Chapter 19 – Ashley
Two days.
Forty-eight agonizing, endless hours of staring at the walls of my living room, watching the sun rise and set, feeling the air in my lungs turn to poison.
I have always been the one in control. I am the woman who manages complex shipping logistics, who handles crisis after crisis with an icy, calculated precision.
I built a fortress around my life, convinced that my own strength would always be enough to keep the dangers of the world away from my son.
But now, that strength has completely collapsed, leaving behind a hollow, terrified shell.
I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. Every time I close my eyes, I see Ethan’s small, trusting face, and the sheer, suffocating guilt of failing to protect him tears through me like a physical blade.
The house is entirely quiet, yet simultaneously deafeningly loud with the constant pounding of my heart.
It’s somewhat bearable when Samuel is here, because he comforts me, and seeing how hard he’s working to find Ethan grounds me. But he left hurriedly this morning after Kaplan called him about a trail.
Now I’m at my absolute breaking point, drowning in a sea of raw, unadulterated fear. Alone.
The front door opens, but I don’t even have the energy to look up from my spot on the sofa, my knees pulled tightly to my chest. I expect it to be another one of Samuel’s stone-faced guards, or perhaps Samuel himself, returning with more empty leads and frustration rolling off his massive shoulders.
Instead, a soft, familiar gasp echoes from the entryway.
“Ashley!”
I freeze. I raise my head slowly, my blurred vision focusing on the figure rushing toward me.
Sofia.
Before I can even process her presence, she’s on her knees in front of the couch, throwing her arms around me and pulling me into a fierce, desperate hug. The familiar scent of her, the sheer, solid warmth of her embrace, fractures the tight, frozen block of panic in my chest.
A ragged, broken sob tears from my throat as I cling to her, burying my face in her shoulder. We hold onto each other, our shared emotions spilling over in the quiet room.
“Sofia,” I choke out, my voice thick and ruined. “How…what are you doing here? You and Lukyan…you were supposed to be out of the country.”
Sofia pulls back just enough to look at me, her own eyes bright with tears as she gently wipes a stray lock of hair from my damp forehead.
“We were,” Sofia says softly, her voice carrying a comforting, steady warmth.
“We were deep in the mountains, completely off the grid. You know how Lukyan is when we take our vacations—no phones, no work, just absolute silence. But two nights ago, our emergency encrypted channel started screaming. It only does that if the family is under attack.”
She takes my trembling hands in hers, squeezing them tightly.
“It was Samuel,” Sofia explains, a look of profound, lingering disbelief passing over her features.
“He used the private, high-level secure channel to reach Lukyan. He didn’t call to talk about logistics or family business, Ashley.
He begged him. I’ve never heard Samuel Rusnak sound like that in my life.
He told Lukyan that Ethan was gone, and he begged him to let me fly back immediately because you were drowning, and you needed your best friend. ”
My heart aches, a strange, warm knot forming in my chest at the realization. Even in the middle of launching a brutal, city-wide war to find our son, Samuel had stopped to think of my sanity. He had reached across the globe to bring me the one person who could ground me.
“He told us everything, Ashley,” Sofia murmurs, a gentle, half-amused but soft smile touching her lips despite the gravity of the situation.
“How you met four years ago…the night in New York…all of it. I’m still in absolute shock.
I can’t believe my best friend ended up with a Rusnak and I didn’t know.
If you had told me years ago that our lives would be tangled up in the same family, I would have called you crazy. ”
The sheer absurdity of our shared reality brings a tiny, fragile breath of laughter to my lips—the first real sound I’ve made in forty-eight hours. The heavy, unyielding bond we share acts as an anchor, pulling me back from the edge of the dark, suffocating panic.
“You’re not alone in this,” a calm, steady voice cuts in.
I look up past Sofia to see Maya standing near the kitchen doorway.
She steps forward, holding a warm mug of tea, her expression filled with a quiet, maternal strength.
She doesn’t offer empty platitudes or false promises.
She just places the tea on the coffee table and sits on the opposite side of the sofa, her presence an unshakeable, grounding force in the middle of the raging storm.
“We’re going to find him, Ashley,” Maya says, her voice low and completely certain. “Samuel and Lukyan are turning this entire region inside out. Every resource of the Rusnak name is focused on one thing: bringing Ethan home. Until then, we’re right here. We aren’t going anywhere.”
For the first time in two days, as I sit between my two closest friends, the suffocating terror in my chest eases just enough for me to take a real, deep breath. I’m still terrified, and the nightmare is far from over, but the walls of my isolation have finally been broken.
Then, my phone vibrates in my lap.
The screen flashes with a blocked ID. I don’t look at Sofia or Maya. I don’t hesitate. I swipe the screen and press it to my ear, slipping away to the quiet corner of the hallway. I’ve been waiting for this call for days.
“I’m listening,” I whisper, my voice raw but fiercely steady. “Where is my son?”
“Smart girl,” the distorted, synthetic voice purrs, the digital modulation making it sound cold and inhuman.
“You want your boy back? You do exactly what I say. Alone, Ashley. If I see a single shadow of a Rusnak soldier, your son dies. Go to the abandoned shipping terminal at Pier 14. You have forty-five minutes. If you aren’t there—alone—he’s gone. ”
The line goes dead.
Panic, sharp and blinding, surges through my veins, but it is instantly overridden by a desperate, maternal resolve. I’ll walk straight into hell if it means getting my baby back. I will go without a second thought.
I dial Samuel’s secure number immediately.
“Ashley?” his deep voice barks through the receiver, instantly alert. “What is it? Did they contact you?”
“They called,” I say, forcing my voice to sound firm, though my hands are shaking violently.
“They want me at Pier 14. The abandoned terminal. But Samuel—he was very clear. I have to go alone. If he sees anyone else, if he suspects your men are there, he’ll kill Ethan. I’m going. And you have to stay back.”
There’s a heavy, dangerous silence on the other end of the line. I can hear the violent, controlled rise and fall of Samuel’s chest.
“Ashley, absolutely not—”
“No, Samuel, listen to me!” I gasp, tears of frustration spilling over my lashes. “This is our son’s life! I’m going. I am not letting you risk him. Promise me you won’t interfere. Promise me!”
Another long, agonizing beat passes. When Samuel speaks again, his voice has shifted. It is flat, quiet, and strangely compliant.
“Fine,” he murmurs, though the submission in his tone feels entirely unnatural. “If that is what keeps him safe, you go. I’ll keep my men back. Just be careful, Ashley.”
He hangs up. I take a ragged breath, ignoring the slight chill of unease his easy agreement gives me. I don’t have time to analyze it. Samuel is a father; he knows the stakes.
Ten minutes later, I convinced Sofia and Maya with a lie to wait for me. I’m in my car, tearing toward the edge of the city.
The drive to the industrial sector feels like a descent into purgatory.
The bustling city streets give way to cracked asphalt, rusted chain-link fences, and overgrown weeds.
By the time I pull into the entrance of Pier 14, the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, skeletal shadows across the desolate yard.
I kill the engine. The silence that settles over the area is suffocating.
I step out of the car, my heels crunching on the gravel and broken glass. I look around, my eyes scanning the massive, rusted crane structures and the rows of crumbling brick warehouses.
Nothing.
There’s no waiting car, no shadowy figure standing in a doorway, no sound but the distant, mocking cry of seagulls and the low lap of the harbor water against the rotting wood of the docks.
The absolute emptiness of the desolate terminal creates a sickening sense of unease in my gut. My heart hammers against my ribs. This isn’t a simple hand-off. The isolation is too perfect, the trap too obvious. It’s clear that whatever game the stalker is playing, it’s far from straightforward.
Suddenly, a figure materializes from the deep shadows of the rusted warehouse door.
He wears a dark Scream mask that completely obscures his face, leaving only two crazed, erratic eyes visible.
In his hand, the long steel blade of a hunting knife catches the dying sunlight, gleaming with a wicked, terrifying sharpness.
He does not keep his distance; he steps directly into my path, his chest heaving under a thin jacket.
“Choose me,” he rasps, his voice raw, frantic, and entirely unhinged—no longer hidden behind a digital modulator. “Choose me now, Ashley! Denounce Samuel. Tell me you do not want him. Tell me you want us!”
My breath catches in my throat, my hands flying up defensively as I stumble backward over the cracked gravel. “I don’t even know who you are!” I scream, my voice cracking with absolute terror. “Where is my son?!”
Instead of answering, a manic, furious sound escapes his throat. He raises the knife, his body lunging forward in a sudden, violent motion to attack.
A bloodcurdling scream tears from my throat.
Before the blade can even descend, the silence of the desolate pier is shattered by the deafening roar of engines and the screech of tires. I know it’s Samuel even before I see him. He never had any intention of staying behind.
“Drop the weapon!” a booming voice roars.
Samuel and his team burst from the surrounding shadows like a waking nightmare, weapons drawn, their heavy boots slamming against the concrete.
The masked man freezes, his wild eyes darting from me to the overwhelming force descending upon him.
Realizing he is entirely outmatched, he spins on his heel and bolts into the labyrinth of rusted shipping containers.
“Chase him!” Samuel shouts, his deep voice shaking the air as he hits the ground running. “Get him!”
His men scramble after the intruder, but the masked man is terrifyingly familiar with the layout of the abandoned terminal.
He leaps over rusted barriers and vanishes into a narrow, decaying crawlspace that the larger tactical guards cannot easily squeeze through.
Within seconds, he slips away into the decaying maze of the docks.
But Samuel doesn’t waste a single breath on the escape. His focus shifts instantly.
“Search the perimeter!” Samuel commands, his eyes wild with a feral, protective desperation. “Break down every lock! Check every corner! My son is here!”
The operation is fast, loud, and incredibly aggressive.
The sound of metal splintering and heavy iron doors being kicked off their hinges echoes through the desolate yard.
Samuel moves like a force of nature, abandoning any pretense of restraint, ripping open boarded-up windows and tearing through the dark, abandoned offices of the pier.
Then, a shout goes up from one of the guards near a row of decaying, shuttered boardwalk shops. “Boss! Over here! Padlock is freshly sheared!”
Samuel sprints toward the narrow shop, shoulder-charging the door with enough force to shatter the remaining frame. I scramble right behind him, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Inside the damp, shadowed interior of the abandoned shop, lying on a dirty pile of canvas tarps, is a small, still figure.
“Ethan!” I choke out.
We rush to his side. Our little boy is entirely unconscious, his head lolling to the side, his breathing shallow but steady. The sight of his limp body sends a fresh wave of panic rushing through me, heightening the raw urgency of the moment.
Samuel kneels down instantly. With a tenderness that contrasts sharply with his lethal demeanor, he scoops Ethan’s small body up into his massive arms, checking his pulse and tucking him tightly against his chest. “He’s breathing.
He’s warm, but we need to get him to a hospital right now,” Samuel barks, prioritizing our son’s safety above everything else.
I’m completely overwhelmed, tears streaming down my face, but a fierce, maternal focus keeps my legs moving. I stay glued to Samuel’s side, my hand resting on Ethan’s back as we hurry out of the dark shop and back toward the idling SUVs.
Just as we reach the safety of the armored vehicle, the familiar, terrifying chime of my phone vibrates in my pocket.
With trembling fingers, I pull it out.
Unknown: You think you won because he’s in your arms? This is just the beginning, my darling. You cannot keep him safe from me forever. I’m still watching.
The words are cold, final, and dripping with a chilling promise of violence. The danger isn’t over; it’s simply shifted.
Ethan is cradled securely in Samuel’s arms, his breathing soft against his father’s shoulder, but as the heavy SUV doors slam shut and we speed away into the night, the terrifying uncertainty of the stalker’s promise looms over me like a dark, suffocating shadow.