Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gabbi
The path to the isolated cabin was uneven, the ground damp from the lingering humidity in the air.
My boots pressed into the dirt, but I barely felt it.
My heartbeat pounded too loudly, my pulse thrumming in my ears, drowning out everything else.
The cabin stood on the outskirts of the camp, separated from the others, barely illuminated by a dim lantern swinging from a wooden post. The walls were old, the planks warped with time, the door slightly crooked on its hinges.
From a distance, it could have been mistaken for an abandoned storage shed. But I knew better.
This was where they kept the long-term ones.
Victor had sent me here himself, instructing me to check on the "new batch.
" His voice had been casual, indifferent, as if he weren’t talking about human beings, as if they were merely inventory that needed to be assessed.
I had forced myself to nod, to accept the order without question, to act as if I belonged.
The role was second nature now—detached, calculating, obedient.
But every step closer to that cabin felt like stepping into a graveyard.
A guard walked beside me, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his movements sluggish with boredom.
He was younger than most of the others, maybe mid-twenties, his boots scuffing lazily against the dirt as we neared the door.
His face was rough with stubble, his eyes dull.
He didn’t care about the boys inside. He was just another cog in Victor’s machine.
He stopped in front of the door, reaching for the key hooked onto his belt.
Metal scraped against metal as he twisted it into the rusted lock.
A second later, with a shove of his boot, the door swung open, releasing a stale, suffocating air thick with sweat, damp wood, and something bitter I couldn’t name.
The room was dim, the only light coming from a flickering lantern perched on a rickety wooden table in the corner. My eyes adjusted quickly. And then I saw them.
Not just captives. Workers.
There were maybe six or seven of them, all boys, all young, all moving mechanically.
Two were stacking crates against the far wall.
Another was scrubbing at the floor with a dirty rag, his hands raw and red.
Another stood near the small, rusted stove in the corner, stirring something in a metal pot, his motions robotic, lifeless.
And then there was him.
Liam.
My breath caught in my throat.
He was taller now, his frame stretched with the years, but too thin, too sharp, as if time had stolen more than just his childhood. His dark hair hung in uneven strands over his forehead, his jaw set in a tight line, his lips pressed together as he silently stacked firewood beside the stove.
He hadn’t seen me yet.
Or maybe he had, but he wasn’t looking.
My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms to keep myself steady.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The boy I had known was gone.
The one who used to run ahead of me at the park, who used to laugh so loudly it startled people nearby, the one who had looked up to Bobby with bright, eager eyes—he was gone.
This version of Liam—this quiet, hollow version—was all that was left.
The guard beside me exhaled loudly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. "That one’s been here too long," he muttered, nodding toward Liam. "Not like the others."
I forced my expression to remain neutral, even as something inside me twisted violently. "What do you mean?"
The guard shrugged. "New ones still cry, still beg. That one?" He smirked. "He don’t bother anymore."
A cold chill crawled down my spine.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab Liam and shake him and tell him I was here, that I had come for him, that Bobby was out there and we were going to get him out. But I couldn’t. I had to play this right. One wrong move, one crack in my mask, and Victor would see through me.
So I did the only thing I could.
I watched.
Liam moved with calculated efficiency, his hands steady as he stacked the wood, his body never hesitating, never wasting energy.
He wasn’t just surviving—he was trained.
Conditioned. I wanted to believe he was just going through the motions, that he was just playing along to avoid punishment.
But the truth clawed at me. This wasn’t an act.
He had stopped fighting.
I swallowed the tightness in my throat, stepping farther into the room, my boots scuffing softly against the wooden floor. Liam didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance my way.
I was close enough now to see the faint scar along his forearm, the faded bruises on his knuckles, the thinness of his wrists beneath the sleeves of his ragged shirt.
Too thin. Too quiet.
He wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I clenched my jaw, my voice even. "Do they all work?"
The guard yawned, uninterested. "Some more than others. Gotta make themselves useful, or what’s the point?"
I wanted to kill him.
My fingers twitched at my sides, but I kept my voice calm, impassive. "That one looks weak." I nodded toward Liam, forcing myself to keep my tone indifferent. "Is he sick?"
The guard let out a rough chuckle. "If he was, wouldn’t matter much."
A slow, simmering rage built in my chest, but I shoved it down, locking it away. This wasn’t the time. I needed to get out of here in one piece.
I turned slightly, my body now fully facing Liam, waiting, silently begging him to acknowledge me. To look up. To react.
But he didn’t.
He just kept stacking the firewood, methodical, emotionless.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my hands to unclench. I couldn’t push him. Couldn’t risk exposing him, not here, not now.
But he had to know.
He had to know I was here.
I took a small step closer, my voice dropping slightly, just enough for only him to hear. "I’ll let Victor know."
The words were nothing. Empty. But I saw it.
The slightest flicker of movement. A brief, almost imperceptible pause in his stacking.
He heard me.
He knew.
I swallowed against the lump rising in my throat and turned, walking toward the door, forcing myself to leave. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, to do something, to take him with me now. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
I stepped outside, the cold night air slamming into me, but it didn’t help. It didn’t erase the image of him.
Liam.
The little boy I had loved. The little boy I had lost.
He was alive.
But for how much longer?
I clenched my fists and turned toward the main cabin, my jaw set, my breath shaking.
I needed to get back to Bobby.
We didn’t have time to wait anymore.