After Helen left the apartment, Leyla stayed frozen in the middle of the studio, shoulders slumped under the weight of the day, pressing down on her like a slab of concrete. The frustration from the library incident, Cassie and Tiffany’s laughter, the mocking stares from the other students, everything came rushing back, an echo she couldn’t silence.

  She wanted nothing more than to collapse on the bed, bury her face in the pillow, and cry the anger out of her system. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

  With a long breath, she walked over to the table and pulled the map of Edenlost from her pocket. She laid it out carefully, its frayed edges quivering in the dim glow of the lamp. Her eyes traced the intricate details of the city, a web of streets stretching all the way to the towering walls, as if enclosing a world apart, guarded and untouchable.

  “Wow… Edenlost is way bigger than I pictured,” she whispered. “And until I’m free to move around, exploring it is nothing but a pipe dream.”

  The sting of Cassie and Tiffany’s laughter still lingered, sharp as glass, but she forced herself to shove it down.

  “They think I’m weak,” she muttered under her breath, fists clenched tight. “But I’ll make damn sure they eat their words.”

  She grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbled down a set of rehab drills, and taped it to the wall. Then she changed into a tank top and shorts.

  No more excuses, she thought. Time’s running out.

  “If I wanna get stronger fast, I’ve gotta push harder,” she told herself, moving with sharp determination.

  She lost all sense of time, buried in the training. Sweat slid down her body, muscles burning, but she refused to quit. Every rep, every movement, was a step closer to freedom, to the day she’d finally walk without crutches.

  She would’ve kept going if not for the sharp, insistent knock at the door. She jumped, heart slamming against her ribs.

  “Who is it?” she called out, edging toward the door with caution.

  From the other side, Helen’s steady voice answered, “It’s me. I brought some very special guests.”

  Leyla opened the door and froze. Three children stood in front of her, Helen just behind them. Words caught in her throat. Their faces, blank and drained of life, told the story all on their own: the trauma of abduction, the surgery that had stolen the spark right out of them.

  Little Susy, barely four years old, was tiny, almost fragile. Her fine hair fell over her shoulders like a thin veil. Taken six months ago, she suffered from selective mutism: she spoke rarely, and only when she decided to. More often, she cried for her mother and then dissolved into sobs. Watching her, Leyla felt her chest tighten.

  Next to her stood the Red brothers, nicknamed for their wild copper curls and the spray of freckles across their cheeks. They were about eight, snatched around the same time as Susy. Hunger was their constant shadow, and in their eyes flickered a greedy light born of deep, gnawing deprivation. Only recently had they started showing flickers of memory from their old life, fragile recollections always threatened by the looming shadow of the dreaded “treatment.”

  Leyla greeted them warmly. “Well, this is a surprise! Think you guys can hang tight for a minute? I just need a quick shower.”

  Helen took in her sweat-drenched appearance but let it slide with a gentle smile. “Take all the time you need.”

  When Leyla came back, wrapped in a robe with her hair twisted into a towel, she looked completely refreshed. “What beautiful kids!” she said, stepping closer. “I’m Leyla. And you are…?”

  “Bob!” “Oscar!” the twins answered in perfect unison. Helen supplied the little girl’s name, and Susy lifted her gaze, just barely. That small gesture hit Leyla straight in the heart. Later, Helen explained, “It’s rare for Susy to react like that. She must’ve sensed something in you.”

  Leyla smiled, a warmth blooming in her chest. “How about some hot chocolate? God knows I could use one,” she joked.

  “Sit tight, I’ll handle it,” Helen said, heading into the kitchen.

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  She came back a few minutes later with a tray and four steaming mugs. The sweet scent of cocoa and cinnamon filled the room. The Red brothers leaned forward as if it were ambrosia, while Susy just watched in silence, wide-eyed with wonder.

  “Thanks, Helen!” Oscar blurted out. “Smells amazing!”

  “Careful, it’s hot,” she warned with a smile. Bob copied his brother, blowing across the rim with exaggerated concentration.

  Sitting beside Susy, Leyla took in the scene with a mix of tenderness and melancholy. For one fleeting moment, she allowed herself that illusion of normalcy.

  “So, Leyla,” Helen asked, settling in with the last cup, “how are you feeling after all that training?”

  Leyla brushed a hand through Susy’s hair, the little girl curled up against her side.

  “Completely wiped,” she admitted, her voice dull.

  Her legs throbbed. The crutches leaning against the wall seemed to stare her down, almost scolding. Part of her wanted to pretend they weren’t there. The other sharper part reminded her exactly why they were. “But at least today I did something that mattered.”

  “You’ve been working hard,” Helen said, admiration in her tone. “Just don’t push it too far. Recovery takes time.”

  She nodded, sipping slowly. “Yeah, I know. But sometimes it feels like I’m just not doing enough.”

  “You’re doing a lot,” Helen said gently. “Look at Susy. She reacted to you in a way she doesn’t with anyone else. That matters. You can make a difference for others too.”

  Leyla glanced down at the little girl, now asleep with her head resting on her lap. Her hair fell across her face like a veil. Leyla brushed a strand aside, revealing a rosy cheek and lips parted in the soft calm of sleep. For a moment, everything else melted away. There was only Susy. And somehow, Leyla felt safe. The child’s steady heartbeat lulled her thoughts, whispering that the world could wait.

  Meanwhile, the Red brothers had drained their hot chocolate and were starting to fidget.

  “Leyla,” Bob piped up, “can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot,” she said with a small smile.

  “Why do you use those?” Bob asked, pointing at the crutches. “Do they hurt?”

  Leyla thought for a moment. “No, they don’t hurt. They help me walk, cause my legs aren’t strong enough yet. But I’m working on it.”

  “And does it work? Do you get stronger?” Oscar pressed.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Every day’s one more step forward. It’s like climbing a mountain, it feels impossible, but sooner or later, you make it to the top.”

  The Red brothers nodded, like they’d just stumbled onto some big secret. Helen watched them with quiet pride.

  “By the way,” Helen added, her eyes gleaming, “I came with some good news… Starting tomorrow, you’ll be able to register your fingerprints. You’ll be free to come and go whenever you want.”

  Leyla arched a brow, amused. “And what’s the catch? What do you want in return for all that freedom?”

  “Nothing! Just know that every crazy stunt you pull is gonna be on me!”

  Leyla burst out laughing, the sound fresh and liberating. She laughed with her throat and her eyes, as if something inside her had finally come loose. “You sure you wanna take that risk?”

  Helen blew her a kiss, and Leyla’s smile lingered, until a sudden, heavy knock at the door froze the air.

  "Who could that be at this hour?" she whispered, tense.

  Helen stood up. “Stay here, I’ll get it.”

  She cracked the door open.

  “Adam?” she said, surprised.

  The dim light barely brushed across his face. “What are you doing here?”

  Adam peered past her. “We just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  Behind him, in the shadows, she could make out Simon and Taylor.

  “Oh, you guys are here too!” Helen said, trying to ease the tension. Then she turned to Leyla. “Can I let them in? I know it’s late…”

  Still in her bathrobe, Leyla pulled off the towel wrapped around her head. Her wet hair tumbled over her shoulders. “Sure,” she said, her voice unsteady.

  Helen hesitated a moment, then gestured for them to come in. “Just for a bit. Leyla needs her rest.”

  The three stepped inside quietly. The warm light of the room wrapped around them like a thin veil. Their eyes met Leyla’s, she straightened in her chair, instinctively clutching the robe tighter around her shoulders.

  The warmth from moments ago had vanished, replaced by a tension that buzzed in the air like static.

  Her cheeks burned. She suddenly found herself facing three people, each of them making her uneasy in a different way.

  Adam, the one she’d met only a few hours earlier, was now sitting beside her. There was something fatherly and reassuring about him, yet she still felt awkward, she didn’t want him to see her like this, fragile and exposed.

  Simon stood with his hands buried in his jacket pockets, his expression uncertain but kind. She remembered how he’d stood up for her, the flash of anger in his eyes, an anger that didn’t belong to him, but somehow had shielded her.

  And then there was Taylor. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his serious gaze carried a strange kind of energy. He hadn’t said a word, but Leyla could feel him, heavy in the room, pressing against her chest. He was breathtakingly handsome, and that only made it harder to breathe.

  Adam leaned closer, speaking softly. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Just… tired. It’s been a long day.” She tried to smile, but her lips barely cooperated.

  For a moment, silence ruled the room.

  Then Taylor pushed off the wall, took a few steps toward her, and pulled a small chocolate bar from his pocket with a quick flick of his wrist.

  “Dark chocolate,” he said. “Only medicine out there with no side effects.”

  Leyla stared at him, unsure, then reached out her hand. When their fingers brushed, the contact was brief, but enough to make her look away fast.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  Simon gave a crooked smile. “If you wanna hit the library tomorrow, we’ll take you. Cassie can find somewhere else to complain.”

  Leyla looked at him, caught off guard by how naturally he’d said it. There was something different about that moment, not just in the words, but in the gestures, the pauses, the quiet between them. For the first time, someone actually seemed to be on her side.

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