It’s been three months of the same old shit.The same itchy dress. The same counselors. The same disappearing kids.

  Except—since the first girl we lost, no one else from our group has vanished. And that shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t mean anything.

  But it does.

  From what I can tell, it’s because of that kid.

  I start noticing things I can’t unsee. The way Creepy Jeff avoids certain bunks now. How he corrects himself around the other girls when the boy with the glasses is nearby. How, during roll call, my name doesn’t get barked the way it did when I first arrived.

  I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything.

  That’s a lie.

  It means I’m visible. Not in a good way. Not the kind of visible that keeps you safe.

  Sometimes I get this cold, sharp certainty that I’m next. That one morning I won’t wake up here at all. I’ll be gone. Shipped off to some island, or locked away as a billionaire’s plaything, or whatever sick fantasy fuckers in power indulge in when the world isn’t watching.

  I don’t know which version scares me more.

  What I do know is this: people don’t disappear by accident. And when I imagine myself gone, the worst part isn’t dying. It’s realizing no one would notice until my bunk stayed empty. That I’m going to vanish—and no one will mourn me.

  The shrill blast of the whistle yanks me out of my head.

  Vaelan pokes my arm. “Hey. You’ve been super quiet since we got here. Even your pretty boy’s getting concerned. Is it the slop? It’s not that bad if you add those little sriracha packets.”

  “Don’t let her lie,” Marcus cuts in. “I wouldn’t feed that slop to a starving dog. I’d say they’re poisoning us, but judging by the other bunks, it could be worse.” He rolls his eyes and flashes us a grin, like this is all normal. Like this is fine.

  I manage a thin, careful smile. “I know you guys are trying to cheer me up, but honestly, I’m just exhausted. We get what—six hours of sleep if we’re lucky? After a full day of labor?” I shrug, like I’m stating facts instead of building a case. “And it’s only going to get worse. Tomorrow we’re on fencing detail.”

  They both glance at me.

  “Barbed wire,” I add. “From what I hear, someone needed stitches after their shift yesterday. They didn’t even let him leave early to get it stitched up.”

  I laugh—sharp and humorless. “Bastards made him finish first.”

  The words hang there longer than I expect. Vaelan frowns. Marcus’s smile slips, just a little.

  I realize too late I’ve said too much.

  “I’m just fucking with you guys—come on. You two are so gullible.” I force a laugh, aim it like a weapon.

  Marcus studies my face, searching for the punchline. “Mkay. But if I lose a finger, I swear I’ll bleed all over your dress.”

  “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I shoot back. “Means I finally get to take this humiliating thing off and take a nice cold shower.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Vaelan shakes her head, smirking. “You’re both nasty.”

  She says it like a joke. But she’s still watching me. And that’s when I know—I didn’t sell it.

  We’re led back to the bunks. Because we’ve all been our best happy-camper selves, we’re granted an hour of “leisure.” Which really means showers, or letters home—assuming there’s still someone on the other end to write to.

  I don’t bother with either.

  Instead, I take the path into the trees, pretending I just need air. Space. Somewhere without eyes. The woods swallow sound fast, the camp noise thinning until it’s just my boots on dirt and my own breathing.

  I tell myself this is what freedom feels like.

  It isn’t.

  Even out here, I keep checking over my shoulder. Branches creak. Leaves shift. Every shadow feels deliberate. Like I didn’t escape the watching—I just stepped into a place where I can’t see it anymore.

  Just like that, my prediction comes true.

  A twig snaps behind me.

  I spin, heart slamming into my throat, and find Jeff standing there with his arms crossed. A wicked smile spreads across his face.

  Fucking great.

  Heat floods my body—fast and dizzying. Adrenaline. That’s what this is. This is it. This is where I disappear.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  “Hey, trouble,” he says. “Why’d you wander so far from the nest?”

  “Fresh air, Jeff.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “It’s my leisure hour. Good behavior and all that. Last I checked, I haven’t tagged a building or threatened anyone.” I force a shrug. “I’m happy to head back to the bunks if that’s a problem.”

  Every hair on my arms is standing on end. My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

  “Eh. No point in that.” He steps closer. Too close. I catch the sour bite of cheap cologne. “Since your little friend isn’t here to keep an eye on you, I figure I can pluck you from the coop. No one the wiser.”

  My stomach drops.

  “Redheads fetch a nice price,” he adds casually. “I’d know. Your brother did.”

  Something breaks.

  I don’t think. I don’t plan. I move.

  My fist connects with his jaw so hard my knuckles scream. He stumbles back, more shocked than hurt, and that’s all the opening I need. I’m on him—scratching, hitting, every ounce of terror pouring out of me like poison.

  I hear myself screaming, but it doesn’t sound like me.

  I hit him again. And again.

  Hands grab me from behind.

  Strong. Sudden.

  I thrash, wild and feral, trying to get free.

  “Renna—stop.”

  That voice.

  Low. Controlled. Close to my ear.

  It’s the boy again.

  He locks his arms around mine, pinning them to my sides. Not rough—but unyielding. Like he knows exactly how much force it takes to end this without making it worse.

  Jeff scrambles backward, pale and shaking.

  “You’re dead,” he snarls. “You hear me?”

  “Not if I slit your throat first while you’re sleeping, pedo.” I snarl, lurching forward, fighting the grip. “You’re going to pay, fucker. YOU'RE GOING TO PAY.”

  He tightens his hold—not on me.

  On the situation.

  “Walk away,” he says. Flat. No threat. No anger.

  Jeff hesitates.

  Then he leaves.

  I sag against the boy, lungs burning, my body trembling now that there’s nowhere for the adrenaline to go.

  “Let go of me,” I rasp.

  “Not yet,” he says quietly. “Breathe first.”

  I hate that he’s right.

  When he finally releases me, I spin to face him.

  “You don’t get to touch me.”

  “I know.”

  There’s no apology in his voice. No comfort either.

  Just certainty.

  The kid cocks his head to the side, his eyes observant, missing nothing. They almost seem to have that dead stare you only see in serial killers... or psychos...

  “You can’t do that again,” he adds, letting silence fill the spaces between us. “Not unless you want them to put you in the box. And you’re ruining my leverage. We need him to outpace the other groups. Beating him to a pulp won’t solve your problems.”

  The words land heavier than any threat Jeff made.

  I realize then what I really am.

  Not protected.

  Not safe.

  Contained.

  And that terrifies me more than being alone ever did.