The room was dark and it was small.
Now too small for a man who used to have so much power over a little girl. He sat on a cheap plastic chair that kept squeaking as he moved uncomfortably. His hands were shaking really bad, trying to hold the phone up to his ear. He couldn't keep it steady as the phone felt too heavy like a rock.
He didn't want to make this call but he had to do it anyway.
It rang on the other end just twice before the voice came in, smooth and soft. Almost too soft.
"You are not supposed to call, Vane." the voice said calmly.
Vane swallowed hard. "Sir, I... I had a huge problem. The girl. She ...she....got out."
"When?" The voice shot up.
"Three... three... day ago... I... I." He stuttered.
The line went quiet. Not a static kind-of silence, but more like a vast, consuming silence that swallowed the air in the room. Vane could hear his own heart beating too fast against his ribs.
"Three days," the voice repeated, slow and careful. "Three whole fucking days, Vane. And you waited until now to tell me?"
"I'm... I couldn't... I've tried searching for her..." Vane pleaded.
"Did you really think you could find her first and make your mess good? You think you are that smart?" The voice was calm, yet chilling. "The only job I offered you was to keep her locked up. Away. The one thing you had to do for me. You failed at that, and you failed me."
Vane wanted to scream. "She....she.... is just a child, sir! She didn't go far!"
"She is not just a child. She is a Kensington!." The voice tone shifted, becoming harsher. "They are all conditioned. She is fifteen. You tempered her."
The realization hit Vane like a deafening slap on his face. He wasn't actually safe.
"The brothers' eye are everywhere. They never truly stopped looking for their sister." The voice paused, allowing the weight of the next sentence to settle. "The instant their systems registers a biometric ping, then it's over."
"A ping... how can I....?" Vane was desperate.
"You cannot do anything now. Unfortunately, your days of usefulness has come to an untimely end, Vane. I will put better people in place." The voice gained a triumphant edge. "Now, give me the last known location. You owe me one final action. You have a location, right? Or were you really this dumb and useless?"
Vane, now cornered and terrified. "The main street... near the old factory zone. There was a car accident. Someone hit her, sir. I saw the flash news report. But I couldn't trace it."
"A car accident. How convenient. An injury will ground her, making her far easier to retrieve." The voice dropped to a final, deadly whisper. "Thank you, Vane. Now, disappear from the face of the earth while you still have the chance. Because if I find you first before the Kensingtons do, I will delightfully wipe you out."
The phone clicked dead.
"Fuck!" Vane threw the phone against the wall, watching it shatter to a million pieces.
--------------------
Andras lowered his sleek phone, placing it gently on his glistening glass desk. He sat in his office that felt less like a place of business and more like a museum of intimidating power. The entire wall behind him was floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a stunning, impeccable view of the city skyline.
He was a man built for this kind of environment. He swiveled his chair slowly.
"Vane was always incompetent," Andras murmured to the empty room.
Andras reached for a control panel integrated into his desk. He pressed one button underneath. The view outside instantly changed. The glass wall, which had shown the city, now transformed into a full-screen, high-resolution surveillance map.
The map centered on the very street Vane had mentioned; the old factory zone. A red highlight dotted where the accident reportedly happened. Andras walked towards the screen, zoomed in, his fingers moving with efficiency. He had built his own system and upgraded it over years which he was able to finance through countless clandestine deals. It was far too superior for tracking low-level movement or getting tracked.
On the screen, he spotted the black car, caught briefly by a traffic cam before speeding away. He zoomed in on the license plate.
Andras returned to his desk. He turned on his computer, typing vigorously on his keyboard that displayed the information on the license plate number on the computer screen.
"Victor Albright," Andras read aloud, a slow intimidating smile resting on his lips.
Victor's digital profile information populated instantly: petty fraud convictions, recent parole, a history of drug use.....
"Perfect.." Andras mused. Victor's criminal record meant he would never risk taking the girl to a hospital. She was grounded, hidden, and completely dependent.
He swirled his chair around, his eyes fixed on the map. He saw Victor's residence highlighted in the map; a prime target. He wouldn't risk sending Vane's old men. They were sloppy and had failed once.
Andras opened a secure messaging channel on his computer. The screen flickered green.
A.M: Initiate asset deployment. Priority: Retrieve package. Target: Female, 15. Albright Residence, Central District.
ASSET ALPHA: Confirming. What is the status of the target?
A.M Injured. Currently under the care of Victor Albright, a parolee. We have a 48-hour window. Move fast. Clean. Silent.
ASSET ALPHA: Understood. Mobilizing now.
Andras watched the green screen disappear. He reached for the control panel to change the view, as he relaxed into his leather chair, the entire city skyline reflecting in his calm yet predatory eyes.
--------------------
Marcus pulled the blanket around Elsa tight. "You can sleep in my room," he said, pointing down the hall. "You wanna see?"
He took her hands, lifting her up from the sofa as he led her to his room at the far end of the hall.
The room was the opposite of everything Elsa knew. It was a disaster, a small, vibrant storm of clothes, video game controllers, and paperback novels. It lacked the sterile silence of Vane's room. This mess felt less like a prison and more like an accident waiting to happen.
"I'll take the couch," Marcus insisted, flicking on a small, weak lamp. "You need the bed. It's more comfy. You have total privacy. No one comes in here, not even Victor."
Elsa looked at the bed. It was huge and messy. She stared at the thick duvet and the two fat pillows. It felt like a trap. She immediately felt the same fear she felt when Vane offered her a treat like that. She took a step back to stand behind Marcus.
Marcus noticed the hesitation, "Okay, fine," he conceded. "I won't force it. Sleep where you feel best." He picked up the duvet and one pillow from the bed.
"Here." Marcus handed them over to her as he walked out of the room.
The moment he was gone, Elsa picked up a novel not far from where she stood. It had a striking cover image. She dropped the pillow firmly against the wall, and lay down on the rug. It was furry against her skin and smelled of detergennt. She wrapped herself under the duvet. She slowly opened the book, tracing the first word with her thumb.
Suddenly, the door swung open. Marcus stood there, breathing hard, his face lit up with nervous excitement.
"Wait, don't read that trash," he whispered, motioning her to stand up. "You wanna see something cool? It's a secret. No one knows about it, not even Victor. It's my hiding place."
Elsa looked from the book to Marcus, confusion clouding her gray eyes.
He didn't wait for a response. He grabbed her hand again and pulled her out of the room, across the hall, past the kitchen, to a narrow door often mistaken for a utility closet. It was tucked between the linen storage and the laundry chute.
"Watch this," he murmured, his face close to the lock. He pressed a specific sequence of numbers and symbols into the old key panel. A soft click echoed. He pulled the door open, not into a closet, but into a deep, small, soundproof room tucked against the main structural column of the building.
The room was not too small for a hideout, filled mostly with old electronic equipment, painting supplies, and old brown boxes. It was dusty and smelled like old metal.
"This used to be the building's emergency maintenance bunker. Victor never even noticed it," Marcus bragged, pulling her inside. "I call it the Anchor."
He dragged two paint-splattered cushions from a corner against the concrete walls. They settled down, huddled in the quiet space.
Marcus started talking, excited to share his secret world. "I come here to read, away from Victor. For some peace and quiet. You can't hear anything going on from outside and they can't hear anything from here either. It's like being in space for a bit."
He talked for a long time about his life. He spoke without filter, revealing his insecurities, his frustration, and his desperate need for someone to hear him.
Elsa didn't speak. She just watched him, absorbing the humane truth of him. He was not a monster, but a hound of messy human emotion. He was simply trying to find his own safety.
Marcus finally stopped, running a hand through his messy brown hair. He leaned back against the concrete wall, suddenly self-conscious. "Sorry. I talk too much when I'm nervous."
He pointed to a rickety metal shelf crammed with wires, old circuit boards, and a dusty soldering iron. "That's my other secret. I was trying to teach myself code, thinking I could build an app or something to get us out of debt, you know? Damn stupid dreams." He picked up a small, dark device; a disassembled router and sighed. "It just makes me feel busy."
Elsa, however, wasn't looking at the messy shelves or the failed electronics. Her gaze was locked on a tiny, almost invisible air vent near the floor.
She pointed to the vent, then to the thick, bolted door. She spoke two words, the sound faint but clear, her accent almost foreign.
"Filter. Sound."
Marcus blinked, surprised by her voice. It was the first time she'd spoken without being prompted for her name. "Yeah! Exactly! It's all reinforced steel and lead lining. It's a vacuum. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out." He felt a rush of pride that she understood the room's true value. "Wait, how did you know that?"
She didn't answer directly. Instead, she gestured to the boxes of heavy cabling stacked in the corner. "What is…?"
"That?" Marcus grinned, excited she was engaging. "That's how I was going to wire this place for an emergency power bank. Batteries and stuff. It's ridiculous, I know. I was going to install a screen so I could watch old movies down here." He nudged her shoulder lightly. "You know, movies, music... freedom."
He saw a flicker of something in her gray eyes, not fear, but pure interest.
"I want to show you one more thing, then we can go back and eat that cold pizza," Marcus decided. He reached under a cushion and pulled out a wornout, black headset. It looked like a pair of simple headphones connected to an old MP3 player.
"This is the Anchor's main purpose. This," he said, holding up the MP3 player. "Have you ever heard music? Real music?"
Elsa shook her head, a small, quick motion.
Marcus's smile softened. "Then we start here." He carefully placed the padded headphones over her ears and pressed 'play.' The silence of the Anchor was instantly replaced by the clear, sharp sound of a single, melancholy electric guitar riff.
It was a sound that carried weight. Elsa stiffened at the roughness of the sound, her hands gripping the cushions.
The music swelled, adding drums and a sweeping, emotional melody. It was sadness and beauty, all at once, something she had never experienced. Her fingers loosened their grip as she allowed the sound fill her head.
She looked at Marcus, who was watching her reaction with patient interest and anticipation.
"Like it?" he mouthed, leaning close.
Elsa inhaled slowly. She removed one headphone slightly, just enough to speak the softest word she knew.
"Loud." she whispered.
Marcus let out a quiet breath of relief. "It is, Elsa. It's fun. It's supposed to be loud," he said. "But it is… good-loud, yeah?Not yelling-loud."
Elsa nodded slowly, her fingers finally relaxing from their knuckle grip on the cushion.
He looked at the tiny MP3 player. "Okay, that was 'Exit Strategy.' That song is about leaving everything. Let's play something that makes you feel like you've arrived." He scrolled quickly through his digital library, his excitement barely contained. "This next one, it's called 'Neon Heartbeat.' It makes me feel like I can run forever. Like nothing can stop me."
Marcus looked up at her, his eyes wide and bright in the dim light of the room. "You ready for the next level?"
Elsa placed the headphone back over her ear, voluntarily re-entering the wave of sound.
Marcus pressed 'play.'
The new track, "Neon Heartbeat," exploded in Elsa's ears. It wasn't the slow, melancholy sadness of the first song. This was pure energy; a driving, synthetic beat underscored by a frantic, soaring melody.
She didn't nod or speak. She simply leaned her head back against the concrete wall, letting the intense, chaotic pulse of the music take over. Marcus watched her, relieved, seeing the first true relaxation he had witnessed in her rigid body.
--------------------
Outside the small, soundproof room, the apartment was violently breached.
Victor had heard the faint, grinding whisper of the lock being compromised. He had slipped out of his bedroom to get a better listen, stumbling slightly in the dark hallway, his mind fuzzy from relief that the girl hadn't moved and his lingering hangover.
He was too slow.
The second the front door gave way, two dark shapes were inside. They were massive, dressed in lightweight gear, and moved in a cold motion.
Victor managed to gasp, "Who the....." before the first shade of person was already on him. A hand clamped over Victor's mouth and nose, cutting off his air supply and his cry for help.
The second person instantly secured his flailing arms with a nylon strap, twisting it quickly and sharply against his bone. Victor's muffled struggle did not stand a chance, it lasted not less than four seconds. He was lifted, zip-tied before his brain could register the danger.
The leader of the group, walked into the apartment holding a small, integrated tablet in his right hand while his other was tucked into his pockets. "Target confirmation: Victor Albright secured. Scan for main package, Kinn."
Kinn, quickly checked the sofa, where the messy blanket was tossed aside. He saw the cold soup in the bowl, the small bottle of water with the straw. Signs of recent activity. He moved toward the two bedrooms, checking Victor's first, then quickly dismissing Marcus's messy bedroom, deeming it irrelevant.
"Negative on main target, Alpha" Kinn reported, his voice a flat rumble through his mask mic. "Looks like she was here, but she's gone."
Alpha glanced at the main living space, his eyes skipping over the seemingly useless, narrow door by the laundry chute. It was too small to be a hiding place. The intelligence stated the package was injured and dependent. She wouldn't have fled far or fast.
"Retrieve Victor. The girl is wounded and will reappear," Alpha commanded. "We secure the bait."
They dragged Victor, who was now weeping silently and struggling and desperately fighting the restraints, back toward the entrance. His body made a sickening, rhythmic thump-thump-thump against the floorboards of the apartment. They pulled him out into the night, shutting the main door behind them.