(Back to the present)
Ron
The last gate was unlocked.
Weird.
Too easy.
Ron paused under the shadow of a loading dock, heart hammering like a war drum in his chest. He peered through the wire mesh fence, waiting for the floodlights to swing.
They didn't.
No guards. No movement. Just the dull hum of a machine echoing in the distance.
Still, he crept forward like the air itself might snitch.
Step.
Breathe.
Step.
Wait.
He was in.
The halls were narrow. Quiet.
His boots made barely a sound on the linoleum as he pressed deeper into the maze of corridors, heart beating loud enough to drown out his thoughts.
He'd memorized the blueprint—thank you, obscure Reddit post about structural loopholes in underfunded facilities.
Third left. Down two. East wing.
She'd be there.
She had to be.
He passed rooms with closed doors. Some empty. Some not. Some leaking whispers and rustling sheets and the sound of someone crying in their sleep.
His grip on his flashlight tightened.
He hated this place.
Then—
A door.
He froze.
Her name was taped on it.
S. BROOKE.
He stared, almost afraid to knock.
Afraid she wasn't behind it.
Afraid she was.
He raised a hand. Then—
From behind him:
"Hey!"
A light snapped on.
"Who are you?!"
Ron turned—security guard, late shift, too close—
RUN.
---
Samantha
She couldn't sleep.
The air had changed again.
He was here. The shadow. The presence.
But not cold this time.
Warm.
Buzzing.
Like anticipation.
Like waiting.
She sat up.
The pendant around her neck—still tucked beneath her shirt—felt hot against her skin.
Her breath caught.
Something was coming.
No.
Someone.
Then—
BANG.
A crash in the hall.
Yelling.
Footsteps pounding the tile like thunder.
She bolted upright.
Heart racing.
Slam.
Another voice—closer.
And then—
A knock.
Fast. Desperate.
"SAMANTHA!"
She froze.
Her blood went electric.
That voice.
That voice.
"Sam, open the door!"
She ran.
Fumbled the lock with trembling fingers.
And then—he burst in.
Ron.
Hair wild. Eyes wide. Backpack slung across one shoulder. Out of breath. Covered in dirt and adrenaline.
"You—" she breathed.
And he didn't let her finish.
He grabbed her—arms around her waist—and held her like the world had ended and started again just to give him this one moment.
"I got you," he whispered into her hair. "I got you. I told you I would."
Her knees buckled.
Tears broke.
She clung to him like she was drowning.
"You came," she choked out.
"I never stopped trying."
---
Outside the Room
Shouting.
Keys.
Someone calling for backup.
Ron let her go just enough to see her face.
"We have to move. Now."
Samantha nodded, still breathless.
She didn't ask how.
Didn't ask why.
She just believed.
He grabbed her hand and ran.
---
They tore through the halls like kids who didn't care about punishment anymore.
Ron led the way, ducking corners, pressing against walls.
Twice they were nearly caught.
Once, Samantha had to drag him back from a side corridor that lit up with a patrol flashlight.
They reached the service exit.
But—
Locked.
He swore.
Samantha looked around frantically. "We'll get caught—"
"Not if we go higher," Ron muttered, already scanning the walls.
"Higher?!"
He pointed to the metal staircase.
"Rooftop access. I saw it on the schematics."
She gaped. "You read schematics?"
"I'm a nerd. Sue me."
She almost laughed.
Almost.
---
The night opened up above them—black sky, silver stars, wind in their faces.
Freedom just out of reach.
Samantha's lungs burned.
Ron looked like he'd run through war to get here.
"Over there!" he shouted, pointing to the far ledge.
A drop. A chain-link fence. Beyond it—trees.
She hesitated.
"I can't," she breathed.
"You can."
"I'm not strong enough—"
"Yes, you are."
Tears welled in her eyes. "What if they take me again?"
Ron stepped close.
"They won't. Because next time, I burn the place down."
She stared at him.
The same Ron who joked about her trauma. Who made her laugh when she wanted to scream.
Now?
He looked like he'd take on the world just to keep her from breaking again.
She nodded.
Together, they climbed.
---
As they reached the edge, a figure stepped from the shadows behind them.
Not a guard.
Not a doctor.
Him.
The hooded figure.
Samantha froze. "It's you."
Ron stepped in front of her, protective. "What the hell do you want?!"
But the figure didn't move. Didn't speak.
Just… pointed.
To the woods.
A new path.
One Ron hadn't mapped.
Shorter. Hidden.
Then—
The figure vanished.
Samantha whispered, "He helped us."
Ron stared at the empty space.
"…Why couldn't this weirdo just say something?"
Samantha actually laughed, breathless and raw. "That's your problem right now?"
But she squeezed his hand tighter.
And they ran.