"What? A few months ago was my 12th birthday! We celebrated it—kinda... Remember?" Liam said, confused.
Murphy didn't answer. He turned on his phone's front camera and held it up.
"Look."
Liam stared at the reflection. That wasn't a twelve-year-old. His face was older, sharper. His body—broader.
"You're not twelve, Liam," Murphy whispered. "I think... they kept you in that pod for over three years. And they did *something* to you. Look at yourself."
Liam leaned closer. His hair was longer. His frame—more developed. Like someone who'd been training.
"I'm sorry," Murphy murmured.
Liam said nothing. He sat in silence, stunned. He recalled all the times he was being injected by some thick substance before that day he was stabbed by a syringe in the neck.
A while later, he noticed Natalie steering toward a dense patch of trees. Panic hit him.
"You're gonna hit the trees!"
His voice was deeper. Rougher. But before he could question it, Natalie shouted, "*Revelare!*"
The ground beneath the trees split open like a trapdoor. The car dipped and sped down a hidden path. When the slide ended, they rolled onto a sleek, stone road—and there it was: a beautiful building rising before them.
*Blackridge Academy*
Inside, they made their way to a quiet room. A woman stood by the window, speaking to a man.
"Aunt Eva?" Liam asked, voice uncertain but eyes locked.
She turned. Her eyes widened—and then she ran to him.
"My little boy," she sobbed, pulling him into her arms. "What have they done to you?"
Liam stood frozen, then felt a hand on his back. He turned—James.
Without a word, James hugged him tight, holding on as tears streamed down both their faces.
Liam wiped his tears and looked James in the eyes. "How's Zinnia?"
"Yes, of course!"James nodded quickly.
"Is there some kind of problem?" Liam asked, sensing tension.
James hesitated—but smiled instead.
"I'm just glad we got you back."
Mrs. Leonardo stepped toward the table. "Let me get you something to eat. And clean clothes."
Liam gently grabbed her hand. His voice broke. "I just want to see Mom and Dad. Please?"
She handed him clothes and sent him to clean up. He scrubbed off the sticky residue they had kept him in and got a haircut. Minutes later, he was on his way home.
His mother was dusting the picture frame that held Liam's photo. She pressed it to her chest, eyes wet with tears.
Then came the doorbell.
"Nile, can you get that?" she called, wiping her eyes. She heard the door open. "Who is it?" she asked—but no one replied.
The silence unsettled her. She stepped into the living room.
Her husband stood frozen by the door.
"Who is it?" she repeated, walking toward him. Then she saw the boy standing in the doorway.
White hair, golden eyes, it had to be Liam!
All three of them stared. None of them moved. None of them spoke. Liam swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost choking him. His lips trembled.
"Mom? Dad?" he whispered.
They rushed to him and pulled him into their arms, their tears finally breaking free.
"It's been five years," his mother breathed, her voice breaking as she held him tighter, like letting go might erase him all over again.
They stood there for a while—just holding him—crying, trembling, trying to believe this wasn't another dream.
Eventually, they led him inside, not wanting to let go even for a second. They sat together in the living room, huddled close.
Later, Liam was sitting, resting his head on her lap as she stroked his hair gently, as if trying to memorize the feel of him all over again.
"You must be starving," she said softly. He nodded.
"What do you want to eat?" She lifted his chin, meeting his eyes.
"Anything my mom cooks," he sniffled. The emotion still hung thick between them.
Nile sat beside her, equally overwhelmed, but questions burned in his mind. The moment his wife stepped into the kitchen, he patted the couch.
"Come here, son."
Liam sat beside him.
"All these years... It's been hell without you," Nile said, wiping his eyes. "Where were you?"
"I was captured by a group of scientists," Liam began, but the doorbell cut him off.
Nile glanced toward the door, something shifting in his expression. He touched Liam's shoulder, then stood. Before opening the door, he looked back—his eyes clouded with sorrow.
Liam watched, confused. What was behind that look?
Then, just as Nile opened the door, a long spear shot through his abdomen. Blood burst from his mouth.
"Dad!" Liam screamed, scrambling to catch him.
But Nile collapsed to his knees, his eyes beginning to fade.
"Please don't leave me!" Liam cried out, his voice cracking as he peeked outside. No one was there. "Dad, please!"
All the tears he'd held back since morning finally poured out.
Nile reached up, touched Liam's face, and smiled through the pain, his cheeks already soaked. "It's good to have you back," he whispered.
Then his hand slipped away—and he was gone.
Liam couldn't breathe. He sobbed uncontrollably, gasping between cries. Through his blurred vision, he spotted a raven perched on the fence.
Now he understood why James had looked so broken that morning.
Everything around him faded into black.
And in the mirror, only one image remained—Liam, clutching Cris and Shawn's hands like lifelines.
"That's how my life was destroyed," he said, his voice shaking. Cris was in tears. Shawn's eyes were brimming too.
"I'm often more comfortable around kids," Liam continued. "I think I try to find my own lost childhood in them—the one that was taken from me. I look for that spark, the dreams in their eyes. It gives me a little peace... knowing that some children still get to live.
And when I see a kid who doesn't, someone who looks lost or hurt—I just want to be there. So they know they're not alone. So they don't end up in a place of regret like I did.
And I know... it might seem strange, creepy even, the way I sometimes watch them walk home—or follow them just to be sure they're safe. But I can't help it. I don't want them taken by someone like Samantha."
It took me a year to move on from all of it. Maybe I never really did. And now… I'm reliving that pain all over again.
Sometimes, it feels like there's a thorn lodged in my heart—it stings every time something reminds me of those dark years." He wiped his tears and looked Cris in the eyes.
"It was that night when I saw Zinnia again for the first time in eight years. She didn't know I was her brother. She hated me—thought I killed Uncle James." He gave a faint smile. "And please believe me when I say... she wanted to tell you everything. But you fainted in the hallway that day. She told me how much you mean to her."
Cris gently wiped his tears. "I know. I'm not mad at her. I just want you both to be okay now." She smiled.
"Well, one thing's clear," Shawn said, patting Liam's shoulder, "You were braver than the owners of those skulls."
They all turned toward the mirror, where a shadow twisted and vanished into dust—revealing a stairway lined with greenery.
"Only way is through," Liam said, gripping their hands as they stepped forward.
Their journey to find Zinnia had taken them far. From tense companions to trusted friends, they had grown closer, stronger. They were ready to face whatever came next. But the road hadn't been easy—twisting memories, painful fears, and the weight of the past pressed hard.
Still, they moved forward—together.
While my friends were growing stronger, I was fading—slipping deeper into dreams that felt more real each time. Every time I opened my eyes, I was somewhere new. And this time... I truly thought I had died.
I woke in a field, warm sunlight pouring over me. Everything shimmered unnaturally bright, too perfect to be real. Was I dreaming again? Or was this heaven?
I lifted my hands—they glowed in the light. The tall grass swayed gently in the wind. I sat up, brushed my hair behind my ear, and watched the sun rise. Then I stood and walked forward, letting the grass glide against my palms.
To my left, under a wooden hut, I saw a couple kissing. The woman was pregnant, glowing with happiness. As their lips parted, she noticed me and smiled.
Her eyes pulled me in. Something in me stirred—restless and aching. I stepped toward her, faster now, as if drawn by a force I didn't understand.
But the moment I stepped into the hut, the world snapped.
The window scene was gone. The woman was no longer standing—she was on a bed, frozen in horror. Her husband lay beside her, a sword driven deep into his back.
I staggered, heart pounding. The man's eyes met mine—burning with rage. I knew that face. My biological father.
And then I felt it.
The weight in my hand.
I looked down.
The sword was mine. And its blade was still inside him.
He stumbled back and fell. I rushed out of the hut to follow him, but the moment my foot crossed the threshold, everything changed.
Now I was watching Liam and Dad arguing. Dad was begging him to leave—pleading—and when he finally turned away and walked off, a wound suddenly tore open on Dad's shoulder. Blood spilled down his shirt.
"What have you done?" he gasped, staring straight at me before collapsing.
I looked down.
There was a gun in my hand.
Mom rushed to his side, eyes wide with horror. "You killed him!" she screamed.
I shook my head, backing away—then the scene shifted again. I was in a graveyard. A funeral. Everyone was there. Friends. Classmates. Even the ones who died that night.
Then Don stepped forward.
His face held more pain, more fury, more betrayal than anyone else. "You did this," he growled. Then he shouted, voice shaking, "*Our blood is on your hand!*"
But the last word—*hand*—was twisted, louder, deeper, almost inhuman. His scream didn't end—it stretched on, breathless and suffocating. My heart pounded. I couldn't wake up.
Then something covered my face—like a hand, massive and cold, pressing hard. Voices exploded all around me, everyone yelling at once.
And I jolted awake.
Coughing. Gasping for air. Just like every time.
Monroe's cruel eyes were already watching me.
But somewhere else—my friends hadn't given up yet.