Page 108 of Rescuing Aria

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I slide back into the shadows, pulse slowing. My breath catches in my chest, tucked behind cracked plaster and exposed wires. One boot scrapes nearby—then hope.

They walk past.

They don’t see me.

I wait.

Slow count to ten.

Then I’m moving again.

Ahead—something new. A door with a keypad and reinforced paneling. Fresh wiring runs along the molding.

Beside it—blood.

A thin palm smear. Downward drag. Not enough to kill. Enough to warn.

My stomach lurches.

Too small to be Aria.

But someone was here.

I don’t risk time with the keypad. Brute-forcing it in the dark might trigger a failsafe and bolt the place permanently.

I look. Behind the crates—barely visible—a recessed panel. Cleaner air slips through its seams.

An emergency hatch.

Slide latch. Manual.

I try it.

The creaking metal feels loud enough to wake the dead.

I slip inside.

And I know instantly?—

Too quiet.

Then it hits—the sound. Sharp, sudden.

Crash! A piece of furniture screeching across tile.

Voices yelling. Frantic.

A scream. Female. Young.

My blood turns to ice and starts to boil.

Aria.

No conscious thought—just adrenaline. Motion. Velocity. I don’t track where I’m going—I charge.

Past tumbled debris. Broken screens. A corridor spattered with aging blood.

Then—a corner.

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