The hotel stood along a deserted road, its flickering neon sign barely visible through the rain. It was the kind of place meant for those who didn't want to be found.
Elias was the first to step inside, speaking softly to the sleepy receptionist while Luca kept watch near the entrance. Adrian and Clara waited in the car with Aurora asleep between them, her small head resting on her mother's shoulder.
When they finally closed the door to their room, an almost sacred silence fell.
Only the soft tapping of rain against the window reminded them that the world was still moving.
Clara stood beside the bed, watching Aurora sleep. She ran her fingers through the girl's pale hair and whispered,
"She's only five, Adrian…"
He came up behind her, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"And she just pulled a man out of an explosion with her mind," he murmured.
Clara's eyes filled with tears. "She's our little girl… but how much more can she endure?"
"More than you think," he said softly. "She's stronger than both of us together."
They watched her sleep in silence for a long while, afraid that if they looked away, she might vanish. Then Adrian pulled Clara close, and for the first time in days, they allowed themselves to breathe.
Aurora woke in the middle of the night.
She didn't make a sound. She slipped from the bed and padded barefoot to the window.
The rain had stopped, but beads of water still streaked the glass. She sat on the floor, knees to her chest, staring into the dark beyond her reflection.
Clara stirred, that invisible maternal instinct tugging her from sleep.
The bed beside her was empty.
"Aurora?" she whispered.
She saw her sitting there, back turned, the city lights glinting in her golden hair.
"Sweetheart, can't you sleep?"
Aurora shook her head slowly.
"There are other children, Mama."
A chill crawled down Clara's spine.
"Children?"
Aurora nodded.
"I can hear them. They're crying. Some… can't breathe."
Adrian, half awake, sat up instantly.
"Who, Aurora? Where are they?"
The girl pressed her hands to her ears, her voice trembling.
"I don't know! There are too many!"
The air in the room thickened. Clara took her into her arms, trying to calm her, but the moment she touched her daughter, a storm of images exploded in her mind, cold metal tables, glaring white lights, glass capsules, tiny hands scratching at invisible walls, a sterile scent of disinfectant and terror.
Screams.
Numbers. And then silence.
Clara screamed, clutching her head as if something was tearing her open from the inside.
Adrian caught her before she hit the floor.
"Clara! Look at me!"
Elias and Luca burst into the room, barefoot, still half asleep.
"She's having an empathic overload," Elias said, eyes darting between mother and daughter.
"But not just with Aurora. With every mind Aurora is connected to."
Aurora sobbed.
"They're like me, Mama… they're trapped like me."
Clara trembled. "Where, baby? Tell me where."
"I don't know," Aurora whimpered. "It's dark… but they're there. Some are still sleeping. Others are screaming."
Elias rubbed a hand over his face, his voice breaking.
"The Sanctuary wasn't the only base. I feared this. If she can feel them… then there are others out there."
Luca sank into a chair, his expression hollow.
"How many kids, Elias?"
"Dozens. Maybe hundreds. If they were part of the experiments, each one carries a piece of the same curse."
Clara looked at her daughter and saw the same fierce determination that once burned in Adrian's eyes.
"I'll find them," Aurora said softly, but her voice was steady. "All of them. No child should be alone."
Clara's throat tightened.
"You can't do this alone."
Aurora smiled faintly, too wise for her years.
"I won't be alone. You'll be with me."
Adrian knelt beside them and wrapped his arms around both.
"Whoever did this," he whispered, "will never see daylight again."
Luca watched them silently, his hands buried in his hair. He had seen horrors in his life, but nothing like this, children turned into weapons.
"If she can find them," he said quietly, "then we don't stop. Not now."
Elias moved toward the window, staring into the darkness beyond.
"We'll find them," he said. "But we have to be ready. The ones who took them won't let us walk in unchallenged."
Clara lifted Aurora back into bed, brushing tears from her cheeks until the girl's breathing steadied.
Then she turned to Adrian.
"Did you hear what she said? 'I'll find them all.' She's only five years old, Adrian, and she speaks like destiny itself."
Adrian touched her face gently.
"She's what we were meant to create, Clara. She's the link between everything they feared and everything we hoped for."
Tears shimmered in her eyes.
"And if we can't protect her?"
Adrian kissed her forehead.
"Then we'll burn the world before we let them touch her again."
Later, when the hotel had fallen silent again, the lights began to flicker.
A faint hum filled the room.
Aurora stirred in her sleep and whispered something that froze the blood in their veins.
"I can hear them… they're close."
The bulbs blinked once, twice, then went out.
And in the total darkness, they all heard it: a soft, distant chorus of children's voices, calling for help.
Then silence.
Only Aurora's breathing, and the echo of her promise: "I'll find them."