Chapter 18 Lark
Lark
Location: In Transit — Unknown Vehicle
Time: Same
Pain wakes me.
Not sharp.
Heavy.
Like something pressing down from the inside out.
Chemical.
I keep my eyes closed.
Don’t move.
Don’t give them the moment.
My hands are bound behind my back—tight enough to cut circulation, not tight enough to damage.
Zip ties.
Plastic bites into my wrists every time the vehicle shifts.
My head swims, slow and thick, like I’m underwater.
Drugged.
Not fully.
They need me conscious.
That tells me everything.
The vehicle smells like rubber, metal… and cologne.
Expensive.
Controlled.
Someone who cares how he’s perceived.
Someone who thinks this is clean.
It isn’t.
I take a slow breath.
Then another.
Panic sits at the edge of my chest, waiting.
I don’t let it in.
Panic is what they want.
I test my fingers.
Numb—but responding.
Good.
I shift slightly, just enough to feel the floor beneath me.
Metal ridges.
Cargo van.
No interior finish.
No sound dampening.
I listen.
Two men in the front.
One driving.
One on the phone.
“Yes. We have her.”
Pause.
“No resistance.”
Another pause.
“Yes. The system is secure.”
Lie.
My pulse stays slow.
Controlled.
Because that one sentence tells me everything I need to know.
They don’t have the drive.
They don’t have the truth.
They have me.
And they think that’s enough.
It isn’t.
The van takes a turn—sharp left.
Then accelerates.
I count.
Seconds.
Distance.
Speed.
Tracking.
Mapping.
One of them shifts.
I feel it before I see it.
Then—
I open my eyes.
He’s already looking at me.
Watching.
Smiling.
Not kind.
Never kind.
“You should’ve stayed where you were safe,” he says.
His voice is calm.
That’s worse than anger.
I meet his gaze.
Say nothing.
Because silence is power.
Because anything I give him, he’ll use.
Because right now—
He thinks he’s in control.
He’s not.
They didn’t take a victim.
They took a variable they don’t understand.
And somewhere out there—
Aaron is moving.
Closing distance.
Hunting.
My pulse steadies.
Not fear.
Not anymore.
Anticipation.
They just made the worst mistake of their lives.
And they don’t know what that was. I do.