The hallway reeked of boiled cabbage and regret. Lilith's bare feet stuck to the linoleum as she marched toward Sister Margaret's office, towel still dripping onto the frayed carpet. Her wet hair clung to her neck, but she barely felt the cold now—adrenaline had turned her blood to fire.
Tyler's threats echoed behind her, but she didn't flinch. Let him bluster. She had bigger prey in sight.
She paused outside the oak door with the chipped nameplate, smoothing the towel over her shoulders. Through the keyhole, she could see Sister Margaret counting money—thick envelopes with the royal crest, same as the ones Ella's mother used to slip her. The memory hit like a slap: how the sister would smile at Ella while turning a blind eye to the way she torched Lilith's notebooks.
System notification: New mission detected. Uncover Sister Margaret's financial ties to external parties. Reward: Lockpicking proficiency, thermal vision.
Lilith's fingers curled into fists. So the system was already pushing her deeper. Good. She knocked once, hard enough to rattle the frame.
"Enter." The sister's voice sharpened, but when Lilith stepped in, her expression softened into something sickly sweet. "Lilith, dear! Whatever's the matter? You're soaked to the bone."
Lilith gestured to her dripping clothes. "Tyler pushed me into the basement tub. Tried to drown me, actually."
Sister Margaret's penciled eyebrows lifted. "Oh, that can't be right. Tyler's such a helpful boy." She set the envelopes aside, her wedding ring clinking against the desk. "Maybe you slipped? These old floors—"
"His friends held me down." Lilith met her gaze, steady. "I have witnesses. Well, one ran, but Jake's wrist is broken. Tyler's ribs might be too."
The sister's smile froze. "You attacked them?"
"Defended myself." Lilith leaned against the doorframe, mimicking the casual posture she'd seen gang members use in old movies. "Funny how no one cares when he shoves me into lockers or steals my meals. But when I fight back—"
"Enough!" Sister Margaret slammed a palm on the desk. "You ungrateful wretch. This is why no one wants you." Her eyes flickered to the gold sigil on Lilith's wrist, then away. "Go to your room. And cover that… thing. It's unseemly."
Lilith didn't move. "Who sent the envelopes, Sister? Ella's mother again?"
The woman paled. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." Lilith backed toward the door. "But I do. And I'll find out what's in those envelopes. All of it."
She left before the sister could recover, ignoring the shrill demand to stop. In the hallway, Tyler waited with two older boys—teenagers from the group home next door, known for selling stolen phones. Their arms were crossed, expressions ugly.
"Told you she'd snitch," one said.
Tyler spat on the floor. "Sister said you're gonna get sent to juvie for breaking Jake's arm."
Lilith laughed—a cold, hollow sound. "Is that what she told you? While she's counting the money your little girlfriend Ella sent?" She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Bet she didn't mention the men who come to her office at night. The ones with tattoos and van keys."
Tyler's face went slack. "What men?"
"Men who like little kids." Lilith let the implication hang. "Men who pay good money for pretty things. Like Ella. Or maybe… like you."
The older boys exchanged uneasy glances. They knew about the vans—everyone did, but no one talked about it.
"Freak," Tyler muttered, but his posture had deflated.
Lilith brushed past them, shoulder checking him hard. "Tell your friends to watch their backs. And tell Ella I'm just getting started."
In her tiny room—bare mattress, cracked window, walls covered in faded Bible verses—Lilith locked the door and collapsed onto the bed. The sigil on her wrist glowed, projecting the mission screen again.
Primary objective: Expose human trafficking ring operating through St. Agnes'.
Secondary objective: Retrieve evidence linking ring to Ella's mother.
Time limit: 72 hours.
Rewards: Enhanced night vision, voice recorder (microscopic).
A small metal object materialized in her palm—a recorder no bigger than a grain of rice, with a sticky backing. She pressed it to the inside of her collar, hidden by the frayed neckline of her uniform.
Thermal vision activated. The world shifted to a wash of blues and reds. Through the wall, she could see Tyler pacing in his room, his body heat spiking with anger. Beyond him, Sister Margaret's office glowed orange—someone else was there, a tall figure with a heat signature that flickered erratically, like they were wearing heavy layers.
Lilith stood, pulling on a threadbare sweater over her damp clothes. The thermal overlay showed the figure leaving the office, pausing outside her door. A man's silhouette, broad-shouldered, with a wolf-head tattoo visible on his neck when he turned.
Her blood ran cold. Kane's men. They'd come sooner than she thought.
The figure moved on, footsteps receding toward the basement. Lilith waited three heartbeats, then slipped out of her room. If they were meeting in the basement, there must be something worth hiding down there.
Night vision engaged. The darkness lifted, painting the hallway in shades of green. She followed the faint footprints in the dust, pausing at the basement door. Through the wood, she heard 低语声 —Sister Margaret and the tattooed man.
"—the girl's getting mouthy. Ella's mother wants her gone before the king's visit."
"Tell the b*tch to pay up. Last shipment cost me three good men." The voice was gravelly, familiar. Lilith strained—yes, he'd been at the warehouse the night they'd taken her baby. One of Kane's lieutenants.
"Her Highness is… indisposed. Royal duties."
A laugh, harsh as gravel. "Royal my *ss. She's just scared the kid'll remember who she is. Lucky for us, the buyer in Dubai pays extra for virgins with blue eyes."
Lilith's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. They were going to sell her. Again.
Critical mission update: Prevent human trafficking of 5 orphans scheduled for transport tonight. Reward: Fetal soul resonance boost.
The recorder in her collar clicked softly. Good. Now she had their voices. But she needed more—proof of the shipment, the buyer's name, something concrete.
She backed away, bumping into a stack of mops. The clatter echoed.
"Who's there?!"
Lilith ran, shoes skidding on the linoleum. Behind her, the basement door crashed open. She darted into a supply closet, pulling the door shut just as footsteps thundered past.
Through the slats, she saw the tattooed man scanning the hallway, his hand resting on a gun holstered at his waist. Her breath came in ragged gasps. This wasn't just about exposing them—it was about surviving long enough to do it.
When his footsteps faded, Lilith sank to the floor, pressing a hand to her stomach. I'm sorry, baby. I'm not strong enough yet.
Fetal soul response detected: "Brave."
The word appeared on the system screen, glowing softly. Lilith smiled, wiping a tear from her cheek. Brave. She could be that. For him, she could be anything.
She peeked through the slats again. The coast was clear. But the clock was ticking—tonight, five kids would be sold. Tonight, she had to stop it.
Lilith pulled the recorder from her collar, tucking it into her sock. Then she reached into the supply closet, fingers closing around a rusted pipe.
Brave didn't mean unafraid. It meant fighting even when you were terrified.
And tonight, she was going to fight like hell.