his balance. Behind him, the fire raged, flames licking the sky. Smoke filled his lungs, thick and hot, and he coughed, spitting blood from a scrape on his lip. Every step was agony. Every breath was fire.

He remembered his father’s words, fleeting lessons in courage and cunning. Keep moving. Don’t look back. Think fast. It had always seemed simple, theoretical. Now it was the only way to survive. He leapt over a pile of debris, rolling into a narrow alley, his legs shaking, arms scraped raw. A group of villagers blocked the main road, shouting and waving sticks. He darted down a side path, ducking behind a broken fence. Rats scattered at his presence, squealing into the night. He caught a glimpse of the river beyond the village, its dark surface glinting in the firelight. If he could reach it, maybe he could lose them. Maybe he could live.

The smell of smoke and burnt wood was thick in the air. His feet were blistered, his knees scraped, his palms raw from gripping broken rails and jagged wood. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but stopping was not an option. Not yet. Not ever.
Branches snagged his clothes, tearing fabric and skin alike. A chicken squawked as it fled from the chaos, scattering feathers into the dirt. Jia rolled under a low wall, pressing himself against cool stone. He listened—breathing hard, ears straining. The shouts behind him grew distant but the threat had not disappeared. Predators did not forget their prey.

He allowed himself a moment to glance back. The village was a panorama of chaos: houses burning, smoke curling into the night sky, shadows dancing on walls. His parents had been kind. His parents had believed in decency. And it had been repaid with fire. His stomach knotted. He swallowed bile. Survival was all that mattered now.The alley ended in a small courtyard littered with debris and refuse. He paused, chest heaving, eyes scanning. A broken cart offered partial cover, and he crouched behind it, listening. Somewhere nearby, another dog barked. His ears picked up the crackle of footsteps, the distant laughter of children, cruel in their mimicry of the adults who had driven his family from this world.

He thought briefly of food. Of water. Of somewhere safe to rest. Somewhere he could heal without fear. He had none of that. Every plan was improvisation. Every step measured by instinct and speed. Every shadow could conceal danger.
He rose slowly, careful, feeling the ache in every joint. Ahead, the road curved past the village edge into fields that stretched wide, dark under the night sky. Perhaps there he could find refuge. Perhaps he could outrun them. Perhaps he could survive. A sudden shout erupted behind him, closer than he had hoped. Instinct took over. He sprinted again, legs pumping, lungs on fire, heart hammering. Dust and ash whipped around him, stinging eyes and throat. He rolled over a stone and fell into a ditch, scraping knees and palms raw. Pain registered but he ignored it. Pain meant life. Pain meant moving.
He crawled to the ditch’s edge and peered out. The villagers were past him, searching in the wrong direction. For now, he was safe. Temporary. Fragile. He pressed himself against the damp earth, chest rising and falling like a bellows. His mind raced. His body burned. He had escaped the village but not yet survived. The night was wide and unknown. The road ahead offered no guarantees, no safety, only more movement, more cunning, more hope.

Somewhere in the darkness, a fire flickered across the horizon—perhaps another villager, perhaps a fire. He did not know. All he knew was that he could not stop. And he would not.

Chapter Text

Jia woke with dirt in his mouth and a branch pressing into his back. For a long moment he didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The world was quiet except for birds and distant voices—too far to be danger, but close enough to make his stomach twist.

He pushed himself upright slowly, and something cold slid across his chest. He grabbed it instinctively, ready to throw it if he had to, but when he looked down, his breath caught.

It was his father’s watch.

The glass was cracked, a thin line like a scar. The hands were frozen, trapped at a time he didn’t want to think about. He didn’t even remember taking it. Everything from last night was smoke and running and heat and voices that didn’t sound human. He held the watch in his palm. It felt heavier than metal should.
As he lowered his hand, something else tugged at his wrist. Smooth beads, worn from years of use. His mother’s bracelet. He had forgotten he even had it on. She had joked that he’d lose it within a day. Now it was the only warm thing on him. He curled his fingers around it, and the pressure dug into his skin, keeping him from falling apart.

Hunger hit him next. Sharp. Twisting. Impossible to ignore. Every smell in the streets stabbed at him: roasting meat, fresh vegetables, warm bread. He had told himself he could ignore it. He could not.
A bakery cart stood near a corner. The shopkeeper had his back turned, arguing with a customer. On the edge of the cart sat a loaf of bread, still steaming. Jia didn’t think. His hand moved on its own. He snatched the loaf and pressed it to his chest.

“You! Thief!”

The shout cut through the street like a whip. Heads snapped toward him. Panic surged. He bolted, bread clutched tightly, legs trembling beneath him. People moved aside, muttering, pointing.

A police officer stepped out from a side alley. Dark uniform, stern at first glance, but there was calm in his eyes. He saw the loaf, saw Jia’s wild eyes, and started after him. Not with anger, but with purpose.

Jia’s lungs burned. His vision blurred. He stumbled over a loose stone, nearly falling. His mother’s bracelet dug into his hand as he clutched it. The officer caught up, but instead of grabbing him roughly, he knelt down, putting his hands on Jia’s shoulders gently.

“Hey,” the officer said softly. “I can see you’re hungry. Let’s not make this worse.”

Jia froze, unsure if he should run or cry.

“Eat first,” the officer said, picking up the loaf that had rolled into the dust. He brushed off the dirt, then handed it back. “You can’t think straight on an empty stomach. Here.”
Jia bit into it, warm and soft, tasting more than bread,tasting hope, a tiny lifeline. He sank to the curb, still clutching the watch and bracelet.

The officer watched him calmly. “The orphanage on the hill will take you. They can keep you safe for now.” He didn’t sound like he meant forever. But he sounded like he meant it would be enough for tonight.

Jia nodded slowly. Words wouldn’t come. His body was shaking.

“You keep hold of those,” the officer added, nodding toward the watch and bracelet. “They’re yours. Don’t let anyone take them.”

Jia gripped them tighter. He could feel some measure of control returning, something that had been ripped from him when he ran from the village.

The officer extended a hand, and Jia took it hesitantly. Together, they walked through the town. Shops passed in blurred motion. Children stared and laughed. Adults moved aside or muttered. Guards patrolled corners, carriages rolled by, but no one stopped to notice him. He stayed close to the wall, clutching his bracelet, his father’s watch pressing into his chest.

Finally, they reached the hill. At its peak stood a large building, walls high, windows like dark eyes. The iron gate loomed ahead. Children in rough clothes stood behind it, some staring, some whispering, some turning quickly as if not to be noticed.

The officer guided him up the steps. “This is it,” he said quietly. “The orphanage. You’ll be safe here, for now.”

A caretaker appeared at the gate, looking carefully at Jia. Dirt on his face, scratches on his arms, thin and trembling. She did not flinch. She nodded, gesturing him inside.
Inside, the smell of food was faint but comforting. Jia sank to the ground for a moment, still clutching the watch and bracelet. He did not know the rules. He did not know what awaited him. But for the first time since the village, Jia felt something like a foothold. He could breathe, just slightly. And the watch and bracelet reminded him that he had survived this far.

Because survival was only just beginning.

Chapter Text

The caretaker’s face was a mask of authority. The moment the officer left, she grabbed my arm, dragging me inside. Her grip was firm, almost painful, and her voice barked over every thought in my head.

“Quickly! Off with those rags. I’ll not have filth roaming my halls!”

The bath was sharp, harsh. She washed my hair roughly, tugging at the coils, complaining about how stubborn they were. My tears mixed with the water, stinging my eyes, but she didn’t stop. I clenched my father’s watch and my mother’s bracelet under the towel, pressing them close. They were mine. Nothing here could take them.

When she finally let me dress, she shoved me toward the dining hall. The room smelled of stale bread and boiled porridge. Children sat in silence, hunched over wooden benches, eyes flicking nervously toward the caretaker and the other staff. I slid onto a bench at the far end, keeping my hands hidden under the table.

Breakfast was dull and flavorless. I ate quickly, tasting only enough to keep my stomach from screaming. Around me, children shifted uneasily, some whispering, some staring at their own belongings. I noticed small trinkets, toys, and scraps of cloth being placed carefully into cloth bags that the caretakers held open.

After breakfast, we were herded like cattle into a larger hall. The caretaker walked just behind us, her eyes sharp on every child. The headmaster stood at the front. Tall, imposing, voice like stone. He began to speak.

Words rolled out endlessly about discipline, ownership, obedience. About how nothing ever belonged to children, how every possession was for the use of adults. How new arrivals must place all items into the bags provided.

I didn’t listen. Not really. The scraping of benches, the murmur of other children, the dull smell of the hall all of it blurred into the background. My fingers still curled around the bracelet and watch, warm and heavy against my skin.

One by one, the other children handed over their belongings. Toys, scraps of clothing, little treasures all gone, swallowed into the bags. Fear showed on their faces, silent and sharp.

The headmaster’s eyes swept across the room. They landed on me. He paused, voice cutting through the drone of his own speech.

“And you,” he said, pointing with a finger that felt like steel. “Why have you not handed over your items?”

I froze. My chest tightened. The bracelet dug into my wrist, the watch pressed into my palm. My jaw set. I didn’t move.

The hall went quiet, all eyes turning toward me. Children held their breath. The caretaker’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“I… I keep them,” I whispered, just enough for myself.

The headmaster’s gaze lingered, sharp and calculating. He said nothing further, letting the silence stretch. But the look in his eyes promised that my defiance had been noticed and that it would not be forgotten.

I pressed the bracelet and watch tighter against me. They were all I had left of what mattered. And I would not let them go.

Chapter Text

The morning bell rang harshly, echoing through the dorm. Children stirred under thin blankets, some groaning, some scrambling awake in fear of the caretakers’ sharp eyes. Jia rubbed his arms, shivering, heart pounding. Another day, another round of rules. Another day to survive.

He glanced around. Strict caretakers patrolled the room, whispering threats, checking that no child moved out of line. And yet, Miss Suarez stood quietly at the back, her eyes soft, calm, as though she breathed hope into the space.

Breakfast came next. The smell of stale bread and boiled porridge filled the air. Children ate in silence, heads down, hands trembling. Jia’s stomach ached, but he had other things to think about. His bracelet and watch — his only connections to the life he had lost — could not be taken. Not by these people.

He glanced at the floorboards beneath his bunk. Maybe —just maybe— he could hide them there. But he wasn’t sure. And that’s when Sasha, tiny and bright-eyed at five years old, whispered from her blanket nearby.

“They don’t check under the floorboards,” she said, voice barely audible. “I hide my things there. Shhh. Keep it quiet.”

Jia’s eyebrows lifted. Five years old. A child barely bigger than his lap, giving advice like she had survived years of this place. He nodded slowly, grateful but wary.

By the time the caretaker passed again, he had slipped his watch and bracelet into the small hollow beneath the warped floorboards. His heart raced, every shadow feeling like it could be the end of his fragile victory.

Miss Suarez’s eyes flicked toward him for a brief moment. A tiny nod, almost imperceptible, but enough. She would not stop him openly, but she saw. She understood. That was all he needed for now.

The rest of breakfast passed in tense silence. Children kept their heads down, spoons scraping against bowls. The strict caretakers moved like predators, glancing, noting, judging. Jia’s pulse slowed only slightly when he realized his secret had gone unnoticed.

After the meal, they were herded toward the next hall for the Headmaster’s morning assembly. Children shuffled in line, shadows stretched by the early sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Jia’s hands stayed pressed against the floorboards beneath his bed, keeping his small treasures close.

Sasha scurried beside him, tugging lightly at his sleeve. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “They don’t see everything.”

Jia glanced down at her small face, and for the first time since arriving, he allowed himself a faint, cautious smile. He wasn’t alone. Not completely.

Break Time and New Alliances

The bell for break echoed through the hall, and the children shuffled out into the yard. The cold air stung Jia’s face as he pressed his hands to his jacket, trying to make himself small. Everywhere he looked, eyes followed him,some curious, some hostile. He hugged the floorboards in his mind, wishing he could stay there, hidden from the world.
Sasha scampered ahead, tiny feet barely making a sound. She tugged at his sleeve, her eyes wide. “Come with me,” she whispered. “I know a quiet spot.”

They slipped to a corner behind a low wall, where the sunlight barely reached. For a few minutes, they just sat there, silent but safe. Sasha hummed softly, and Jia let himself relax a fraction, watching the other children scatter across the yard.

“You’re new,” Sasha said finally, voice almost too small. “Are you… scared?”

Jia shrugged. “A little. It’s… different here.” His fingers brushed the floorboards beneath his bed in memory. “I’m just trying not to get anything taken.”

Sasha nodded solemnly. “I hide my things there too. No one ever checks. Just… don’t tell.”

Jia allowed a faint smile. “Thanks.”

The quiet moment didn’t last long. From across the yard, a shadow fell over them. A taller boy, about twelve, stepped into their corner. He had sharp eyes, a mischievous grin, and a presence that made Jia’s stomach tighten.

“You two hiding from the fun?” the boy said. His tone wasn’t cruel, just teasing. “I’m Ethan.” His eyes flicked with a playful curiosity, lingering a moment on Jia.

Jia froze for a moment before answering. “Jia.”

Sasha tensed beside him, but Ethan’s grin didn’t fade. “Well, Jia, looks like you’ve got someone watching your back.” He nodded at Sasha, then glanced at Jia. “I like quiet corners. Mind if I join?”

Jia hesitated, weighing trust against caution, then gave a small nod. Ethan sat down beside them, careful not to crowd. For the first time since arriving, Jia didn’t feel entirely alone.

Miss Suarez watched from the edge of the yard, her hands folded over her apron. She didn’t intervene she didn’t need to but Jia caught the briefest flicker of acknowledgment from her eyes. It was small, almost invisible, but it was enough.

The three of them sat together until the bell called the children back inside. When they rose to return, Jia felt a new understanding settle in: in this place of rules, threats, and hidden dangers, alliances even small ones could make the difference between surviving and failing.

Nighttime in the Dorm: Miss Suarez

Night fell, and the dorm was quiet once more. Most children slept, trying to ignore the cold and the fear that seeped through the walls. Jia lay awake, pressing his bracelet and watch against his chest, listening to every creak, every shuffle.

A soft creak at the door made him tense. Most caretakers would have barked at the children to sit up straight, hands folded, eyes down. But this voice was different.

“Good evening, everyone,” a gentle voice said. A lantern swung into the room, casting a small, warm circle of light.

Miss Suarez.

She knelt by Sasha, who was trembling under her thin blanket. In her hands was a small, worn book. Her voice was soft, even, careful,not the harsh bark of the others.

“Tonight, we’ll hear a story,” she whispered. “About a clever little fox who outwitted the bigger, stronger animals by thinking fast and keeping his courage close to his heart.”

Sasha’s eyes widened, and she leaned closer, clutching the blanket. Jia shifted silently in his corner, watching her. He had seen plenty of adults here, but none like her. Her hands were steady, her face calm, her presence almost… safe.

The story continued, and one by one, other children peeked from their blankets. Some whispered questions, some laughed quietly at the fox’s clever tricks, but all were careful not to attract attention.

Jia’s fingers itched to reach for his bracelet, to hide it better, but he stayed still. Miss Suarez glanced at him briefly, just a flicker of a smile. No words. No lecture. Just recognition.

When the story ended, she closed the book gently. “Sleep well, everyone,” she said. Then, as quietly as she had come, she slipped back into the shadows of the hallway, lantern swinging softly, leaving the dorm warm and strangely calm for the first time.

Jia stayed awake a while longer, staring at the small circle of lantern light on the floor, feeling something he hadn’t felt in a long time: a spark of trust, fragile and quiet, that maybe,not all adults here wanted to hurt him.

Chapter Text

The Headmaster sat behind his polished desk, fingers steepled. His sharp eyes had noticed the boy again ,the one with the empty bag. Such defiance, such carelessness.

This one will either learn quickly or break entirely.

He had made the decision before breakfast even began. Jia’s belongings were to be taken away, and the boy would sit alone, missing both breakfast and break. Let him see how it felt to be powerless. Let him understand that the House did not forgive.

⸻

Jia sat in the dorm, clutching nothing. His bracelet and watch—his only connections to a world that no longer existed—were gone. The floorboards beneath him felt empty, hollow, mocking. Outside, children laughed, ran, and chased one another freely. The sounds cut into him, sharp and cruel.

He tried to focus on breathing, keeping himself small, but the hunger and boredom gnawed at him. The walls felt closer than ever, the room smaller, the punishment heavier.

A tiny voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Jia…”

Sasha’s small face peeked around the edge of the door. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and caution. “We can help you… if you want to explore.”

Jia blinked. “Explore?”

Ethan stepped into the doorway behind her, taller and grinning. “We need the keys first. One of the caretakers keeps them, but we can distract them. Then we can help you see the halls.”

Jia’s heart raced. Fear wrestled with excitement. He nodded. “Okay… but how?”

Sasha tugged at a nearby blanket. “I’ll drop this in the next room. He’ll come see, and you sneak the keys.”

Ethan rolled his eyes slightly. “And I’ll grab them. They’re hidden… under the floorboards. One of the bullies told me.”

Careful and quiet, they moved into position. Sasha dropped the blanket; the strict caretaker’s attention shifted. Ethan crouched and slid his hand under the warped floorboards, lifting a small bunch of keys.

“They’re ours,” he whispered triumphantly.

⸻

With the keys in hand, they returned to Jia’s dorm. His stomach fluttered with nerves and thrill. Together, they unlocked the small door leading to the inner hallways. For the first time since arriving, Jia stepped into empty corridors that stretched long and shadowed before him.

The lanterns overhead flickered, throwing harsh, shifting patterns across the walls. Cold air brushed his face. The hallways smelled faintly of damp stone and dust, the silence almost heavier than any noise.

Ethan grinned. “See? Not so scary.”

Sasha tugged Jia’s sleeve. “Quiet… the caretakers might still hear.”

They crept forward, peeking into rooms, ducking behind pillars, and listening to footsteps in distant halls. For the first time, Jia felt a spark of control. He could move, think, and act at least for a moment.

But every shadow made him tense, every creak set his heart racing. The punishment outside still lingered. His belongings were gone, and the Headmaster’s eyes were everywhere, even if unseen. One wrong move, one careless sound, and they would all pay.

Jia swallowed hard, trying to steady his racing thoughts. For now, this small adventure was his. It was freedom. It was danger. And it was the first step toward understanding the House—and maybe, just maybe, escaping it one day.

Chapter Text

By the time they had explored most of the hallways, the sun was already dipping, casting long, thin shadows across the stone floors. Somehow, no one had noticed they were gone. Jia’s heart thumped in his chest, equal parts relief and fear.

At the end of a long corridor, the final door loomed before them. The walls around it were a different material, cold and rough, almost as if they didn’t belong. The door itself seemed… off. Heavy, dark, forbidding.

“I don’t know, Ethan,” Jia said, his voice low. “I don’t think we can enter there.” His stomach twisted. The door gave off a strange, haunted feeling, like it was hiding something it didn’t want anyone to see.

“Yeah, we’ve wandered enough. Let’s go back!” Sasha squeaked, her tiny voice trembling as she tugged at Jia’s sleeve. Her whisper carried both fear and urgency.

“Come on, don’t be wusses,” Ethan said, stepping closer to the door. He shot a glance at Sasha. “Sash, do you have the lanterns?” He looked determined, motivation written across his face.

Jia swallowed hard, glancing at the dark door again. Something about it made his hair stand on end. But Ethan’s confidence, and even little Sasha’s hesitant trust, made him hesitate less. They had come this far. Could they really turn back now?

Chapter Text

The door creaked open, yawning wide, and darkness spilled out like ink.

“We are in so much trouble…” Sasha whimpered, clinging to my clothes. Without thinking, I scooped her up, resting her carefully on my hip. Her small body trembled against me, and I could feel her heartbeat racing.

“Give me the lanterns! We’re going down!” Ethan demanded, his voice cutting through the silence. His steps were confident, almost reckless, but there was determination in his eyes.

Each step we took made the hairs on my arms stand on end. The walls seemed to close in, shadows twisting and stretching as the lanterns illuminated them. The staircase spiraled downward, narrower and colder with every step, until the echo of our footsteps seemed to fill the entire space.

Halfway down, a faint sound made us freeze.

A child’s voice. Small, scared… calling something unintelligible.

Sasha clutched my shirt tighter. “Did… did someone live down here?” she whispered.

I swallowed hard, glancing at Ethan. His jaw was tight, but his eyes were alert. “Could be… let’s keep moving,” he said, but his voice wasn’t as steady as before.

The darkness pressed closer, the air damp and cold. Every shadow seemed alive, every flicker of the lanterns revealing strange angles of walls, stairs, and corners.

I tightened my grip on Sasha. This was no longer just exploration. Something about this place told me: we weren’t supposed to be here.

Chapter Text

We descended the last few steps, the lanterns casting long, trembling shadows across the stone walls. The voice came again, louder now, sharper—a mixture of anger and exhaustion.

From the far corner of the basement, a figure emerged from the darkness. His clothes were tattered, hair unkempt, and his eyes burned with a quiet, unbroken fire.

“Who… who are you?” I whispered, keeping Sasha close.

The boy stepped forward, chest lifted, voice steady despite the obvious months of isolation. “Name’s Gabriel,” he said. “Been down here… two months now.”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “Two months? How—how did no one notice?”

Gabriel’s lips twisted in a faint smirk. “Guess the House doesn’t care about a kid who gets in trouble. I fought, they left me. But they didn’t break me.” His gaze flicked to me, sharp and assessing. “And you… you’re new.”

Sasha clung tighter to my side. “Is… is he dangerous?” she whispered.

I shook my head, studying Gabriel. There was something fierce about him—not cruelty, but survival. Something told me that, though he had been forgotten, his spirit was still unyielding.

Ethan shifted, the lanterns trembling in his hands. “We should… we should take him with us.” he muttered.

Gabriel shook his head. “Nah. You’re here now. Might as well learn something.” His grin was faint, almost mischievous, but his eyes never left ours. “This place… it tries to break you. But some of us? We refuse to be broken.”

I swallowed hard. The basement was no longer just a forbidden place. It was a warning. And a lesson.

Gabriel leaned against the cold stone wall, watching us closely. “You didn’t think you could just sneak around, did you?” His voice wasn’t angry—more amused, sharp, and knowing.

“We… we just wanted to see the halls,” Ethan said quickly, trying to sound confident.

“You’re lucky no one noticed yet,” Gabriel replied. “But luck runs out fast here.”

Sasha shivered in my arms. “I… I don’t want to stay here too long,” she whispered.

I nodded, gripping her tighter. “We’ll leave soon,” I told her.

We started the climb back up, careful, silent. The lanterns flickered, and shadows danced along the walls. Every creak of the stairs made my stomach twist. Gabriel followed, stepping lightly, but even he seemed tense, as though he had learned the hard way that one mistake could ruin everything.

Finally, we pushed the basement door open. The sudden brightness of the upper hall almost blinded us. Relief surged until the sharp voice cut through the air.

“What in the world…?”

A caretaker stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, face red with fury. Her eyes locked on us immediately, narrowing.

“You! All of you! Out of your dorms, out of line, and down here? Do you have any idea what rule you just broke?”

Sasha whimpered, burying her face against me. Ethan stepped forward, trying to sound brave, but his voice shook.

Gabriel didn’t flinch. He straightened his shoulders, giving off a quiet confidence that somehow made the caretaker pause—but only for a moment.

“This isn’t over,” she snapped, pointing at us. “All of you, back to your dorms. Now!”

We obeyed, hearts hammering, lanterns swaying. The thrill of exploration had vanished, replaced by the icy reminder that the House was always watching. Every step back up felt heavier, every shadow a warning.

As the dorm came into view, I realized something: this place could break you, but you could also learn to survive. Gabriel’s presence had shown me that much. But if we weren’t careful… next time, the caretaker might not just send us back.

Chapter Text

The caretaker’s footsteps echoed sharply as she stormed down the hall, lantern swinging in one hand. Her eyes, sharp and unforgiving, locked onto us immediately.

“You! All of you! Out of your dorms, breaking isolation, and sneaking into the basement?” she shouted, voice echoing against the stone walls.

Sasha whimpered, pressing against me. Ethan squared his shoulders, trying to look brave, but the tremor in his hands betrayed him. I could feel my stomach twist into knots.

The caretaker’s glare swept over Gabriel, leaning casually against the wall. “And you,” she snapped, pointing at him. “Don’t think your time down there excuses you. One wrong step, and it will be worse.”

Gabriel didn’t flinch. His eyes burned with quiet fire. “I know,” he said calmly. “And I’ve learned. You won’t break me.”

The caretaker’s hand clenched into a fist, but she moved on to the others. “Jia! Ethan! Sasha!”

She waved her hand sharply. “Privileges revoked. You will perform extra chores today, and during your next meals, you will sit alone. No talking. No games. You will learn that rules exist for a reason.”

Sasha’s eyes filled with tears. “I… I’m sorry…” she whispered.

“You should be,” the caretaker snapped. “And as for you,” she said, glaring at Ethan, “you should know better than to lead others into trouble. Consequences are your responsibility too.”

I clenched my fists, staring at the floor. My bracelet and watch—my only ties to the past—were gone. I could feel the weight of the House pressing down on me, heavy and suffocating.

The caretaker turned to leave, her voice cold. “This isn’t over. Any further disobedience, and it will be far worse.”

As the footsteps faded, a silence settled over us. Sasha sniffled quietly, hiding her face against my chest. Ethan muttered something under his breath, frustration and fear tangled in his words.

Gabriel remained calm, leaning against the wall. “See? The House doesn’t forgive mistakes. But surviving it… that’s the lesson. You’ll learn, or you’ll break.”

I swallowed hard, the truth in his words sinking in. The basement had been dangerous. The punishment had been harsh. But Gabriel’s strength reminded me that it was possible to endure, to survive and maybe, one day, to take control.

Sasha clung to me tighter as we began our chores, each step heavier with the weight of our mistakes. But deep down, a spark remained: we had seen the basement. We had met Gabriel. And for the first time, I understood that survival wasn’t just obeying the rules it was knowing when to bend them, and when to take risks.

Chapter Text

The morning light crept through the narrow windows, casting long lines across the floorboards. Jia sat on his bunk, legs pulled close, staring at the empty space where his bracelet and watch had once been. The punishment yesterday had left him sore, tired, and wary but it had also lit a spark.

He listened to the shuffle of the other children, the soft scolding of caretakers, the clink of dishes during breakfast. Every sound carried meaning. Every pause or whisper was a clue.

They think they have control, he thought. But I’ve seen the cracks.

He remembered Gabriel, sitting in the basement with that quiet fire in his eyes. Two months alone, forgotten, left to rot and yet he was still unbroken. Jia clenched his fists. If Gabriel could survive that, then he could survive here too. He just had to learn.

Breakfast passed slowly. Jia noticed patterns he hadn’t before:
• Caretakers walked in predictable loops.
• Some children were too scared to speak up, but a few whispered and laughed when no one was looking.
• The floors beneath the beds weren’t checked often, especially during meal times.

He made mental notes, careful not to look too obvious. Small movements. Watch. Learn. Wait.

During chores, he tried tiny experiments: shifting a hidden item slightly, sneaking a glance at a closed door, noting where shadows fell. Each small test was a piece of the puzzle. Each observation added another layer to the plan forming in his mind.

Ethan and Sasha caught his eye during one quiet moment. Their expressions were curious, worried. He offered a small nod, careful not to speak too loud. They had been part of yesterday’s adventure he could trust them. Maybe.

By the time night fell, Jia’s mind was alive with possibilities. The basement, the dorms, the hallways, the storage rooms all mapped in his thoughts. He imagined routes, timing, and distractions. Each scenario ended the same way: him, finally, moving freely through the House.

He lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding. One day… I won’t just explore. I’ll get out. And I’ll be ready.

The orphanage was strict. Dangerous. Unforgiving. But Jia had learned something yesterday: courage, cleverness, and patience were stronger than fear. And tomorrow… tomorrow, he would start testing the limits.

Chapter Text

Morning came the same way it always did—too early, too cold, too loud. Jia dragged himself out of bed, the floorboards creaking under his feet. The routine was familiar now. Predictable. A cage with scheduled meals.

But today… something felt different.
Caretakers watched more closely. The halls felt tighter. Gabriel’s warning echoed in the back of his mind.

If you stay long enough… you stop feeling like a kid. You start feeling like a problem.

After breakfast, a voice called from the front hall. A couple stood by the door,clean clothes, gentle smiles, holding hands. Jia didn’t think much of it until he saw Sasha running toward them, eyes wide and bright.

“They’re here for me,” she whispered, bouncing on her toes.

Jia froze. “You’re… you’re getting adopted?”

She nodded so hard her curls shook. Then she suddenly grabbed him around the waist, burying her face in his shirt.

“I’ll miss you,” she mumbled.

Jia swallowed. His arms wrapped around her without thinking. “You’ll be okay,” he said, though his chest felt tight. “You deserve this.”

Miss Suarez helped Sasha gather her things. The couple knelt to her level, smiling softly, welcoming her with open arms.

And just like that,Sasha was gone.

Her bed sat empty. Too empty. The dorm felt wrong without her tiny laugh or her humming at night.

Ethan sat beside Jia after chores, pretending to tie his shoe. “At least one of us got out,” he muttered.

The words stung. Jia didn’t answer at first.

Then Ethan added quietly, “I tried once. Before you came.”
He didn’t finish the story. He didn’t need to. The bruises Jia had seen weeks ago suddenly made sense.

Jia looked toward the window, the fading light turning everything gold. Outside, shadows stretched across the yard, long and thin like reaching hands.

“I’m not staying here,” Jia said finally. His voice didn’t shake. It sounded like something solid. Something new.

That night, when the dorm went silent and the moonlight fell across the empty bed beside his, Jia sat up. Heart steady. Thoughts sharp.

Sasha had a way out because she was chosen.

But no one was coming for him.
Not now. Not ever.

If he wanted freedom, he would have to take it himself.

He lay back down, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow would be the first step.

Chapter Text

Jia woke before the bell.
Something tugged at him—a strange quiet, a tightness in his chest. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, the room still hazy with early morning light.

Then he saw it.

Sasha’s bed, neatly made. Too neatly.
And resting on the pillow was a small folded piece of paper with his name scribbled across it.

Jia’s breath hitched.

He reached for it with careful hands, as if touching something sacred. The paper was soft and warm, like she’d held it many times before leaving it behind.

He unfolded it.

⸻

To Jia,
I am sory I did not say ever thing. I was scard I wuld cry.
Thank you for sitting with me and not letting the big kids be meen.
You are the best big bruthr I ever had.

Miss Suariz says my new home has flours and toys and a swing. I wish you culd come too.

Do not be sad. You are brave and smart and you can go anywere. I no it.

I will watch the moon so it can tell you gud nite.
Love, Sasha

⸻

His throat closed.
He read it once. Then again.
Then he pressed the letter to his chest.

A single thought formed, sharp as a blade:

“She got out. And I won’t.”

Not if he stayed here.
Not if he kept waiting.
Not if he kept pretending the orphanage wasn’t crushing him from the inside out.

He tucked the letter under his shirt—close to his heart—and stood.

Today, he would try.

He didn’t know how far he’d get.
He didn’t know what waited outside the walls.

He only knew one thing:
He couldn’t stay.

⸻

The day crawled by.
Caretakers barked orders. Children whispered. Ethan glanced at Jia during chores, eyes narrowing like he knew something was stirring beneath the surface.

At lunch, Ethan slid onto the bench beside him.
“You look… different,” he said quietly.

Jia didn’t answer.

Ethan sighed. “You’re gonna do something stupid, huh?”

“Not stupid,” Jia whispered back. “Necessary.”

Ethan stared at him. Hurt flashed in his eyes. “You’ll get caught.”

“Maybe.”
Jia looked down at Sasha’s letter hidden inside his shirt.
“But I can’t stay here anymore.”

Ethan didn’t try to stop him.
He just nodded once—slow, resigned. The kind of nod that said:
I understand. I wish I didn’t.

⸻

When night came, the orphanage settled into its usual rhythm:
Footsteps fading…
Doors locking…
Children snoring softly…

Jia waited.

He had studied the patterns for days.
He knew the route with the fewest patrols.
He knew where shadows pooled thickest.
He knew which floorboards cried out and which stayed silent.

When everything grew still, Jia slipped off his bunk.

Bare feet.
Quiet breaths.
Sasha’s letter pressed against his ribs like a second heartbeat.

He moved through the dorm, weaving between bunks, sliding toward the door.
His fingers trembled as he reached for the latch.

This was it.
This was the moment.

But before he could lift it—

A voice whispered from the dark:

“Jia… don’t.”

He froze.

Ethan sat up in his bed, eyes glistening.

“You’re really going,” he said, voice barely a breath.
“You’re really leaving me here.”

Jia swallowed. “I’ll come back.”

“You won’t,” Ethan whispered.
“You’re like Gabriel. You don’t break. You run.”

Jia hesitated… then whispered:
“I have to try.”

Ethan didn’t answer.

He just turned away, pulling the blanket over his head.

Jia stared at him a moment longer then turned the latch.

The door clicked open.

Cold air swept in.

Jia stepped into the hallway.

He didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

The dorm was quiet. Too quiet.
Jia pressed Sasha’s letter under his shirt, a small weight of warmth and courage against his chest.
He glanced at Ethan, who gave a barely-there nod. No words. None were needed.

Every step was calculated. Floorboards groaned under the weight of children’s dreams, and Jia knew which ones would scream if he moved the wrong way.

The hallways stretched before him, long and shadowed. The faint glow of lanterns flickered along the walls. He crept forward, careful, ears straining for the shuffle of caretaker boots.

Halfway down the corridor, a patrol caretaker’s voice echoed faintly, calling a child’s name. Jia froze, pressing against the wall. His heart thumped so loudly it could have given him away.

Step by step, he moved, silent as a shadow. He could almost feel the wind from outside—the taste of freedom just beyond the walls.

Then he reached the main gate. Locked. Thick metal bars.
He cursed under his breath. He’d counted on the route, but the lock was new. Someone must have changed it.

There was no time to think.
He scanned the walls, the side doors, even the basement exit he had explored every hallway before. Somewhere, he could slip out. He had to.

Footsteps. Closer.

Jia’s pulse skyrocketed.
He ducked behind a pillar, holding his breath as the caretaker’s shadow stretched across the floor. One wrong move, and it was over.

Then he saw it. A small window, just big enough to slip through.
He climbed carefully, muscles trembling, lanterns flickering. Freedom was inches away.

A sudden shout ripped through the hall.
“HEY!”

The caretaker had spotted him.

Jia’s stomach sank. He froze for a heartbeat—too long.
And then… he ran.

Chapter Text

The corridor was silent except for Jia’s shallow breaths. The window had seemed so close freedom just a few steps away.

Then the shout came again.
“HEY!”

Jia froze, heart hammering. Footsteps echoed, faster, heavier. The caretaker’s shadow stretched across the floor like a dark hand. He had no choice he ran, blindly, toward the side door he had memorized.

A firm hand grabbed his shoulder.
“Got you!” the caretaker barked.

Jia twisted, struggled, but the grip was iron. His stomach sank. He had been caught.

“You think you can sneak out of my orphanage? Do you?” The caretaker’s face was red with anger, eyes sharp and unforgiving.

Jia didn’t answer. Words would get him nowhere.

The punishment was swift.
• Isolation for the next day, locked in a small, cold room.
• Chores doubled for the next week.
• Confiscation of anything personal he still had left.

He was dragged back to the dorm, Ethan watching silently from his bunk. Their eyes met, and for a second, no words were needed.

Later, when the caretaker left, Gabriel’s voice appeared in the corner, the other side of the isolation room, quietly, like a shadow.

“You ran,” Gabriel said simply. Not a question, just a statement.

“I… I almost made it,” Jia admitted, slumping against the wall.

Gabriel shook his head slowly. “Almost isn’t enough here. You’ll need patience. Observation. Timing. And sometimes… you need to wait.”

He crouched down to meet Jia’s eyes. “You have brains. You have courage. Don’t waste it. Learn from today.”

Jia nodded. His stomach churned with frustration, but beneath it, determination simmered.

Sasha’s letter still tucked under his shirt reminded him why he needed to try. She had found freedom. And so could he but only if he learned, planned, and survived the rules of this place.

That night, Jia lay on the cold floor of his isolation room, staring at the ceiling. The walls seemed to close in, but Gabriel’s words echoed in his mind.

“Patience, observation, timing…”

Tomorrow, he would start learning.
And one day… he would leave.

Chapter Text

The door creaked open, and light sliced into the tiny isolation room. I lifted my head slowly. My neck ached, my legs were stiff, and my eyes burned from the dimness I’d been trapped in. A caretaker stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Out. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

I pushed myself up, stepping into the brightness like a creature leaving a cave. The hallway smelled like detergent and old wood. My stomach growled loudly. I hadn’t tasted a real meal in days.

Ethan was waiting for me at the end of the hall. He tried to look casual, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets — but when he saw me, his face lit up in this quick, unguarded way.

“Took you long enough,” he said, trying to sound annoyed. “Thought you died in there.”

Gabriel snorted. “Please. He’s too stubborn.”

His voice was rough, but he sounded… lighter than before. After being rescued from the basement, the shadows around him had thinned, even if he still walked like he expected the ground to collapse.

Ethan looked at Gabriel for a second too long, then quickly looked away. His ears went pink. Gabriel didn’t notice but I did, kind of. I didn’t understand it fully, but something about it made Ethan’s voice go soft when he said Gabriel’s name.

They led me to the courtyard where the weak sun warmed my face. It felt unreal to breathe fresh air again.

“You survived,” Gabriel said. “That’s something.”

“I always do,” I muttered.

As we sat under the old twisted tree, my hand went automatically to my wrist.

Empty.

My chest tightened. My father’s watch. My mother’s bracelet.

Gone.

Confiscated when they dragged me out of the hall. I had been so dazed, so scared, I didn’t even remember where they had taken them.

I needed them back.

I couldn’t leave this place not without those.

I swallowed hard and forced my voice to stay quiet. “Ethan… where do they put stuff they take?”

Gabriel answered first. “Storage room. Near the west hall stairs. The caretakers dump everything there unless the headmaster wants it.”

Ethan tensed. “Why? What did they take?”

“My bracelet and watch.”

Gabriel’s face tightened with something like understanding. He didn’t ask questions he just nodded, slow and serious.

Ethan leaned forward. “We can find them. We just need to watch the shift schedule. The keys change hands at noon.”

He was trying to sound confident, but his eyes flicked to Gabriel again, like he wanted reassurance.

Gabriel shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

I felt something warm in my chest. They weren’t just saying it — they meant it.

That afternoon, while everyone else ran around during break, I stayed near the hallway. Watching. Counting footsteps. Memorizing routines. Caretakers walked like machines predictable, repeating paths, checked corners at the same time every day.

Gabriel noticed me observing. “You’re planning something,” he whispered.

“I’m preparing,” I corrected.

He smirked. “Same thing.”

Ethan joined us, holding a ragged ball that Sasha used to play with before she left. His voice dropped. “We can try a test tonight. Just a small one. See how blind they really are.”

I nodded. My heart thumped with something like hope.

A tiny one. But still — something.

A Quiet Moment

Before bed, Ethan sat beside Gabriel on the edge of a bunk. Their shoulders brushed. Ethan pretended not to notice. Gabriel pretended not to mind.

I climbed into my own bunk and watched them out of the corner of my eye. Ethan’s voice dropped to a softer tone he didn’t use with anyone else.

“You okay?” he asked Gabriel.

“Yeah. Better than before,” Gabriel answered. “Thanks to… you know. You guys.”

Ethan smiled without meaning to.

I didn’t understand all of it, but I understood enough: they cared about each other in a way that didn’t need many words.

As the lights clicked off and the dorm fell quiet, I stared up at the dark ceiling.

I would get my bracelet and my watch back.
Then I would leave this place.

Not tomorrow.
Not yet.
But soon.

And this time, I wouldn’t fail.

Chapter Text

The hallway smelled of old wood and detergent, just like every morning. I crouched behind a stack of folding chairs, peeking around the corner. The supply closet loomed ahead, its rusty lock taunting me. Gabriel crouched beside me, elbows on his knees, quiet as a shadow.

Jia, ever the overly dramatic distraction, waved wildly from across the hall. “Over here, over here!” he called, flailing like a lost windmill. A caretaker glared at him immediately, and I buried my face in my hands. Why is he like this?

Gabriel shook his head, trying not to laugh. “He’s making it worse.”

I clenched my jaw. “Just… just keep your eyes open. If they see us, it’s over.”

Ethan stepped closer to the lock, whispering, “I can do this… just stay ready.” He fumbled with the keys we’d managed to snag from the schedule notes, hands shaking ever so slightly. Gabriel noticed it too he raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

I caught Ethan’s gaze for a split second, and something in his expression made my chest twist. There was… something there, something unspoken. I had to focus.

Click. The lock yielded. Ethan grinned triumphantly, relief washing over him. We slipped inside, rifling through the shelves. My bracelet and watch sat there, just like I remembered.

“Got it,” I whispered, snatching them up.

Behind us, the hall suddenly echoed with the familiar click of the caretaker’s shoes. Jia had completely failed
he froze in place, blinking like a deer in headlights.

“Shit,” Gabriel muttered. “Move!”

We dashed from the closet, hearts hammering, and dove into a nearby alcove just as the caretaker rounded the corner. The man paused, suspicious, then shook his head and walked off. Jia trailed behind, still waving awkwardly, muttering apologies.

When the danger passed, we collapsed against the wall, breathing hard. I handed the bracelet and watch to Jia, who hugged them like they were precious relics.

Ethan lingered, gaze fixed on Gabriel. My stomach did a weird flip, he looked like he was about to say something, something important. Gabriel noticed, a small frown knitting his brow.

“I…” Ethan started, voice low, almost vulnerable. Then he shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Never mind.”

“What?” Gabriel asked softly.

“Nothing,” Ethan muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

He leaned back against the wall, pretending to tie his shoes, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. I could see it he wanted to say more, but something held him back. I didn’t understand it fully, but I knew enough: friendship was worth more than risking this fragile bond.

Gabriel, sensing it too, nudged him lightly. “You okay, idiot?”

Ethan nodded, forcing a grin. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s just get out of here before Jia does something else dumb.”

We left the hallway, hearts still racing, the sun hitting our faces as if nothing had happened. But I knew one thing for certain: even if words weren’t spoken, something had shifted between them. And maybe, just maybe, that something was complicated enough to change everything eventually.

The light outside felt unreal, too warm for what almost happened.

Jia knelt in the grass, clutching the watch and bracelet to his chest like they were newborn puppies.

“They’re safe!” he cried. “I thought—oh gods, I thought they were gone forever!”

“Relax,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes. “You’re gonna crush them.”

Jia didn’t relax. He hugged them harder.

Ethan laughed, the first real laugh in a while. “He’s going to fuse with them at this point.”

I watched the three of them—the reckless one, the brave one, and the one who felt too much and said too little.

Their laughter drifted up to the rooftop lines and broken windows like something rare and fragile.

Moments like this didn’t last here. They never did.

But for now?

For now, it was enough.

Chapter Text

The dorm was quiet, the usual hum of the orphanage muffled by walls and shadows. I could see Jia fidgeting with the bracelet and watch in his hands, eyes darting to the door like it might open and swallow him whole. Gabriel slipped in silently behind the caretakers’ patrols, like he was part shadow himself. Ethan froze for a second, watching him.

“Gabriel?” Ethan whispered. “How—how did you even get past them?”

Gabriel shrugged, settling onto the edge of the bunk. “Years of practice. Escaping this place isn’t about running away it’s about knowing what matters most.”

Jia looked at him, wide-eyed. “Escaping… I can do it, right? You think I can?”

Gabriel’s gaze softened. He crouched slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve tried a lot of times, kid. Ran, hid, begged… nothing worked. But you? You’re smart. You have guts. Escaping isn’t the hardest part it’s surviving after. Planning, thinking, knowing when to wait, even the townsfolk will snitch if there’s a hint of money involved.”

Jia swallowed hard, holding the bracelet and watch tighter. “I… I don’t know where I’d even go.”

“You’ll find somewhere,” Gabriel said gently. “You always do. Just… make sure you take care of yourself, okay?”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a worn teddy bear—Sasha’s, faded but still soft. “Take this,” he said, handing it to Jia. “If you find her… give it back. I think she will need it, if we had more time I’ll have told you what’ve done with people’s …stuff.”

Jia’s eyes went wide. “Sasha…” He hugged the bear close to his chest, almost trembling. “I’ll… I’ll find her.”

Ethan stayed quiet in the corner, watching. And then he noticed it the way Gabriel’s posture had changed, the weight of his gaze. Something shifted, and it struck him: Gabriel wasn’t trying to escape anymore. That wasn’t his goal. His focus wasn’t running. It was helping, protecting, guiding.

Ethan stepped closer, words catching in his throat. “Gabriel… I get it now. This isn’t about running, is it?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No. Not anymore. It’s… helping others, making sure someone else can make it where…” He paused,sallowing disappointment “I couldn’t.”

Ethan swallowed hard, chest tight. He took a slow step forward and wrapped his arms around Gabriel in a hug. A quiet, grounding hug. “Then I’m staying,” he whispered. “With you. Here. I’ll help. I won’t leave.”

Gabriel stiffened for a heartbeat, then relaxed just slightly, resting a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Alright… alright.”

Meanwhile, Jia shifted, the reality of what they were doing settling in. “So… tonight?” he asked nervously.

Gabriel nodded. “We’ve been planning, but I suggested waiting. Timing is everything. If the caretakers notice… it’s over.”

Ethan’s eyes glimmered with certainty. “No. I feel it tonight. We go tonight. Ï don’t think the Headmaster is in today, haven’t seen him at all, which is good news for us.”

Jia blinked. “But… where would I even go?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But somewhere… somewhere safe. Somewhere that isn’t here.”

Gabriel stood, moving to the door. He peered out, checking the corridor. “Then let’s make it count. Quiet. Fast. And remember… your life doesn’t belong to them.”

Ethan followed him, stepping past the bunk, glancing at Jia. “Ready?”

Jia nodded, clutching his belongings and Sasha’s teddy bear like a shield.

Together, in silence, they slipped past the dorm doors, hearts pounding, shadows stretching around them, and a feeling of hope flickered like a candle in the dark.

Chapter Text

The dorm was unusually quiet, save for the soft creak of the floorboards under Ethan’s careful steps. Gabriel leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes tracing the shadows as if expecting them to shift. Jia sat on his bunk, knees pulled up, clutching his bracelet and watch to his chest. Sasha’s teddy bear rested beside him.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Jia whispered, voice trembling. “What if I get caught? What if I… fail?”

Gabriel crouched beside him, calm and steady. “You’ll get caught if you panic. You’ll fail if you don’t think. You’ve been planning this. You’ve got guts. That’s more than most kids in this place can say.”

Jia nodded but didn’t look convinced. “I… I’m running toward something, right?” he murmured. “But I don’t even know what it is yet.”

Gabriel’s eyes darkened for a moment. “Sometimes running isn’t toward someone. Sometimes it’s away. I know that better than anyone. I’ve run from a lot… but it never stopped me from finding who I was supposed to protect next.”

Ethan, sitting on the edge of the bunk, glanced between them. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said softly. “We can… at least see you out. Just to make sure you get started right.”

Jia looked at them, wide-eyed, overwhelmed. “Even after just… three months?”

Gabriel smiled faintly. “Three months can change more than you think. You’ve mattered to us. And that counts.”

A heavy silence fell. Then Gabriel stood, offering his hand. “Come on. Let’s walk a bit before you… go.”

⸻

The three of them slipped down the hall like shadows. Ethan in front, careful and alert. Gabriel behind, silently watching their steps. Jia in the middle, shoulders tense, but moving with purpose.

The conversation flowed quietly, long and winding.

“I ran once,” Gabriel confessed softly, “from something I thought would break me. I ran for months. And I learned… running isn’t the solution. Protecting the people who can’t protect themselves—that’s worth staying for. That’s what I want now.”

Jia glanced at him, absorbing every word. “So… maybe I’m not just running for me?”

“Exactly,” Gabriel said. “Sometimes we run to figure out what we’re running for.”

Ethan’s voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. “I don’t know if I could do it, leave like this.”

Gabriel smiled faintly at him. “Some of us aren’t meant to leave. Some of us are meant to guide. That’s why we’re here for you.”

They reached the dorm door, a heavy wooden slab with a lock that had seemed trivial in daylight. Jia’s hand went to the handle first, key in the lock… and it didn’t turn.

“Shit,” Ethan muttered, pulling the key out and trying again. “It should work…”

A soft voice called from the hallway. “Need a hand?”

Miss Sucriva, the only caretaker who’d ever shown a kind word or a smile, stepped forward, key in hand. “Jia, dear… time for you to go. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

Jia blinked, stunned. “Miss Sucriva?”

“Go,” she said gently, unlocking the door. “And don’t look back. But… remember someone cared.”

Jia’s eyes filled with tears, but he nodded. He turned to Gabriel and Ethan.

“I… I’ll miss you,” he whispered.

Gabriel crouched, wrapping him in a firm, protective hug. “You’ve got this. Go. Live. Don’t let anyone stop you.”

Ethan joined, hugging both of them in a strange, warm tangle. “Be careful. Promise me you’ll be smart.”

Jia pulled back, clutching his bracelet, watch, and teddy bear. “I’ll… try.”

And then, before the hallway could catch him, he slipped through the door and disappeared into the dark night.

Gabriel and Ethan lingered, silent. The door closed behind him.

Gabriel exhaled slowly. “He’s really gone.”

Ethan’s hand brushed against his arm. “We did right by him, didn’t we?”

Gabriel nodded. “Yeah. We did. That’s all we can do here.”

They turned back into the dorms, the quiet now feeling heavier but in a way that was somehow… right.

Chapter Text

The halls were asleep.

Not quiet asleep. As if the plaster itself was dreaming, heavy and slow, holding its breath while Jia crept through the dim corridor. He clutched Sasha’s teddy bear under one arm and his small pouch of belongings under the other. Everything he owned could fit against his ribs.

He reached the back stairwell and waited, heart pounding.

Footsteps approached soft, practiced, familiar.

Gabriel emerged first, his silhouette sharp in the half-light. Ethan trailed behind, rubbing sleep from his eyes but trying to look braver than he felt.

“You really doing it,” Ethan whispered.

Jia nodded. “I have to.”

Gabriel knelt so they were eye level. “Then we walk you out.”

They slipped together through the dark, the three of them moving like a single careful creature. Ethan checked corners the way Gabriel had taught him. Gabriel walked silently behind Jia, his presence somehow both protective and grieving.

No one spoke until they reached the old storage hallway the farthest point before the exit door.

Jia stopped, hugging the teddy closer. “Thank you… for coming.”

Ethan shook his head. “Of course we came, idiot.” His voice cracked. “You think we’d let you leave without a proper goodbye?”

Gabriel leaned his shoulder against the wall and exhaled. “Listen… before you go, you should understand something.”

Jia looked up.

“When I ran,” Gabriel said, voice low, “it was because something was chasing me. Something bad. Something heavy.” His hands twitched, as if remembering restraints no one else could see. “But you… you aren’t running from anything.”

Jia didn’t answer he wasn’t sure he could.

“You’re running toward something,” Gabriel continued. “Even if you don’t know what it is yet. That’s braver than anything I ever did.”

Jia swallowed. Hard. “I’m… just trying to find somewhere I belong.”

“Exactly,” Gabriel said softly.

Ethan nudged him with his shoulder. “And when you do find it, you better write us a letter or something. Like, I dunno — send a pigeon. A really smart pigeon.”

Jia laughed despite his tears. Ethan grinned, proud of himself.

Gabriel pulled him into a hug first. Strong, steady, warm the kind of hug that held pieces of a childhood he never got to keep.

“Survive,” Gabriel whispered into his hair. “And don’t look back unless you really want to.”

Ethan hugged him next, arms trembling. “Be safe, okay? I know you think you’re tiny and fast but you’re also stupid sometimes. So just-just be careful.”

“I will,” Jia whispered.

They reached the final exit door. The metal was cold. Heavy. Ethan pulled out the stolen key.

“Ready?” he asked.

Jia nodded.

Ethan slid the key into the lock.

Twisted.

The lock didn’t turn.

“…Huh?” Ethan tried again, harder this time. Clink. Nothing.

Gabriel frowned. “Don’t tell me—”

Ethan muttered a curse under his breath. “Why now? Why tonight—”

A soft click echoed down the hall.

All three boys froze.

A shadow stepped forward tall but slow, familiar in posture and fragrance.

Miss Sucrva.

Her round glasses glinted in the moonlight spilling through the window.

She didn’t scold. She didn’t gasp. She simply lifted her keyring and fit one into the lock with quiet precision.

Before she turned it, she spoke.

“Some children,” she said softly, “run because the world has already taken too much from them.” Her eyes drifted to Gabriel. “And some… run because their future is waiting somewhere else.”

Her gaze settled gently on Jia.

“You are the second kind.”

Jia felt his throat close.

She unlocked the door.

Cold night air brushed their faces.

“Go, child,” Miss Sucrva whispered, stepping aside. “And may the world be kinder to you than it has been here.”

Jia stepped out, moonlight washing over him. He turned back one last time.

Gabriel raised two fingers to his temple in a faux salute. Ethan smiled through the tears he wouldn’t let fall.

Jia smiled back.

Then he ran.

Not away.

Toward something.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And for the first time, it didn’t sound like a prison locking…
but a beginning opening.

Chapter Text

From there, I was finally alone.

And I ran.

Not the running I had done when villagers chased me, shouting for blood.
Not the running I had done when caretakers dragged me back by the collar.

No.

This was different.

This was freedom.

I sprinted through the empty streets, air sharp in my lungs, the moonlight slicing across the cobblestones. I jumped over puddles, skidded around corners, laughed under my breath like a kid who finally outran a nightmare.

But halfway through the village square, something hit me.

Where… would I even go?

I ducked behind the baker’s shop, pressing my back against the cool brick wall. My breath misted in the cold morning air. My family… I didn’t have anyone left. My parents had been only children, and now… I was, too.

Tears slid down my cheeks before I could stop them. All I wanted — all I had ever wanted — was to hear my father’s laugh or feel my mother’s hands on my face. But all that was left of them now were a bracelet and a watch.

I hugged them both, holding them like lifelines. I couldn’t stay here Gabriel warned me the villagers were willing to snitch for a few coins.

I remembered the rhyme from the yard, whispered when I told on a bully once:

“Snitches get stitches and get put in a ditch, left to die and rot.”

Maybe… tonight… a ditch could hide me.

The ditch wasn’t comfortable.
It wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t safe.

But it was deep, shadowed, and half-covered by crooked weeds and tonight, that was enough.

I slid down into it, mud soaking through my knees, cold air biting at my fingers. I pulled Sasha’s teddy bear close and tucked my chin down. The ground smelled like wet earth and rotten leaves.

I tried not to think about the orphanage.

About Ethan’s face when the door closed.

About Gabriel’s hand on my shoulder.

About Miss Sucrva’s quiet smile.

But thinking about anything else felt impossible.

I pressed my forehead against my arms and breathed slow. The night hummed with distant crickets until it didn’t.

Voices.
Torchlight.
Boots in the dirt.

They were coming.

I froze, barely daring to breathe.

“Spread out! That brat couldn’t have gotten far!”

The first voice belonged to Mr. Karven, the caretaker who always smelled like burnt onions and talked like every sentence offended him.

A second voice joined sharp, smug.

Miss Dalia.

The one who hated Miss Sucrva.

“She helped him,” Dalia hissed. “I saw her near the west door. She’s always been soft. Too soft. I’m telling the Headmaster she opened it for him.”

A cold shiver crawled up my spine.

Miss Sucrva…
She had risked everything.

The voices moved closer. Torches bobbed above the ditch like angry fireflies.

“Headmaster said the villagers will help search,” Karven muttered. “He already told them what the boy looks like.”

My chest tightened.

Please don’t look down here. Please don’t—

“And they’re eager,” Dalia added, laughing. “You know how much money they could get? Enough to feed a family for a month if they catch him.”

Karven scoffed. “They’d drag him back by the ankles if it meant a coin.”

They stopped right above me.

I held my breath so long my chest burned.

Dalia lowered her voice, suddenly excited.
“You remember John Headlock, right?”

Karven groaned. “Who doesn’t? Man’s half-legend now.”

“I heard he got rich catching that other runaway boy. What was his name…?”

Karven snapped his fingers. “Gabriel. That was years ago. The kid escaped three times, and each time Headlock dragged him back like a hunting dog.”

Dalia snorted. “Headlock says that boy was like catching smoke with bare hands. But he did it. Three times! And they paid him good money for it.”

Karven spat into the dirt. “Tch. We could use someone like him tonight.”

My stomach twisted.

Gabriel…
He never told me someone hunted him like an animal.

No wonder he walked like something was always behind him.

No wonder he warned me not to get caught.

The torchlight shifted away. Boots crunched farther up the road. Voices moved, scattering, arguing.

And slowly… slowly…

the night swallowed them again.

But I didn’t move.

Not yet.
Not even when my legs went numb.

I stayed curled in the ditch, clutching Sasha’s bear until my fingers ached, waiting for the world to calm.

When it finally did, I let out a shuddering breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

When the first light brushed the rooftops, I slipped out of the ditch.

I wore my mother’s bracelet on my wrist, tracing the familiar shape. I clenched my father’s watch in my palm. It was all I had left.

I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I just ran.

Gravel crunched under my shoes as I sprinted toward the east road, the road every runaway seemed to take. Gabriel had said this once: the first road out of the village was always the same, and anyone chasing would always expect it. Maybe that was why I chose it.

Maybe someone else expected that too.

Because the moment I hit the road, I saw him.

He stepped out from behind a horse cart, broad-shouldered, boots heavy against the gravel, a smug grin stretched across his face. The air seemed to bend around him.

“Well, well…” he drawled, tilting his head. “Looks like I caught myself a runner.”

I froze, chest tight. My legs felt glued to the road.

“I’m John Headlock,” he added, voice low, almost flirtatious, like he was playing a game I didn’t understand. “I get paid to find boys like you. To catch them, remind them… why running isn’t worth it.”

His eyes danced over me like I was a puzzle. “But don’t worry, little one. It’s nothing personal… mostly.”

He lunged before I could react. My arms flailed, but his grip was iron. He twisted my wrists behind my back and tied them with rough rope from his cart, knotting them tight enough to hurt but not cut.

“Easy now,” he purred, leaning close, voice dangerously soft. “You’re not going anywhere tonight. Not without me knowing.”

I struggled, kicking at the ground. He laughed — low, pleased, unnervingly intimate — as if he enjoyed the chase as much as the capture.

“See, I’ve caught runaways like you before,” he said, tightening the rope. “Boys who thought they were clever, thinking the world owed them freedom. Gabriel? That one gave me a real fight. Three times he ran. Three times I brought him back. And every time… he learned something and the final time…he lost something, I was his first maybe I can be yours.”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to learn anything or lose from him.

He tried to lift me toward the horse cart. My stomach lurched, my heart pounding. I twisted and shoved, but his grin widened.

“You can’t fight me forever, sweetling,” he said, voice soft, teasing. “And even if you run, the road always brings you back to me.”

John froze, still holding me, and instinctively positioned me in front of him and I felt something hard.

His eyes narrowed, lips curling into that same smug grin, but now it was mixed with irritation.

“Here comes the bane of my existence,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking to the approaching car.

The vehicle slowed. The woman stepped out hair pinned perfectly, clothes crisp, eyes sharp and piercing. She scanned the scene like a hawk.

John’s grin faltered for a moment. Even with all his confidence, there was tension now a recognition, a complicated history he couldn’t hide

I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t understand the danger fully. But I could feel the air change around us — she wasn’t here to rescue me yet, but she was someone important, someone who made even John Headlock pause.

Chapter Text

A car slowed down beside us. A woman stepped out — hair pinned perfectly, clothes crisp, eyes sharp enough to cut steel. I didn’t know her, but her presence made my chest constrict.

John tightened his hold on me. “Don’t move a muscle, sweetling,” he said, voice low and teasing.

The woman’s eyes scanned me. Then they locked on John.

“I’ll make this simple,” she said, voice smooth but dangerous. “I want him. You’ll let me take him, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

John chuckled, that irritating, flirty sound, and leaned closer to me again. “Oh, I love a good negotiation. You’re offering coin? Fine… but rules are rules.” He tapped my shoulder with a finger. “I like playing my games. And games, my dear, are more fun when everyone thinks they’re winning.”

I didn’t know what to do. “W-who are you?” I asked, voice shaking.

She glanced at me. Her gaze softened for the tiniest fraction of a second. “Someone who doesn’t want to see you hurt. But I can’t make you trust me. Not yet.”

John laughed, low and sharp. “Trust? Ha! That’s a laugh. And as for you,” — he gestured toward the woman — “don’t think you’re walking away with me running this show. Coin or not, I decide who goes where. And this boy? He goes with me.”

I pulled at the rope again, panic rising. “P-please! Don’t take me! I don’t belong to anyone!”

John’s grin widened. “Belong? Oh, little one… that’s cute. But you will belong eventually.”

The woman stepped closer, her voice colder now. “Headlock, enough games. Take the coin and let him go.”

John smirked, letting his eyes linger on hers for a second too long. Then — almost lazily — he reached for a satchel in the cart. Coin? Maybe. He pretended to hand it to her, his fingers brushing hers. “Fine. I’ll take your money,” he said, voice oily. “But rules are rules…”

Before she could react, he yanked me up, tugging me toward the horse cart.

“W-what?!” I shouted, terrified, flailing.

“Rules,” he said with a wink, “mean I get to take him.”

I barely had time to scream as he threw me into the cart, the rope biting into my wrists, the sun blinding me, my stomach twisting in fear.

The car pulled behind, but she didn’t stop. Her eyes were fixed on John and me, hard and sharp as daggers.

And then I understood — she wasn’t just watching. She was tracking.

hugged my knees to my chest, shivering, trying not to cry. “I-I don’t even know who you are…” I whispered to her car as it disappeared behind us.

Her eyes never left me, and I knew one thing: if John Headlock tried to cross her again, she would kill without hesitation.

But for now… I was at the mercy of the man who seemed to take pleasure in my fear.

And the world outside the orphanage has become bigger, crueler, and far more dangerous than I had ever imagined

The rope bit into my wrists every time the cart wheels hit a stone. John Headlock hadn’t bothered to tie me gently why would he? I was cargo, not a person.

He whistled as he rode the cart, reins in one hand, the other tucked smugly into his coat.
“That woman…” he muttered, flicking a pebble. “Absolute bane of my life. Every time something good happens to me, she shows up like a curse wrapped in lace. Thinks she can buy anyone with those fancy cheques of hers.”

I didn’t reply. Couldn’t, really—my throat burned from crying. My nose was stuffed. My breath kept hitching.

He didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

“She even offered me a car once,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Said my horse looked ‘olden days.’ Can you believe that? I told her,‘Darlin’, this horse has more brains than your whole household.’”

I squeezed my eyes shut. one… two—

My stomach dropped.

Where was three?

My mother’s bracelet clinked weakly against my watch, but the third piece—Sasha’s teddy—was gone.

No. No, no, no

I choked, a fresh sob forcing its way up. John finally glanced back at the sound.

“Oi,” he said. “Don’t start that sniveling. I’ve brought back boys in worse shape than you. After a few days, you’ll thank me for it.”
He grinned, like this was all a joke.
“Funny thing about Mrs. Bane, though—”
He winked.
“We used to mess around before she decided marriage was a better investment. Wouldn’t shock me if one of her kids is mine. Probably the only funny one in that serious house… if she didn’t kill it.”

He laughed at his own comment.

I felt sick.

And then—

A car engine growled behind us.

John froze mid-step. “Speak of the devil.”

He turned, plastering on a smug grin.

“Here comes one of the Banes of my existence.”

The navy blue car rolled to a stop, quiet and expensive. Mrs. Bane stepped out like the world shifted its weight to make room for her.

Chapter Text

The world jolted beneath me.

The cart slammed over a rut in the road, wooden wheels shrieking, and my shoulder struck the sideboard so hard it knocked the breath out of me. John didn’t even look back—he was too busy yanking the reins, cursing at the horse, laughing like this was a game he’d already won.

“Hold on back there, Jia!” he called over the wind. “Or don’t. Not my problem!”

My fingers clawed at the rope tied around my wrists. It burned. My vision blurred. I tasted iron.

The road turned sharply.

John didn’t slow.

The horse skidded, hooves slipping in loose gravel—then—

CRRRK—THUD—

The cart lurched sideways.

The world snapped out from under me.

For a second, I was weightless.

Then the ground slammed into my ribs.

Dust exploded around me. Something cracked—maybe the wheel, maybe a bone—and I curled up instinctively as the cart toppled, the horse screaming as leather straps snapped.

My breath hitched, sharp and shallow.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t move.

Footsteps crunched toward me—John’s boots. He kicked debris aside, muttering.

“Oh for—look at this mess,” he growled. “Stupid horse… stupid road… stupid kid…”

I felt his hand twist into the back of my shirt.

“Up you get,” he said, dragging instead of lifting. “The Bane of my existence is probably right behind—”

A car engine roared.

John froze.

His grip loosened for the first time.

I blinked through the dust.

Out of the settling haze stepped Mrs Bane, her coat whipping behind her like a dark wing as she marched forward.

Her eyes locked onto me first.

Not John.
Not the broken cart.
Me.

“Let him go,” she said.

It wasn’t loud.
It didn’t have to be.

John scoffed. “You again. Didn’t get enough talking down to me earlier?”

She ignored him completely and knelt beside me.

Her gloved hands hovered over my arm, my shoulder, my bleeding scrapes—searching carefully, gently, like she was afraid to make it worse.

“Can you move, Jia, Thats your name right?” she asked.

Her voice softened only for me.

“I… I think so,” I whispered.

John tugged the rope hard, yanking me backward. Pain flared through my shoulder.

Mrs Bane’s head snapped up.
“Headlock, if you pull that rope again, I will break your fingers. One by one.”

John grinned. “You could try.”

She rose slowly. Straightened her coat. And looked almost bored.

“You really are pathetic,” she said. “A grown man wrestling with a tied child.”

“It’s a living.”

“No,” she corrected. “It’s a stain.”

John barked a laugh. “You think your money makes you better? You’ve always thought that.”

Her jaw tightened. “Let go of him.”

“Oh, I’ll let go,” he said cheerfully.
“When you pay me again.”

She exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. “I already paid you. And you ran off with him.”

He shrugged. “Should’ve given me more.”

“John,” she said slowly, like she was speaking to a particularly stupid dog,
“you could be holding a king’s ransom and you would still find a way to complain about the packaging.”

He winked. “You liked my packaging, once.”

She didn’t blink. “Release him.”

“No.”

Her eyes cooled into something dangerous.

“John,” she repeated, “I’m losing my patience.”

“And I’m losing daylight,” he snapped. “I’m taking him back to the orphanage. The headmaster pays better than you, anyway.”

Something inside me twisted.
My stomach sank.
No.
Not back there.

I pulled weakly at the rope.

Mrs Bane knelt again, closer this time. “Jia,” she said quietly, ignoring John entirely. “Does it hurt to breathe?”

I nodded.

Her hand hovered near my cheek—never touching—but the gesture alone made my eyes sting.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured.

John scoffed. “Safe? With you?”

She rose one final time.

And this time, her smile was cold.

“John Headlock,” she said,
“if you walk away with that boy, I promise you will not make it far.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” she said pleasantly.
“A prediction.”

He hesitated.

For the first time.

My heartbeat thudded in my ears.

Mrs Bane stepped forward—not toward him, but toward me.

And John’s bravado cracked.

He yanked the rope, dragging me upright, using me as a shield. “Stay back, or the kid gets hurt.”

Mrs Bane’s expression didn’t change.

“John,” she said softly,
“You already hurt him.”

The wind slowed.
The dust settled.

And for a single, stretched second—
no one moved

Chapter Text

John tugged at the ropes again, smirking as if he was toying with both of us.
“I’m not letting him go, Bane. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Mrs Bane’s eyes narrowed, calm but icy.
“John, you know the rules of your little game. One more child comes back hurt under your watch, and Headmaster Arlo won’t pay you another coin. Not a single one. You lose the orphanage contracts. Every last one.”

He paused, pretending to laugh. “Ah, the famous contracts… yes yes, but I—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” she interrupted, stepping closer. “This isn’t about your ego. It’s about the one thing you actually care about: money. Your precious contracts. Your little reputation as the man who ‘handles runaways.’ You jeopardize it, you’re done.”

John’s grin faltered. A flicker of calculation ran across his face. He glanced at the ropes around me, the horse, the cart… then back at her.
He muttered under his breath, almost to himself, “Well… wouldn’t want to lose that.”

He released the reins. Slowly. Exaggerating every movement like he was still in control.

“Get… get him yourself then,” he said, leaning back. “But don’t think this changes anything. You still owe me for this. All of it.”

Mrs Bane didn’t flinch. She looked at me, then back at him. “Not a cent until he’s safely out of your hands.”

John rolled his eyes, letting go of the last rope. “Fine,” he said with a dramatic flourish, “you win… this time.”

He leapt off the cart, tugging the reins for the horse to follow. The cart jolted slightly as he scrambled away, still muttering, still smug—but the fight was over.

I sagged in relief, every muscle trembling. My wrists tingled where the ropes had cut into my skin. My chest heaved.

Mrs Bane knelt beside me, hands gentle, brushing dust from my shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” she asked softly.

I shook my head, barely able to speak. “I… I think I’m okay.”

She studied me for a moment, quiet, then nodded. “Good. We’ll get you somewhere safe now.”

Somewhere safe. I barely remembered the feeling of that word, but for the first time since the orphanage, it didn’t scare me

Chapter Text

The engine of the sleek black car hummed low and steady, a quiet power that made the air inside feel taut. Mrs Bane slid the passenger door open for me, her coat brushing the edge of the frame like a dark wing. Her gloved hand hovered near my arm but didn’t touch me. She didn’t rush me. She never rushed anyone.
I’m
“Get in,” she said to the driver, voice precise. “Take us to the main house. Discreet. No stops.”

The driver’s hands were firm on the wheel. Eyes forward. No questions. Only the steady hum of tires on the road and the occasional creak of leather seats.

I climbed in slowly. My wrists burned, my arms ached where the ropes had cut into my skin. My ribs protested every movement. Dust still clung to my hair and clothes. My chest heaved from the adrenaline and the weight of everything I had just survived.

Mrs Bane watched me with her sharp, calculating eyes, the kind that seemed to see everything—fear, exhaustion, guilt, even the trembling in my hands.

“You… didn’t lose anything important, did you?” she asked, voice soft but firm.

I froze, my throat tight. “I… I think I lost something,” I admitted quietly, my voice trembling.

Her eyes sharpened. “What?”

“My teddy,” I whispered, clutching my mother’s bracelet like it could fill the empty space. “Sasha’s… I must’ve dropped it somewhere. When… when I ran.”

She tilted her head slightly, a small flicker at the corner of her mouth. Not a smile, exactly, but something calculating and unreadable.

“Hmm,” she murmured. “That’s unfortunate.”

I looked at her, panic flaring. “Will… will we get it back?”

Her eyes softened for the briefest moment, a ghost of warmth that felt almost human. “Perhaps. But not right now. You’re safe for the moment, and that matters more.”

I hugged myself, pressing the bracelet and watch against my chest. The teddy wasn’t there. The soft weight of it was gone, and the emptiness stretched inside me like a hollow ache. My mother’s bracelet jingled softly, my father’s watch cold under my fingers, and still the teddy… gone.

The car glided on. Trees blurred past like streaks of green and brown, and I realized for the first time that I could breathe without fear of someone dragging me back. Not fully. Not completely safe. But alive.

And alive, for now, was enough

The car hummed along, the world outside blurred by the speed and sunlight. Mrs Bane glanced at me, her eyes narrowing slightly, thoughtful.

“Do you… have any family?” she asked quietly.

I blinked, confused. My heart tightened. “Family?”

She nodded. “Aunties, uncles… grandparents… anyone?”

I swallowed hard. “No… both my parents were only children.” My voice was almost a whisper. “They… they’re gone.”

There was a pause. I stared down at my hands, the bracelet jingling softly against my wrist, the watch cold beneath my fingers. My grip tightened.

Mrs Bane’s gaze softened slightly, though her expression stayed calm, unreadable. “I see. Then… you really have no one to watch over you.”

I didn’t answer. I hugged myself tighter, feeling smaller than the car, smaller than the world.

“You’re lucky… in a way,” she added after a beat. “You survived. Most wouldn’t have made it this far.”

I let out a shaky breath.

She continued, her voice softer now, almost reflective. “Especially for your age. I have a daughter and a son around your age. I don’t think they’d be able to live without me… or their father. And you… well… you’ve had to survive without anyone at all.”

Her words pressed on me, a mix of warmth and ache. My chest tightened, my fingers clutching the bracelet harder. Survival felt heavy—lonely—but for the first time, maybe not entirely hopeless.