The shadows were deep in the space between worlds, where the barrier hummed with ancient magic and the last rays of sunset painted the sky in bruised purples and dying golds. A small figure darted through the underbrush, moving with a speed that would have seemed impossible for something so tiny—a blur of movement that bent the air around it, leaving only the whisper of displaced leaves .
Anaya Lioriel.
Her bare feet barely touched the ground, each step carrying her farther than any human child could manage, pushing her forward with the desperate energy of the hunted. Her long, pointed ears were pressed flat against her head, streamlined of speed, catching every sound in the growing darkness—the snap of twigs behind her, the distant calls of birds settling for the night, the thundering of her own heartbeat that seemed to echo in the hollow space where some food in her stomach should have been.
She was so, so hungry.
Three days. Maybe four. Time moved strangely in the human lands, different from the gentle rhythm of the forest she'd left behind. Her tattered dress—woven from spider silk and dyed with berry juice, the way her mama had taught her—hung loose on her small frame. Once it had shimmered with all the colors of the forest floor: rich browns, deep greens, flashes of amber like her eyes. Now it was torn and dirty, smeared with mud from where she'd hidden in a ditch when the loud vehicles had passed, their metal bodies gleaming like the beetles that crawled on trees.
Anaya's golden hair had come loose from its braid days ago. It fell past her shoulders in tangled waves, catching twigs and leaves as she ran. If Mama could see her now, she'd be horrified. "A proper elf child keeps her hair neat," she always said. But Mama was far away, on the other side of the barrier that had somehow shifted, changed, locked Anaya out when she'd tried to return.
The veil had never done that before.
She'd crossed it a hundred times in her games, always able to feel the pull of home, the thread that guided her back. But this time—this time when she'd ventured farther than ever before, searching, always searching—the coordinates had shifted like sand in wind. Where the passage home should have been, there was only solid barrier, impenetrable as stone. She'd pressed her small hands against it, feeling the magic that had once welcomed her now holding her firmly away.
Locked out. Alone. Lost.
And soon there was nothing but the forest of human land.
No sign of her world.
She was so hungry her legs trembled with each step.
Ahead, looming out of the twilight, stood a structure unlike anything in the forests of home. Anaya skidded to a stop, her chest heaving, staring up at the massive building. It was made of metal and concrete—materials she knew only from the stories the elders told, warnings about the human world and its cold, dead constructions. Windows gaped like empty eye sockets, some broken, others dark. The walls rose up and up, angular and harsh, nothing like the organic curves of trees and earth.
An old factory, abandoned by humans who had moved on to build their cities elsewhere.
Anaya's stomach cramped painfully, and she whimpered. Earlier, when the sun was high, she'd smelled something—bread, maybe, or grain. The scent had led her here, to this frightening place. She took a tentative step forward, her ears swiveling, listening for danger.
Everything about this place was wrong. The ground beneath her feet was hard and cold, covered in something smooth and gray that made her footsteps sound too loud, too exposed. The walls pressed in on all sides, sharp corners where there should have been gentle curves. Even the air tasted strange—bitter with rust and old chemicals, nothing like the sweet green scent of the forest.
But food. There had to be food.
Anaya crept forward, every muscle tensed to run. She squeezed through a gap in a broken door, wincing at the squeal of metal on metal. Inside, the darkness was absolute. Her eyes, adapted for the dappled light of the forest, struggled to adjust. She could make out shapes—boxes stacked against walls, strange metal structures whose purpose she couldn't imagine, pipes running along the ceiling like frozen rivers.
There. Against the far wall. Crates with markings she couldn't read, but the smell—yes, the smell of grain and something else, something edible.
Anaya moved toward them, her small hands outstretched. So close. Just a few more steps and she could eat, could ease the gnawing emptiness that had become her constant companion.
She didn't hear the click.
Didn't see the tripwire until her foot caught it.
The world exploded into noise—a screaming alarm that split the air, lights blazing to life overhead, blindingly bright. Anaya shrieked and bolted, her elvish speed carrying her toward the exit in a desperate burst. But above her, something was falling—a massive cage of metal bars, dropping from the ceiling with mechanical precision.
Run, run, run—
Her legs gave out.
One moment she was flying toward freedom, the next her body simply stopped working. The hunger, the exhaustion, three days of running and hiding and searching—it all caught up to her at once. Anaya's legs buckled and she collapsed, her vision swimming, her breath coming in desperate gasps.
The cage slammed down around her with a deafening clang, bars as thick as her arm locking into place. She was trapped in a space barely larger than her small body, unable to move, unable to escape.
Anaya curled into a ball, her whole body shaking. This was wrong, all wrong. She'd only wanted to find Papa, to see if he'd come this way, if anyone had seen him. He'd disappeared five years ago, right after she was born, crossing the barrier to make peace with the humans. Mama said he was gone, but Anaya had never believed it. She'd felt him, somewhere beyond the veil, calling to her.
But now she was lost too.
Now she'd never see Mama again.
Tears streamed down her face as she heard new sounds—vehicles approaching, human voices shouting, boots on concrete. She pressed herself into the smallest corner of the cage, trying to make herself invisible, but there was nowhere to hide.
---
"Where did you say they caught her?" Evan Cross's voice was flat, professional, as he stood in Captain Morrison's office the next morning.
Morrison jabbed a finger at the map spread across his desk. "Old factory complex, eastern sector. Place has been abandoned for years, but we kept the perimeter traps active. Smart little thing triggered a grain scent lure—must've been starving." He looked up at Evan. "The cage caught her mid-run. You should've seen the footage, Evan. She was moving faster than anything human-sized should move. Then just... collapsed. Hasn't said a word since we brought her in."
Evan studied the map. "That's fifteen miles from the nearest human territory."
"Exactly. Which means she either crossed somewhere unknown, or she's been wandering out here for days." Morrison's expression hardened. "Either way, she knows something. The question is how we get her to talk."
Evan's jaw tightened. "And you think I'm the one to do it?"
"You're the best interrogator we have, and you're good with... with extracting information from difficult subjects." Morrison leaned back in his chair. "Look, Evan Cross, I know this isn't easy. She's young. But she's also one of them, and if she can lead us to her tribe—"
"I got it," Evan cut him off. He didn't need the speech. He'd heard it a hundred times before.
Morrison nodded. "She's in holding cell three. Been there all night. Maybe seeing your face she will—"
"My face?" Evan frowned. "What do you mean?."
" You'll see what I mean." Morrison stood, moving toward the door with a grin spreading on his face. "Just get that location, Evan. That's all that matters."
Evan followed him down the corridor, his mind already preparing for what came next. Interrogations were never pleasant, but they were necessary. He'd learned to adjust, to see the subjects as sources of information rather than individuals. It was the only way to do the job.
But something about Morrison's tone nagged at him. How long he had to bear that person?
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as they approached holding cell three. Through the small window in the door, Evan could see movement—a small shape huddled in the corner.
Morrison's hand settled on the door handle. "Remember, Evan.Do whatever it takes to get that location. Command is counting on you."
The door swung open.
And Evan Cross's carefully constructed world began to crack.
She was so small. That was his first thought, overwhelming everything else. Tiny and fragile, with dirt-streaked skin and enormous amber eyes that were swollen from crying. Her pointed ears, which should have marked her as enemy, as other, only made her look more vulnerable. She was huddled against the concrete wall, her small body shaking with quiet sobs that she was trying desperately to muffle.
A child. She was just a child.
Evan's breath caught in his throat as those amber eyes lifted to meet his. For one suspended moment, everything went still.
Then her expression transformed—confusion giving way to recognition, to something that looked like desperate hope. Her eyes widened, and a sound escaped her that was part sob, part laugh.
"Papa?"
The word hung in the air between them, impossible and world-shattering.
"Wha.."
And before Evan could process what was happening, she was moving, scrambling across the floor with that supernatural speed, throwing her small arms around his neck and holding on like he was the only solid thing in a drowning world.
"Papa, papa, papa," she whispered against his shoulder, her whole body trembling. "You came back. I knew you would come back."
Evan stood frozen, his arms held awkwardly away from her, feeling the weight of her small body against his chest, the rapid flutter of her heartbeat, the dampness of tears soaking through his jacket.
Behind him, Morrison's voice cut through the moment. "Well. This just got interesting."