Never the Same

Two Years of Silence

Back at the apartment complex

Terrance and I reached the rear staircase.

Sirens echoed somewhere in the distance.

People shouted.

Glass shattered.

The entire building had descended into chaos.

I was struggling to keep up.

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst.

Then Terrance suddenly stopped.

His body went rigid.

My stomach dropped.

"What?"

His eyes focused ahead.

At the bottom of the stairs.

Someone was standing there.

Waiting.

Watching.

A woman.

Late twenties.

Dark hair.

Hospital scrubs.

Blood covered the front of her uniform.

For several terrifying seconds, nobody moved.

Then the woman spoke.

One sentence.

A sentence that made every ounce of blood drain from my body.

"Jasmine is alive."

The woman collapsed before either of us could ask another question.

And as Terrance rushed forward, neither of us noticed the man standing on a nearby rooftop.

A rifle pressed against his shoulder.

His crosshairs centered directly on Lexi.

Waiting.

Patiently.

For the perfect shot.

The crack of the rifle shattered the night.

Instinct took over before thought could catch up.

Terrance tackled me to the ground.

A fraction of a second later, glass exploded behind us.

People screamed.

The woman in scrubs lying at the bottom of the staircase didn't move.

My ears rang.

My heart felt like it was trying to escape my chest.

For several seconds I couldn't process what had happened.

Then Terrance grabbed my face.

"Lexi!"

I blinked.

"What?"

His eyes searched mine frantically.

"You hit?"

I shook my head.

"No."

"Good."

Another gunshot echoed.

Concrete exploded from the wall beside us.

Whoever was shooting wasn't warning us.

They were trying to kill us.

Terrance immediately pulled me down the stairwell.

The woman in scrubs groaned.

She was still alive.

Barely.

Blood soaked through her uniform.

Not fresh blood.

Older blood.

Like she'd been injured hours ago.

Terrance crouched beside her.

"Who are you?"

The woman struggled to focus.

Her eyes landed on him.

Recognition flashed across her face.

"You..."

"What about Jasmine?"

The woman started crying.

Actual tears.

Raw.

Terrified.

The kind of tears that come from carrying guilt for too long.

"They lied."

"What?"

"They lied about everything."

Another gunshot echoed.

The woman flinched.

Then he grabbed Terrance's shirt.

"Find Building Seven."

Terrance frowned.

"What is Building Seven?"

Her eyes widened with fear.

"Before they move them."

Them.

Plural.

My stomach dropped.

The woman coughed violently.

Blood stained her lips.

Then she whispered something else.

Something that made Terrance freeze.

"Jasmine isn't who she used to be."

Before either of us could ask another question, her body went limp.

Unconscious.

Or worse.

I couldn't tell.

Terrance checked her pulse.

Still alive.

Barely.

Then sirens grew louder.

Someone was approaching.

Fast.

"We have to go."

"What about her?"

Terrance looked torn.

For a moment I thought he would stay.

Then his expression hardened.

"If she's alive, EMS will find her."

Another gunshot answered the decision for us.

We ran.

Twenty minutes later

We were hidden inside an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town.

One of Terrance's locations.

The place was dark.

Quiet.

Secure.

At least for the moment.

I sat on an old wooden crate trying to process everything.

A sniper.

The hospital.

The dead nurse.

The woman in scrubs.

Building Seven.

Jasmine.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Terrance stood across the room making phone calls.

The expression on his face worried me.

Because he looked angry.

Not emotional.

Not upset.

Angry.

The kind of anger that comes from realizing someone has crossed a line.

Finally, he hung up.

"They know."

"Who?"

"My brother's people."

I stared.

For the first time since meeting him, Terrance looked like a man accepting a reality he'd spent years trying to avoid.

"What does that mean?"

He sat down.

For several moments he said nothing.

Then—

"It means I need help."

The words sounded painful.

Like admitting failure.

Like surrendering.

"You don't trust them?"

"I trust them."

He laughed bitterly.

"That's the problem."

I didn't understand.

Then he explained.

"My brother built an organization."

I nodded.

"I know."

"No."

His eyes met mine.

"You know rumors."

The room grew quiet.

"My brother doesn't just have street people."

"What do you mean?"

"He has accountants."

Lawyers.

Former military personnel.

Technology experts.

People who owe him favors.

People who owe my father favors.

People who have protected our family for years."

I stared at him.

This was much bigger than I realized.

Much bigger.

"My brother built a network."

Terrance leaned back.

"The streets were just one part of it."

For the first time, I understood why Terrance had survived so long.

Why does his brother remain untouchable?

Why did the police never find anything?

Because they weren't operating like criminals.

They were operating like an organization.

A very disciplined organization.

"And now you're calling them?"

Terrance nodded.

"I didn't want to."

"But?"

His eyes darkened.

"Somebody just put a sniper on you."

The room fell silent.

Because he was right.

This wasn't a game anymore.

This wasn't an investigation anymore.

Someone wanted us dead.

Later that night

Three vehicles arrived.

No flashy entrances.

No loud music.

No drama.

Just efficiency.

Men and women stepped inside the warehouse.

Most looked ordinary.

One carried a laptop.

Another carried medical supplies.

A third carried surveillance equipment.

Nothing about them screamed criminal.

Everything about them screamed professional.

The oldest among them approached Terrance.

Gray hair.

Sharp eyes.

Military posture.

"You look like your father."

Terrance sighed.

"Good to see you too, Marcus."

The older man smiled.

Then his expression became serious.

"We have a problem."

"What else is new?"

Marcus handed over a tablet.

Terrance's face immediately changed.

"What?"

I asked.

He turned the screen toward me.

Hospital blueprints.

Detailed hospital blueprints.

My stomach tightened.

One section had been highlighted.

A part of the hospital that officially didn't exist.

No public records.

No employee access.

No patient records.

Nothing.

Only a label.

Building Seven.

The same name as the woman in the scrubs mentioned.

Terrance looked up.

"How long has this been here?"

Marcus frowned.

"At least fifteen years."

"What is it?"

Nobody answered immediately.

Which told me everything.

Finally Marcus spoke.

"We don't know."

My stomach dropped.

"What?"

"We've heard rumors."

The room grew quiet.

"Human trafficking."

Silence.

"Illegal medical research."

More silence.

"Identity replacement."

The words hung in the air.

Dark.

Terrifying.

Impossible.

And yet somehow believable.

Because seven women had vanished.

Maybe more.

Then Marcus zoomed in on a photograph.

The image was grainy.

Taken from a distance.

A woman exited a secured building.

Escorted by armed personnel.

Terrance stopped breathing.

I swear he stopped breathing.

The entire room went still.

"Terrance?"

He couldn't answer.

His eyes remained locked on the screen.

The woman in the photograph was older.

Thinner.

Paler.

But unmistakable.

His voice cracked.

For the first time since I'd known him.

"Jasmine."

No one spoke.

No one moved.

The photograph had been taken three weeks ago.

Three weeks.

Not two years.

Three weeks.

Meaning Jasmine had been alive this entire time.

The question was whether she was being held there.

Or working there.

Friend.

Or foe.

Victim.

Or participant.

Neither answer felt good.

Hours later

The warehouse had quieted.

Most people were working.

Researching.

Planning.

Preparing.

Terrance sat alone staring at the photograph.

I walked over and sat beside him.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

"What if she doesn't remember me?"

The question surprised me.

I looked over.

He wasn't staring at the photograph anymore.

He was staring at the floor.

"What if she's been through so much she doesn't even know who she is?"

My heart broke for him.

Because beneath everything else—

The reputation.

The power.

The secrets.

The organization.

He was still a man who never stopped loving someone.

I reached over and took his hand.

The gesture surprised both of us.

His fingers tightened around mine.

Just slightly.

"I think she remembers."

"You don't know that."

"No."

I smiled softly.

"I don't."

For the first time all day, he smiled.

A real smile.

Small.

But real.

Then the warehouse doors burst open.

One of Marcus's people sprinted inside.

Panic covered his face.

"Terrance!"

Everyone immediately stood.

"What happened?"

The man looked horrified.

"We've got movement at Building Seven."

Terrance's eyes narrowed.

"What kind of movement?"

The man's answer chilled the entire room.

"They're evacuating."

Silence.

Then—

"They know we're coming."

The race had begun.

And somewhere inside Building Seven, Jasmine was waiting to be rescued...

Or waiting to walk straight into their trap.

Chapter Thirteen

The room erupted into controlled chaos.

Not panic.

Not confusion.

Purpose.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I got a glimpse into why Terrance's father had built such a powerful organization and why his brother had managed to stay ten steps ahead of everyone for years.

Nobody yelled.

Nobody ran around screaming.

Everyone immediately moved.

Laptops opened.

Phones came out.

Maps appeared on screens.

People started working.

Fast.

Efficiently.

Like they had trained for moments exactly like this.

Terrance stood in the center of it all.

For the first time since I met him, I wasn't looking at the neighborhood celebrity.

I wasn't looking at the guy everyone gossiped about.

I wasn't looking at the man women threw themselves at.

I was looking at a leader.

And honestly?

It looked natural on him.

Marcus approached carrying a tablet.

"We have three possible routes."

Terrance glanced down.

"What about surveillance?"

A younger woman sitting behind multiple monitors answered.

"We tapped traffic cameras twenty minutes ago."

I blinked.

Tapped?

Terrance caught my expression.

"Relax."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"We're not hackers."

The woman laughed.

"We absolutely are hackers."

Even in the middle of everything, I couldn't help smiling.

Then the screens changed.

Several camera feeds appeared.

Roads.

Parking lots.

Highways.

Intersections.

My stomach tightened.

One feed showed a convoy of vehicles leaving the hospital area.

Black SUVs.

The same type that had been following us.

The same type parked outside my apartment.

The same type parked outside Nicole's hospital room.

Marcus zoomed in.

"Vehicle one."

Another screen.

"Vehicle two."

Then another.

"Vehicle three."

Terrance folded his arms.

"They split up."

The woman nodded.

"Exactly."

"Why?"

"Because they know they're being watched."

The room fell silent.

Because that wasn't good.

Not good at all.

The people behind Building Seven weren't amateurs.

They were disciplined.

Organized.

Smart.

Just like Terrance's people.

Which made them dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Then another voice spoke.

"Wait."

Everyone turned.

An older man sat behind one of the computers.

His eyes narrowed.

"What?"

The image zoomed in.

Then zoomed in again.

Suddenly everyone understood.

One of the vehicles wasn't heading away from the city.

It was heading toward an old industrial district.

The same district where several abandoned medical facilities were located.

Marcus smiled.

"There you are."

Terrance's eyes sharpened.

"You found something?"

The older man nodded.

"Not something."

He pointed at the screen.

"Someone."

My heart jumped.

The image was blurry.

But recognizable.

A woman exiting one of the SUVs.

Dark hair.

Slender frame.

A hospital bracelet still attached to her wrist.

Jasmine.

Terrance stopped breathing.

Again.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

The room felt frozen.

Then Marcus placed a hand on his shoulder.

"She's alive."

The words sounded almost unreal.

Alive.

Not dead.

Not buried.

Not gone.

Alive.

After two years of searching.

After two years of grief.

After two years of believing he'd never get answers.

She was alive.

But Terrance's expression didn't change.

In fact, he looked more concerned.

"What?"

I asked.

His eyes remained fixed on the screen.

"Something's wrong."