28. Sophia
TWENTY-EIGHT
Sophia
The car’s tires crunch over gravel as we pull up to a private airstrip. Rain lashes against the windows, mirroring the storm raging inside me. I glance at the driver, his face an impassive mask in the rearview mirror. He’s been silent throughout the entire drive.
“Where are we going?” My voice sounds small, even to my own ears.
More silence. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
“Please,” I try again, desperation creeping into my tone. “I need to know?—”
“Get out.” His voice is flat, devoid of any emotion, as if I’m nothing more than cargo to be delivered.
In a way, I suppose that’s true.
Before I can move, he’s out of the car, yanking my door open. His grip on my arm is brutal as he drags me onto the tarmac. Pain blossoms where his fingers dig into my flesh, the promise of a bruise to come.
The chill of the night air bites through my clothes as I stumble onto the asphalt. A sleek private jet looms before me, its engines already humming with impatience.
No questions, no explanations. Just a silent command to board .
Inside, the jet is a study in contrasts. Plush leather seats and polished wood paneling speak of luxury, but the cabin is eerily empty. No flight attendants, no amenities. The cockpit door is firmly shut, separating me from any human contact.
As the plane takes off, my stomach drops—not from the ascent, but from the finality of it all. I’m leaving everything behind. Blake, my friends, the life I built. With each passing minute, the distance between who I was and who I’m being forced to become grows insurmountable.
Hours blur together in a haze of discomfort. The cabin is cold, unnaturally so, as if the temperature has been deliberately lowered. There are no blankets, no food, no water. Just me, alone with my thoughts and the growing ache in my empty stomach.
I drift in and out of consciousness, my dreams plagued by Luke’s terrified cries when he was taken from me and the image of Blake’s face when he finally realizes what I’ve done.
When we finally land, the sun sets in an unfamiliar sky.
As I’m ushered off the plane, a man in a dark suit approaches. His face is as impassive as the driver’s had been.
“Welcome to Montenegro.” His accent is thick, Eastern European.
The words should be welcoming, but his tone is anything but. It’s a statement of fact, cold and impersonal. We’re halfway across the world from everything I know, and I’ve never felt more alone.
He gestures to another waiting car, as nondescript as the first. Once again, I’m treated like cargo, not a person.
No one speaks as we wind through narrow mountain roads, each turn taking us higher into terrain that feels as alien as my new reality.
Finally, we crest a hill, and I see it—a sprawling villa perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Adriatic Sea. But as we draw closer, the illusion of luxury fades, replaced by a growing sense of dread.
Tall, imposing walls surround the compound, stretching at least fifteen feet high. Razor wire coils along their tops, glinting menacingly in the fading light. Armed guards patrol the perimeter, their silhouettes stark against the darkening sky. Watchtowers loom at regular intervals, searchlights sweeping across the grounds.
On the sea-facing side, sheer cliffs plummet hundreds of feet to the churning waters below. The waves crash against jagged rocks, the sound carrying even to where we are—a constant reminder of the deadly drop.
This isn’t a villa—it’s a fortress. An inescapable prison disguised as a luxury retreat.
The car stops in a circular driveway. Before I can move, a new man appears, yanking my door open.
“He’s waiting for you.” His words are more of a growl than anything else. He yanks me out of the car, his grip on my arm as bruising as the first driver’s had been.
I’m nothing more than a package to be delivered. Their callous disregard cuts sharper than any knife.
I’m led through ornate doors into a cavernous foyer. My footsteps echo on marble floors, the sound somehow ominous in the silence. At the far end of the room, a figure stands silhouetted against floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Ah, Sophia.” Malfor’s voice sends ice through my veins. “How kind of you to join me.”
He turns, and I get my first real look at the man who’s orchestrated my personal hell. He’s shorter than I expected, maybe 5’5”, but after spending so much time around Blake and his team of 6-foot-plus men, Malfor looks diminutive. Yet what he lacks in stature, he more than makes up for in presence.
His eyes, a pale, watery blue, hold an intelligence that belies their simpleton appearance. They bore into me, dissecting every nuance of my posture, every flicker of emotion I fail to suppress. Those eyes have seen countless cruelties and inflicted just as many.
Malfor’s attire is a study in contrasts. An impeccably tailored suit hangs slightly askew on his frame. His tie is loose, the knot off-center. A single button on his jacket is undone. It’s as if he’s deliberately cultivating an air of dishevelment, a silent statement that he’s above such trivial concerns as appearance .
“I trust your journey was—illuminating?” A cruel smile plays on his lips. “Realizing just how far from home you are?”
I struggle to find my voice, to remember the rules of this old, terrible game.
“Yes, sir,” I manage the words, but they taste like ash.
Malfor circles me slowly like a predator sizing up its prey. “You know, Jonathan spoke quite highly of you. Said you were his favorite. His perfect, obedient little doll.”
The mention of Greaves makes my skin crawl. I can’t help but look up, meeting Malfor’s gaze for a split second before I realize my mistake.
The backhand comes out of nowhere, the crack of flesh on flesh echoing in the cavernous room. Pain explodes across my face, white-hot and blinding. I crash to the floor, my hair spilling around me like a halo. For a moment, the pain is my entire universe.
“You dare look at me?” Malfor’s voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, low and dangerous. “You will show proper respect. Eyes down. Kneel.”
I struggle to my knees, my body responding before my mind can process the command.
“Better.” Malfor’s lips curve into a slow, predatory smile as he circles me, his gaze like a blade, slicing through any remaining shred of defiance. “Now, let me make something crystal clear. You are nothing here. Less than nothing. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will obey without question. You will bow, kneel, and scrape before your betters. Which, my dear, is everyone.”
My thoughts race to Luke. The urge to ask about my son, to beg for any information, is overwhelming. I swallow the words, remembering the sting of Malfor’s hand.
Malfor’s fingers grip my chin, forcing my head up. His watery eyes peer into my very soul. “Ah, thinking of the boy, are we? If you’re a good girl, if you please me, perhaps I’ll allow you to see him. Not in person, of course, but… Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
He releases me with a shove, turning to bark orders at someone I can’t see. For the first time, I become aware of others in the room. Men in crisp suits stand at attention, their faces impassive. Among them move women in flowing, gauzy gowns that leave little to the imagination. Their eyes are downcast, their movements subservient.
“Take her to her room,” Malfor commands. “Make sure she understands the—consequences of disobedience.”
Rough hands grab my arms, hauling me to my feet. As I’m dragged away, Malfor’s voice follows me. “Welcome to your new home, Sophia. I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay. It’s going to be a long one.”
The journey to my “room” is a blur of opulent hallways and stern-faced guards. Everything is pristine, almost sterile in its perfection. It’s a stark contrast to the darkness that clings to every corner, refusing to be chased away by the light. Even as the room brightens, the shadows only deepen, a reminder that no amount of light can erase the pervasive darkness lurking just beneath the surface.
We descend a flight of stairs, the temperature dropping with each step. The guards’ grips tighten, their fingers digging painfully into my arms. They stop before a heavy metal door at the end of a long corridor.
With a brutal shove, I’m thrust into a cell. I stumble, crashing hard onto the cold stone floor. The door slams shut behind me, and metal bolts grind into place, their harsh clicks echoing through the small space, sealing my fate. The bitter scent of damp stone fills my lungs as the final lock snaps shut, leaving me with only the oppressive silence.
The “room” is little more than a glorified cage. Cold stone walls surround me, devoid of any warmth or comfort. A narrow bed—little more than a cot—sits in one corner. A small bathroom area offers no privacy, the facilities exposed for all to see. There are no windows, no sense of the outside world. Just four walls and the crushing weight of my new reality.
I curl up on the bed, my body aching from the rough treatment and Malfor’s “correction.” In the darkness, I allow myself one moment of weakness. Tears fall silently, mourning the life I’ve lost and the uncertain future ahead.
As I lie there, the full weight of my situation crashes over me. I’ve betrayed everyone I care about. Blake, the team, all of Guardian HQ. The image of Blake’s expression when he realizes what I’ve done… It’s almost too much to bear.
I cling to the hope that they’ll find the messages I left, that somehow they’ll understand, that Blake will forgive me, and that he’ll rescue me. But the thought feels like a distant dream. This fortress is impenetrable, and my situation is beyond hopeless.
The bumblebee drone, tucked safely in the lining of my jacket, is my lifeline. I’ve guarded it, knowing it’s my one link to the outside world, my one chance at… What?
Rescue?
Redemption?
The weight of it is a constant reminder that, even here, there’s still a sliver of hope.
But is it hope or delusion?
I assume I’m being watched. Malfor doesn’t seem the type to leave anything to chance. With trembling hands, I reach into the hidden pocket I sewed into my clothes. The drone is there, no bigger than my thumbnail. It feels impossibly tiny, impossibly fragile against my palm.
I take a deep breath and go to the small bathroom area. If there are cameras, this might be the one blind spot. I cup the drone, bringing it close to my lips. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure it must be audible, even through the thick stone walls.
“Find them,” I whisper so softly I can barely hear myself. “Find Blake.”
Rescue me…
The words feel foolish as soon as they leave my lips.
Can this tiny machine even hear me?
Does it understand commands?
I remember Mitzy’s excited chatter about her invention, claiming it was revolutionary. But the specifics are lost to me now, washed away by fear and exhaustion.
As I release the drone and watch it flit toward the ceiling, a fragment of memory surfaces. Mitzy’s enthusiastic voice: “They’re great for getting covert intel on the ground. No one pays attention to bugs. ”
The drone disappears from view, seeking out any crack or crevice that might lead to freedom. I’m left alone once more, staring at the spot where it vanished, with Mitzy’s words echoing in my mind.
No one pays attention to bugs.
Could it be that simple? In this fortress, could my salvation come from something so small and so easily overlooked?
The reality of what I’ve done crashes over me. I’ve pinned all my hopes on a device I barely understand, in a fortress halfway around the world from everyone I love.
The drone can’t possibly fly back to the US, can it? Even if it could, how would it find Blake? How would it lead anyone here?
Maybe it doesn’t need to make the journey all at once. Maybe it can gather information bit by bit, unnoticed by Malfor and his men. It’s a long shot, but it is something to cling to rather than fall into an abyss of despair.
Hysterical laughter bubbles up in my throat. I choke it back, terrified of making noise. I sink to the cold floor, wrapping my arms around myself as if I could physically hold the pieces of my sanity together.
This is madness. All of it. I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t wake up from, and I’ve just sent my only tangible link to the outside world on an impossible mission.
Tears stream down my face, silent and relentless. This is a place where hope comes to die. The brave front I’ve been trying to maintain crumbles, leaving me raw and exposed.
Fear courses through me—fear for my life, for Luke’s life, for the future that seems bleaker with each passing second.
What will Malfor do to me? What horrors await when the sun rises? The uncertainty is almost worse than knowing.
Almost.
I curl into myself, making my body as small as possible. As if by shrinking physically, I can somehow disappear entirely and escape this hell, if only in my mind.
But there’s no escape.
No reprieve from this living hell .
The drone was my last act of defiance, my final grasp of hope. And now it’s gone, leaving me utterly alone. The cold of the stone floor seeps into my bones, a physical reminder of the chill that’s settled in my heart.
The Sophia who walked into Guardian HQ, who fell in love with Blake and dared to dream of a better life is gone. In her place is this hollow shell, trembling on a bathroom floor in a fortress of nightmares.
I am broken.
Shattered into a thousand pieces, with no idea how—or if—I’ll ever be whole again.
And yet, some small, stubborn part of me refuses to let go entirely. It clings to the memory of the drone, to Mitzy’s words:
No one pays attention to bugs.
It’s not hope—I’m too far gone for that. But it’s—something. A gossamer thread in a sea of darkness.
It’s all I have left. A tiny, buzzing chance that, somehow, a little bumblebee might make all the difference in this world of monsters.
A harsh buzzing suddenly fills the room. Fluorescent lights flicker to life, momentarily blinding me. A voice, tinny and distorted, comes through a hidden speaker:
“Sleep well, Sophia. Tomorrow, your training begins.”
The lights cut out as abruptly as they came on, plunging me into a darkness so complete I can’t see my hand inches from my face. The promise of what’s to come hangs heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket of dread settling over me. My breath echoes in the confined space, sharp and shallow, and each exhale is swallowed by the oppressive void.
I reach out, fingers brushing cold, rough concrete before I stumble into the hard metal cot. There’s no comfort here—just a thin, lumpy mattress with no sheets, no pillow. Nothing to soften the harsh edges of this cruel reality. My body aches from the earlier punishment, and the cold bites through the thin fabric of my clothes, seeping into my bones.
I try to lie down, but the mattress offers no relief, only pressing against my bruises, making the pain throb deeper and more insistent.
The absolute darkness is a vile, living thing, wrapping itself around me, invading every corner of my mind. It smothers me. Its weight is so heavy it’s hard to breathe. My heart races, a wild, panicked beat that thrums in my ears.
I close my eyes, not that it makes any difference, and try to sleep. But in this suffocating blackness, sleep is impossible.
The darkness is alive, whispering in my ear, twisting my thoughts into nightmares that aren’t quite dreams. It closes in on me, a relentless, choking force that threatens to drive me mad.
I curl up tighter, pulling my knees to my chest, trying to find some small measure of comfort in my own warmth.
Restless, I toss and turn, my body trapped on this slab of metal, my mind caught in the clutches of despair.
Time loses all meaning. Minutes could be hours. Hours could be days. All I know is that the darkness is endless, and it’s winning.
“Please,” I whisper into the darkness, a prayer to whatever god might be listening. “Give me strength. Let me endure. Let me find a way back to my son, Blake, and the life I’ve lost.”
But as silence engulfs me once more, I can’t shake the feeling that my words fall on deaf ears.
In Malfor’s domain, there is no room for hope.
Only survival.
And tomorrow, I’ll learn just how much I can endure.