The man in the dark coat handed us off to a woman in a gray uniform. Her hair was scraped back so tight it made her face look hard, like it was carved from stone. She didn't smile. Didn't even blink much.
"Names," she said in a sharp accent, holding a clipboard like she was ready to write us down as inventory.
We told her. She didn't write them—just looked us over like she was memorizing the shape of us instead.
The hallway smelled like bleach and boiled cabbage. The floors were so clean they almost shined, but not in a nice way—more like a hospital. Somewhere down the corridor, a door slammed. The crying got louder.
The boy next to me finally whispered his name. "Alexei." He said it so quietly I almost didn't hear. The girl's was "Mira." She didn't whisper. She looked the woman straight in the eye when she said it.
We were led past room after room—metal doors, small windows too high to see out of. Sometimes I caught a flash of a face looking through the glass before disappearing.
The woman stopped at a dormitory with rows of iron beds lined up like soldiers. The mattresses were thin, and the blankets were all the same dull gray.
"This is you," she said. "Boys left, girls right."
Mira didn't argue, but I saw her grip her backpack tighter before following another uniformed woman through a separate door.
Alexei dropped onto the bed beside mine without saying anything. His feet dangled above the floor. I sat down too, the springs squeaking under my weight.
For a while, nobody came in. Just me, Alexei, and the distant sound of crying from somewhere deeper in the building. It wasn't constant—sometimes it would fade, then come back sharp and sudden, like a wound reopening.
I leaned toward him. "What is this place?"
He picked at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "They take kids here. Some go away. Some… don't." His voice trailed off, and he kept his eyes on his lap.
Before I could ask what he meant, the gray-uniformed woman came back. "Lights out in ten minutes," she said in her clipped, cold tone. "No talking after."
The overhead bulbs buzzed and flickered. My stomach twisted in knots.
But I told myself it wouldn't matter. The Heroes would find us. That's what they did—rescue people, stop bad guys, make things right. I'd seen them on TV back home, shaking hands with leaders, saving cities. They had satellites, special teams, the kind of people who could track anyone, anywhere.
In my head, I pictured it—the heroes bursting through the doors, their insignias gleaming on their shoulders. The gray-uniformed guards would freeze, then drop their weapons. Someone in a black tactical suit would kneel in front of me, smiling, saying, "You're safe now, Ryan. We've got you."
I held onto that picture like it was a lifeline. The heroes was too good, too strong to let a place like this keep going. They had to be on their way already.
That night, lying in the dark, I could still hear the kids who hadn't stopped crying.
And I kept whispering to myself, The WHA will come. They'll find us. They always do.
But somewhere deep inside, a quiet, icy thought pressed in—What if they're already too late?
…If the heroes were coming… why weren't they here yet?
The air in the dorm felt heavier the longer I stayed awake, like the walls were leaning in. Every creak of the building made me twitch. Alexei still hadn't lain down—just sat there, knees hugged to his chest, rocking ever so slightly like it helped keep the fear away.
I was about to tell him we'd both feel better if we tried to sleep when I heard it—slow, deliberate footsteps, much closer than before.
They stopped right outside our door.
The hallway light leaked in through the narrow window in the door, casting a pale strip across the floor. A shadow slid into that strip, still and silent. Whoever it was wasn't moving, wasn't knocking—just standing there.
Alexei's eyes went wide. His breathing quickened until I thought he might start gasping.
A faint rattle came from the handle. Not turning—just… testing.
Then, a sound I didn't expect—metal sliding against metal. A key.
I clutched the blanket so hard my fingers ached. My mind screamed that this was it—that a hero was about to burst in, that they'd finally found us—but my stomach twisted, because something about the way that key turned felt wrong. Slow. Careful.
Alexei mouthed something I couldn't hear. His eyes were locked on the door.
The lock clicked.
The handle began to turn.