Shadows We Inherited
1077 Words
(Prince’s Point of View)
The photo hit him like a punch to the chest.
He didn’t need Pearl to say anything — the look in her eyes was enough. Prince glanced down at the screen, at the low-resolution shot of her living room. The leather couch, the antique vase, that damn crooked family portrait on the wall. Taken from inside her house.
They were already inside. Whoever they were.
“Shut it down,” Prince snapped, slamming Michael’s laptop shut. He grabbed the guy’s phone and powered it off. “They’re watching us. Probably listening too.”
Michael opened his mouth to protest, but Prince shot him a look that made him think twice. Pearl sat still, her arms wrapped around herself like she could hold all the fear in if she just clenched tight enough.
“We’re not safe here,” Prince said.
“Where are we safe?” Pearl asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t answer right away. Not because he didn’t know — but because the truth made his blood run colder.
He did know. There was a place no one would expect.
---
They parked behind the old train station on the edge of the city — a forgotten relic Prince used to escape to in high school when things at home got loud or cruel. The rusted rails and boarded-up windows made it look haunted, but he felt safer there than he ever did at home.
As they slipped inside through a broken door, the silence wrapped around them like a shroud. Dust clung to every surface. Broken glass glittered beneath their feet. The building groaned with age, but at least no one would think to look for them there.
Pearl’s gaze swept the room. “You used to come here?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “When I needed to not be found.”
She nodded like she understood. Maybe she did. They were more alike than he’d realized.
Prince led her up the stairs to an old office with peeling walls and a view of the tracks. Michael trailed behind, mumbling something about weak Wi-Fi signals and analog setups.
Pearl sat on the edge of a dusty desk and stared at the floor.
“My house… it was my one constant. And now it feels like a trap.”
Prince leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “That’s what they want — for you to feel cornered. Afraid.”
“It’s working,” she said bitterly.
“No,” he replied, his voice firmer now. “You’re still here. Still asking questions.”
She lifted her head. Her eyes were glassy but steady. “Why are you helping me, Prince?”
That question again. But this time, there was no dodging it. He stepped closer.
“Because you matter,” he said. “Because you don’t scare easy. Because the moment you walked back into my life, I knew I couldn’t ignore this.”
Pearl tilted her head, studying him like she was trying to see the boy behind the bravado.
“And you’re not afraid of what we might find?”
“I’m terrified,” he said honestly. “But I’m more afraid of walking away and never knowing the truth.”
Their eyes locked, and suddenly the air between them changed. Thicker. Heavier. His pulse quickened as she stood, moving close enough that he could smell her perfume — light and warm and expensive.
“You don’t have to fix me,” she whispered.
“I’m not trying to,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “I just want to be there when you fix yourself.”
She leaned in before he could say anything else, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was hesitant, exploratory — but real. Like both of them needed to feel something other than fear. He wrapped his arms around her waist, anchoring her to him. She responded instantly, her fingers curling into his shirt.
It wasn’t long or frantic — just the kind of kiss that made promises it didn’t quite say out loud.
When they pulled apart, he kept his forehead pressed to hers.
“You’re dangerous,” she murmured.
“You have no idea.”
A sharp knock on the wall broke the moment.
Michael.
“Sorry to ruin the tension,” he said dryly, “but you guys need to see this.”
They followed him back to the makeshift workstation — a laptop perched on a crate, a flickering desk lamp powered by a backup battery.
“I finally cracked a section of the file from the storeroom,” Michael said. “It’s a list of students. With coded statuses. Some are flagged as ‘missing,’ others as ‘transferred,’ and a few marked as ‘scrubbed.’”
Prince frowned. “Scrubbed?”
Michael clicked a name.
P.A. — Transferred. Status: Scrubbed.
“That’s you, Pearl,” Michael said.
Pearl looked like someone had sucked the breath from her lungs.
Michael clicked again.
P.R. — Status: Witness. Classified.
Prince stepped forward. “What does that mean?”
Michael’s fingers flew across the keys. “According to metadata, these files date back to middle school. The prep school you both attended. The program was covert — targeted, psychological, possibly medical. And according to this…” He turned the screen again.
“Some of the kids were part of controlled memory trials. Selective amnesia.”
Prince’s blood ran cold. “You’re saying I was involved in this?”
Michael nodded grimly. “Whether you remember it or not.”
Pearl was pacing now, arms folded tight. “So we were just… test subjects? And no one thought to tell us?”
“It gets worse,” Michael said, voice low. “The program was authorized by someone named Gabriel Langston.”
Pearl froze. “My stepfather.”
Prince’s jaw clenched. “My dad’s business partner.”
The room felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
And then — another buzz. Michael’s phone. Even powered off, it lit up.
A new message.
No sender.
No origin.
Just words.
You’re digging graves. One of them will be yours.
Prince read it twice, then looked at Pearl. Her face was pale but determined.
He stepped in front of her, heart thudding. “We’re not backing down.”
Her eyes met his.
“No,” she said. “We’re just getting started.”
- Writer
