Page 372 of Eternal
I headed straight to the desk and pulled the laptop from where I’d hidden it.
Damir moved around the other side, opening drawers and tapping along the edges, checking for false bottoms or hidden compartments.
I lifted the hem of my dress to pull the thin black cable from where it was tucked into the lining. A custom connector, magnetic, flexible, built to link my phone to almost anything.
I plugged it into the laptop’s port and opened the hijack app on my phone. The code deployed in seconds, tunneling into the system, eating through encryption one layer at a time.
Behind me, a drawer clicked open.
“Found it,” Damir said.
I turned my head and saw the folded invitation in his hand, matte black, embossed, expensive.This month’s sermon.
The laptop unlocked, screen flickering to life. I stayed low, fingers moving fast. Mail app. Dozens of messages. No subject lines that made sense. Code names, symbols, placeholders. I scanned until one caught my eye.
This Month’s Choices.
I clicked it. At first, it was a simple white background, but then the images loaded.
Rows of children. Lit in harsh, clinical light. Too many faces. Staring at the camera.Blank. Some smiling, the kind adults make you do when you’re scared.
Each one tagged. Names. Ages. Prices.
Like they were being sorted. Labeled. Ordered.
I stopped breathing.
Girls. Boys. Some looked barely five. Others maybe twelve, thirteen.
None of them looked real. Not in the way they should’ve. They were framed, displayed, like something to buy.
My throat closed. The screen blurred.
No, no, no?—
I blinked hard. I tried to swallow. I couldn’t. The nausea rose like a wave in my throat.
The office felt colder now. Smaller. Like it was pressing in. I looked away for a second. Then I looked back. Still there. Still real.
This was what they were doing. This was what we were standing inside.
And I snapped.
Not a flinch. Not a scream. Something ripped. Quietly. Deep. Inside me.
The screen blurred, but I saw everything. The faces. Their lives. The fear. The empty gaze.
I knew those eyes. Ihadthose eyes once.
It was quiet. But it was loud for people who understand that pain doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it stares.Waiting. Waiting for someone to finally end it.
A voice rose up from the bottom of my chest.
Not mine. Hers.
The girl I used to be. The one they locked away.
The one who learned to stay quiet. Stay small. Stay alive.
