I lurch sideways, my body no longer listening to my brain. Each step is a gamble. My legs forget how to move in sequence, and I crash into the glass again, leaving a smear of sweat and panic behind.
Another buzz.
“Thirty?”
I can’t breathe. My chest rises and falls too fast, each breath shallower than the last. Panic coils in my gut, rising like bile. There’s no corner to hide in, no shadow to disappear into. No way to dissociate, to drift, to escape—not when my body won’t even stand still.
I’m exposed.
On display.
And the worst part is, I know exactly what they’re bidding for.
“Sold, to number nineteen.”
The words land like a branding iron.
Now I know how cattle must feel at the county shows—tagged, priced, and passed off to the highest bidder. No one cares where they came from. No one cares what they leave behind.
I’m yanked from the room as quickly as I was thrown into it. This time, there’s no attempt at control, I’m dropped like dead weight, limbs folding beneath me as I hit the ground in a tangled heap. For a moment, I can’t even tell which way is up. My body won’t respond, like it’s been disconnected from my mind.
And that’s the strangest part—my brain is still working. Still me. Still thinking, still remembering, still screaming inside. But my body…
My body has betrayed me.
It’s limp, useless, hollowed out by fear and whatever they drugged me with.
“Chuck her in there with the others,” a distant voice says, careless, like I’m nothing more than a sack of grain.
Then I’m lifted—rough hands under my arms—and for a second I’m airborne, suspended in time. And then a sickening jolt tears through my skull as I hit the floor. Pain explodes in my ribs—something cracks, sharp and deep—and a searing burn radiates through my side. I try to breathe, but it’s like inhaling fire.
Then the nausea hits.
I retch violently, my stomach convulsing even though there’s nothing left inside. Bile and acid spill from my mouth, seeping through the gaps in the hood, sticking to my skin, hot and sour. I can’t wipe it away. I can’t even move.
I just lie here, broken and burning, the taste of vomit in my mouth and the sound of the door slamming shut behind me.
38
Cam
Mid pull-up, arms burning with that familiar fire I’ve come to crave, I already know she’s behind me.
Talia doesn’t need to speak, I can feel her eyes drilling into the back of my skull.
“You need to see this.”
I drop to the ground, sweat slicking my palms, heart still pounding from the exertion. My body is still battered to hell, but I don’t care. I need to make sure I’m in shape to fight these bastards, no matter how hard I push my body to get there.
But it’s not the workout that has my pulse spiking now. It’s her voice—low, tight, and edged with something I don’t like.
Dread.
I wipe my hands on my shirt and turn to face her. She looks like hell. The dark circles under her eyes mirror my own—evidence of another sleepless night spent chasing ghosts through digital shadows.
We’ve been combing through the dark web for hours, trying to trace the last ping—an alert that new girls were ready for auction. Every lead feels like a thread unraveling in our hands. Every click takes us deeper into a world that makes you question if hell is already here, and we’re just living in it.
But we’re close.
