Harley sat at the worn kitchen table, watching Mr. J cook at the stove. The familiar sounds of breakfast filled his small apartment—the gentle sizzle of scrambled eggs in the pan, the quiet scrape of his spatu against metal. Morning light filtered through the single window, casting everything in a warm glow that made this tiny space feel safer than anywhere else in the building.

  "They brought in another girl st night," she said quietly, her bare feet resting on the floor beneath the table. The long bck t-shirt she wore fell past her knees as she sat in the chair. "She was so drugged up she could barely walk."

  Mr. J's shoulders tensed slightly beneath his green overalls, but his hands never paused in their practiced movements. "That's not good," he said softly. "Poor girl."

  The sight of the new arrival had stirred something in Harley, bringing back memories she usually kept buried. "It reminded me of my first night here. Three years ago now." She traced patterns on the table's scratched surface. "I was just a street kid trying to survive, stealing food from this convenience store—bologna and bread, food I needed."

  "What happened?" Mr. J asked gently, sliding another golden pancake onto the growing stack.

  "When I ran out, there was this redheaded man walking by with his girlfriend. The store owner was chasing me, yelling." Harley's voice grew distant. "The man grabbed me, held me there. When the owner caught up, he was furious, ready to hit me, but the redheaded man calmly said, 'You don't need to do that. Let's just call the cops.' So the owner went back inside and called them."

  Mr. J turned from the stove, his face creased with concern.

  "I figured I was headed to juvie or a group home—normal stuff for a kid who got caught stealing." Her words held no humor. "Instead, they brought me here. That's when I realized some of the cops must be part of this."

  "I think so too," Mr. J nodded slowly. "I've tried telling police officers about what happens here. They say they'll look into it, but nothing ever changes. They think I don't understand what I'm seeing."

  "People dismiss you because of your condition," Harley said, anger fshing in her eyes. "But you see everything that goes on in this building, don't you?"

  A small smile crossed his face. "Yeah. I see everything."

  He fixed her pte with careful attention, arranging the pancakes and eggs perfectly before setting it in front of her. Then he made his own pte and sat across from her.

  "Thank you," she said, cutting into the pancakes. "You're a really good cook. These are amazing."

  Mr. J's whole face lit up at the praise, the same genuine smile she'd grown to love over the past three years.

  "So tomorrow's Thursday," she said between bites, her voice dropping lower. "Mr. Tetch leaves for his meeting, right?"

  "He always goes on Thursdays," Mr. J confirmed, his expression growing serious.

  Harley gave him a gentle, pyful kick under the table with her bare foot to get his attention. "So you remember the pn?"

  "Yes. When he leaves, you'll come down and tell me you need me to check something. Then we go up to the fourth floor and try to open the safe."

  She gave him another soft tap with her foot, this time as reassurance. "And then we take the money and get out of here. Both of us. Somewhere safe, somewhere they can't make me do what I've been doing."

  Mr. J met her eyes across the small table. "Somewhere safe," he agreed.

  For the first time in three years, freedom felt like more than just a dream.

  ---

  Selina's eyelids fluttered open, heavy and uncooperative, like they'd been glued shut. Her head throbbed with a dull ache, and her mouth tasted like cotton soaked in chemicals. The world came into focus slowly: stark white walls, fluorescent lights humming overhead, and the faint scent of industrial cleaner mixed with something sweeter, almost floral. She was lying on a thin mattress, a bunk bed above her casting a shadow. Not the streets, not the warehouse with 47. Somewhere else. Somewhere different.

  She bolted upright—or tried to. Her limbs felt leaden, the drug still lingering in her system. Gdys, she remembered. The diner, the Coke, the dizziness. That grandmotherly smile hiding something dangerous. Selina's hand instinctively went to her ear, feeling for the tiny communicator. It was still there, hidden beneath her hair.

  "You're finally awake." The voice was soft, almost too friendly, coming from a young Asian girl perched on the edge of the lower bunk across from her. She looked about fourteen, with dark bck hair tied back in a ponytail and eyes that seemed too wide, too eager. She wore simple clothes—a pin t-shirt and shorts—like everyone else Selina could glimpse in the room.

  Selina rubbed her temples, pying up the confusion. "Where... am I?"

  The girl smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "They call it the Wondernd. Don't worry, everyone wakes up like this at first. I'm Bethany. You've been out for a few hours. They said you were pretty out of it when you were brought in."

  Gdys. Selina filed that away, her mind sharpening despite the fog. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing her bance. The room held maybe a dozen bunks, some occupied by girls whispering or staring bnkly at the walls. No windows, just vents humming with recycled air. "The Wondernd? What is this pce?"

  Bethany leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's home now. For girls like us—no family, no pce to go. They take care of us here. Food, beds, even some fun if you py nice. But it takes time to adjust. I can help you learn the ropes, if you want."

  Selina eyed her warily. Bethany's helpfulness felt rehearsed, like a script she'd run through before. But pying along was the only move right now. "Yeah. Thanks. I could use that."

  Bethany led her down a narrow hallway, the floors tiled and spotless, echoing with their footsteps. Cameras blinked from every corner, red lights steady and unblinking. A guard—big guy, bored expression—nodded at them as they passed, his eyes lingering a second too long on Selina. She suppressed a shiver, focusing on mapping the yout. Doors with keypads, stairwells branching off, the faint hum of activity below.

  "First tip," Bethany said, gesturing vaguely, "don't talk too much, especially not to the new girls until you know who's who. Follow the rules—they're simple. Eat when they say, work when they say, and you'll be fine."

  "Work?" Selina asked, keeping her tone naive.

  Bethany waved a hand. "You'll see. Some girls get better treatment if they know how to behave. Nicer rooms, better food. It's all about being smart." She paused at a bathroom door, pushing it open to reveal communal showers and sinks. "Clean up here whenever. Just don't hog the hot water."

  Selina nodded, her eyes darting to the mirrors—no obvious two-way gss, but she wouldn't bet against it. "I should probably... You know. Use the facilities. That stuff they gave me really messed with my system."

  "Go ahead," Bethany said, settling onto a bench near the sinks. "I'll wait out here."

  Selina entered one of the stalls, her heart hammering as she closed the door behind her. The moment she was alone, she touched the tiny communicator in her ear, speaking in the barest whisper.

  "47, can you hear me?"

  His voice came through immediately, clear despite the microscopic speaker. "Selina. Thank God. I've been monitoring your vitals—your heart rate spiked when you woke up. Are you injured?"

  "No, just drugged. Some kind of sedative in my drink at the diner." She kept her voice barely audible, one ear listening for Bethany's movements outside. "I'm inside the facility. They call it 'the Wondernd.' It's bigger than we thought—multiple floors, lots of girls."

  "I have two surveilnce drones positioned outside the building. Four-story structure, heavy security, but I'm tracking the patrol patterns." 47's tone was professionally calm, but she could hear the underlying tension. "The building's shielded against most electronic surveilnce, so I can't get visual inside. You're my eyes in there."

  "Got it. The girl showing me around—Bethany—she's fishing for information. I haven't seen Tammy yet, but I'll keep looking."

  "Good. Focus on gathering intelligence. I need building schematics, guard rotations, any security weaknesses you can identify. When you're ready to move, just say the word and I'll coordinate extraction."

  "How long do I have?"

  "As long as you need, but don't take unnecessary risks. If your cover gets blown or you're in immediate danger, abort immediately. Your safety comes first."

  The familiar weight of his confidence settled around her like armor. "I'll be careful. Going dark for now—my guide's getting suspicious."

  "Copy. I'll be monitoring."

  Selina flushed the toilet for show and emerged from the stall, washing her hands while Bethany watched her in the mirror.

  "Feeling better?" Bethany asked, her eyes slightly narrowed.

  "Much. Thanks for waiting." Selina dried her hands, noting how Bethany's expression had shifted—still friendly, but more calcuting. "So what's next on the tour?"

  They moved to a common room next, a space with worn couches and a TV bolted to the wall, pying some mindless sitcom on loop. A few girls lounged there, eyes gzed, not really watching. One looked up, assessed Selina with a flicker of pity, then looked away.

  "Second tip," Bethany continued, "stay out of trouble. Alice doesn't like drama. Jarvis even less."

  Selina stored that away, her suspicion growing. Bethany wasn't just helpful—maybe too helpful.

  The cafeteria smelled of institutional food—overcooked pasta and canned sauce—but it was food, and Selina's stomach growled despite herself. Girls lined up with trays, chatting in low tones, the guards patrolling the edges like shepherds watching their flock.

  Bethany guided her to a table near the back. "Grab what you want. It's not gourmet, but it's free."

  Selina loaded her tray mechanically, her eyes scanning the room. And then she saw her: Tammy, at a table set apart like some VIP section. She looked different—healthier, her reddish-blonde hair styled, wearing a nicer dress than the standard-issue stuff. Sitting right between a man in his thirties with slicked-back hair and a sharp suit—Jarvis, had to be—and a blonde woman with a predatory smile, Alice. Tammy ughed at something Jarvis said, her hand on his arm, looking... comfortable. Happy, even.

  Selina's gut twisted. Tammy caught her eye for a split second, but her expression didn't change. No recognition, no plea for help. Just a bnk gnce before turning back to Jarvis.

  Bethany followed her stare and smirked. "That's Tammy. Jarvis's current favorite. Been here a bit, but she's smart—figured out how to py the game quick. Gets all the perks: better clothes, private time upstairs. If you want that, you gotta be like her."

  There was longing in Bethany's voice, sharp and unhidden. "Smart about things, huh?" Selina muttered, forcing herself to look away.

  "Yeah. Being nice to the right people." Bethany's eyes narrowed. "But favorites don't st forever."

  Selina felt a punch of nausea that had nothing to do with the drugs. Was Tammy really one of them now? Broken or, adapted?