Chapter four
1220 Words
Mira Pov
I honestly thought I still had a chance when I saw the car.
Not a good chance, not something logical or carefully planned—just that stupid, desperate kind of hope your brain clings to when it refuses to accept what’s happening. Like maybe, I could still run in the other direction. Maybe I could slip past them. Maybe I could do something clever that would only make sense afterward, when I had time to think and regret it properly.
But the moment the man stepped out of that car, I knew I was already behind.
He didn’t rush. That was the first thing that felt wrong.
He moved like someone who had all the time in the world, like I was the one interrupting his day by trying to survive. Even the way he closed the car door, he was calm—careful, controlled. No anger, no urgency. Just certainty.
The worst part was how normal he looked. If I passed him in a*****e or saw him walking down the street, I wouldn’t have looked twice. Clean shirt. Plain expression. Nothing sharp about him, nothing obviously dangerous. That almost made it worse than if he had looked like some obvious villain. At least then my fear would’ve made sense.
I backed up slightly before I even realized I was doing it.
The alley behind me immediately felt smaller.
Not physically—just… like the air had changed. Like I had less space than I did a second ago. I didn’t need to turn around to know they were still there. I could feel it in the way sound didn’t travel properly anymore, in the way my instincts started screaming without giving me anything clear to hold onto.
He stopped a few steps away from the car and looked at me.
Not curious. Not surprised.
More like he was confirming something. Checking a box he’d already decided on.
That look made my skin crawl more than anything else.
“Where is my grandmother?” I asked.
My voice came out sharper than I intended. Too controlled. Too forced. Like I was trying to sound braver than I actually felt.
He didn’t answer immediately.
That pause was deliberate. I could tell. It wasn’t confusion—it was patience. The kind of patience people use when they already believe the outcome is decided, and they’re just waiting for you to catch up.
Instead, he glanced briefly toward the alley behind me, then back at me.
“She is safe for now,” he said.
For now.
That word lodged itself somewhere behind my ribs.
I hated how quickly my mind grabbed it and refused to let go. Safe doesn’t mean safe. It meant temporary. Conditional. Controlled by them.
I took a slow breath, trying to steady my hands. It didn’t really work. My fingers kept tightening into fists on their own, like my body was trying to hold itself together through pressure alone.
“Safe doesn’t sound very convincing coming from you people,” I said.
He tilted his head slightly, like I had spoken in a language that was almost familiar but not quite clear.
“You are making this more difficult than it needs to be.”
That almost made me laugh. Almost.
It came out more like disbelief than humor.
“You broke into my house,” I said, my voice rising before I could stop it, “You scared my grandmother into calling me like she was dying, and now I’m the one making things difficult?”
Behind me, I heard one of them move.
Just a small sound—shoe against ground, fabric shifting—but it changed everything. It reminded me I wasn’t in a conversation. I was in something contained. Something managed.
I didn’t turn around.
I didn’t want to give them that satisfaction, or maybe I just didn’t want to see how many there actually were.
I shifted my weight anyway, searching. Not even a plan yet—just options. The street beyond the car was open, but distance doesn’t matter when you’re outnumbered and outpaced. My brain kept trying to map escape routes like it could solve this if I just thought fast enough.
It couldn’t.
The man in front of me took another step closer.
I hadn’t even noticed him closing the distance before that moment.
Now he was near enough that I could see the details I didn’t want to notice—the calm in his eyes, the way he wasn’t breathing harder, the way nothing about this seemed to affect him at all.
He looked at me like I wasn’t a threat.
Not even an obstacle anymore.
Just a situation being handled.
“This is unnecessary,” he said quietly.
“Then stop it,” I shot back immediately.
My voice shook on the last word. I hated that it did.
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he nodded slightly.
That was all.
That small movement changed everything.
The grip on my arms came from behind before I fully registered the signal. Firm. Controlled. Not rough in a chaotic way—precise. Like they had done this before and didn’t need to think about it.
My shoulders locked. My body jerked instinctively.
“Wait—” I started.
Then I smelled it.
Something sharp hit the air near my face. Sweet underneath, like it was trying to disguise itself as something harmless. Medicine was left open too long. Something chemical pretending to be normal.
My throat tightened instantly.
“What—what did you—”
The sentence didn’t finish.
My tongue felt heavier before I even understood why. My thoughts started slipping out of alignment, like they weren’t staying in the right order anymore.
The world tilted.
Not dramatically at first. Not like falling.
More like the ground had shifted a few degrees off what my body expected, and suddenly everything required effort I didn’t have.
I tried to step back.
My foot didn’t cooperate properly.
That’s when panic finally sharpened into something clean and immediate—but even that felt delayed, like it was arriving too late to matter.
The man in front of me watched it happen without reacting.
“Nothing permanent,” he said again.
Almost like he thought that should help.
It didn’t.
My vision started to blur at the edges first. The alley lights stretched slightly, like they didn’t know where to stay. Sound followed next—distant, muffled, like the street had moved farther away without asking permission.
I tried to breathe properly, but even that felt off. Like my lungs were following instructions a second behind my thoughts.
“No…” I muttered.
It came out wrong. Slow. Heavy.
My knees weakened.
Not all at once—just a gradual surrender, like my body was losing arguments it didn’t know it was having.
Somewhere in the distance, I was still aware of the alley behind me. Still open. Still there.
Useless now.
That thought should have mattered more. It didn’t.
Everything started slipping away in layers.
Not darkness.
Distance first.
Then sound.
Then control.
The last thing I clearly registered was the man watching me like he already knew how this ended.
And then even that stopped being close enough to hold onto.
After that—
Just nothing I could reach.
- Writer
