Midnight settled over the compound like a shroud, heavy and absolute. The fluorescent lights in the hallway had dimmed to their night setting, casting everything in shadows and sickly yellow half-light. Most of the facility was asleep—guards on skeleton crew rotation, scientists and soldiers in their quarters, Morrison likely reviewing footage in his office like the obsessive bastard he was.
In interrogation room two, Evan lay awake on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Anaya was curled against his side, her small body warm and trusting. She'd cried herself to sleep hours ago, exhausted from the "tests" they'd run on her. She'd tried to tell him what they'd done—needles and machines and people asking her questions while they prodded inside her head—but she'd been too upset to make much sense. All Evan knew for certain was that she'd come back terrified, and that tomorrow they'd do it all over again.
Unless he stopped it.
His mind had been working all evening, cataloging every detail of the compound he'd learned over six years of service. Guard rotations. Camera blind spots. Electronic lock vulnerabilities. He'd worked here long enough to know the system inside and out, long enough to know its weaknesses.
Long enough to betray it completely.
The thought should have bothered him more than it did.
Evan shifted carefully, turning toward Anaya. Her face was peaceful in sleep, though even now her fingers were clutched in his shirt, holding on. Tear tracks still marked her cheeks from earlier.
"Kid," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Anaya. Wake up."
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, confused and drowsy. "Papa?"
"Shh." He pressed a finger to his lips, then pointed meaningfully at the camera in the corner. Its red light blinked steadily—watching, always watching. "Listen to me very carefully. Can you pretend to still be asleep?"
Anaya blinked at him, processing. Then, with a wisdom beyond her years, she seemed to understand. She closed her eyes but nodded almost imperceptibly against his chest.
Smart kid.
"We're going to leave this place," Evan breathed, his mouth close to her ear. "Tomorrow night. We're going to run."
Her body tensed slightly against his, but she kept her eyes closed, kept her breathing steady. Playing the part.
"I know you can't find your home," he continued, each word carefully measured. "I know the barrier shifted. But anywhere is better than here. Anywhere is better than letting them hurt you again." His hand moved to her hair, smoothing it back in what he hoped looked like an unconscious gesture of comfort. "Tomorrow morning, they're going to come for you again. For more tests."
A small sound escaped her—quickly muffled—but her eyes stayed closed.
"I need you to be brave, kid. Just one more day. One more day of being strong, and then we run." He paused. "Can you do that?"
For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, so subtly he almost missed it, she nodded against his chest.
"Good girl," he whispered. "Now sleep. Or pretend to. And tomorrow... tomorrow we start saying goodbye to this place."
Anaya's fingers tightened in his shirt—a silent acknowledgment—and she burrowed closer, her breathing evening out into a convincing imitation of sleep.
Evan lay there, holding her, staring at the camera's unblinking red eye.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
One way or another.
Morning came too soon and too harsh, fluorescent lights snapping on with mechanical precision at 0600 hours. Anaya woke with a start, her eyes immediately finding Evan's face. He saw the question there—was last night real? Are we really leaving?—but he kept his expression neutral, aware of the camera.
"Morning, kid," he said, his voice deliberately casual. "Sleep okay?"
She understood. "Yes, Papa."
Breakfast arrived—the same private as always, carefully avoiding eye contact with either of them. Anaya picked at her food, her movements listless. She was scared, Evan realized. Scared of what was coming. But she was trying to hide it, trying to be brave like he'd asked.
It made his chest ache.
At 0900 hours, they came for her.
Morrison entered first, flanked by the same two soldiers from yesterday. Anaya's hand immediately shot out, grabbing Evan's wrist.
"Time for today's session," Morrison said, his tone professionally pleasant in a way that made Evan want to break his jaw. "The doctors are very eager to continue their work."
"Papa," Anaya whispered, and her voice trembled.
Evan looked down at her, at the fear in her amber eyes, and squeezed her hand once—a silent reminder. Be brave. Just one more day.
"It's okay," he said aloud, the lie tasting like ash. "I'll be here when you get back."
"Actually," Morrison said, his smile sharpening, "Agent Cross won't be here. He has some overdue administrative duties to attend to."
Evan's jaw tightened. This was it—his chance. "About that. I need to go home. I haven't been to my apartment in three days. Need to check in, get some fresh clothes, handle some personal business."
Morrison's eyebrow raised. "Feeling domestic, Cross? Or missing your mother?"
Again. Why always mentioning mother.
"Feeling like I need a shower and a change of clothes that don't smell like—" He glanced at Anaya. "—like they've been slept in for three days straight. And don't you ever try to mention my mother."
For a moment, Morrison studied him, calculation flickering behind his eyes. Then he shrugged. "Fine. You have four hours. Be back by 1400 hours, or I'll —."
"You don'thave to tell me."
One of the soldiers moved toward Anaya. She pressed back against Evan, her small body trembling.
"Remember what I said, kid," Evan told her, meeting her eyes. "Be brave. I'll see you soon."
She looked at him for a long moment, searching his face. Then, with visible effort, she released his wrist and stood up straight. "Okay, Papa."
The soldier took her hand—too rough, Evan noticed with a flash of anger—and led her toward the door. Anaya looked back once, her expression trying for courage and almost succeeding.
Then she was gone, and Evan was left standing in the empty room, Morrison watching him with those cold, calculating eyes.
"Four hours, Cross," the captain repeated. "Don't make me come looking for you."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Morrison left. The door locked behind him with an electronic click.
Evan didn't go to his apartment.
Instead, he made his way through the compound's east wing, toward the security offices where the night shift personnel would be preparing for their rotation. Six years of working here meant he knew faces, knew names, knew who might be sympathetic to what he was about to propose.
More importantly, he knew who was starting to question the official narrative about elves.
Marcus Davis was in the break room, nursing a coffee and looking half-asleep. At fifty-two, he was one of the older security personnel, weathered and cynical but with a streak of moral clarity that had drawn Evan to him years ago. He glanced up when Evan entered, surprise flickering across his weathered face.
"Cross? Thought you were on that special assignment. The elf kid."
"I am. That's why I'm here." Evan closed the door behind him, checking the hallway first. "I need your help."
Davis's expression shifted from surprised to wary. He set down his coffee slowly, his dark eyes narrowing. "What kind of help?"
"The kind that could get you court-martialed if anyone finds out."
"God, Cross—"
"They're torturing her, Davis." The words came out flat, emotionless. Evan had learned long ago that emotion made people uncomfortable, made them defensive. Facts worked better. "She's five years old. They're running tests on her—needles, psychological manipulation, God knows what else. And it's only going to get worse."
Davis's jaw tightened. He'd been with the military for twenty years before transferring to civilian security work at the compound. He'd seen things, done things he wasn't proud of. "She's an elf, Cross. They're dangerous. Everyone knows—"
"She's a child who cries for her mother and gets food in her hair when she tries to eat." Evan moved closer, his voice low and urgent. "She's not dangerous. She's not a threat. And what they're doing to her—what Morrison is planning—it's wrong. You know it's wrong."
Davis was quiet for a long moment, his calloused fingers drumming against his coffee cup. Finally: "Even if I agreed with you—which I'm not saying I do—what the hell am I supposed to do about it?"
"Help me get her out."
Davis stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Are you insane? Cross, that's treason. That's—they'd execute you. They'd execute both of us."
"Only if we get caught."
"This is crazy. You're talking about breaking out a high-value prisoner from a military compound. It can't be done."
"It can," Evan said. "I've been planning it all night. I know the guard rotations, the camera positions, the electronic lock vulnerabilities. I've worked here for six years, Davis. I know every weakness in this place." He paused. "But I can't do it alone."
Davis was shaking his head, but Evan could see the conflict in his eyes. Davis had been one of the first to question the official line about elves, had expressed doubts during their few conversations about the morality of the war. He had three daughters of his own—grown now, but still his girls.
"Why?" Davis asked finally, his voice rough. "Why are you doing this? She's just one elf kid. There are hundreds more behind that barrier. Why does this one matter?"
Evan thought about Anaya's small hand in his, about her calling him Papa with absolute trust, about the way she looked at him like he hung the moon. He thought about her screams yesterday, about her terror when they came to take her this morning. And about something he was remembering. About what his mother said—
"Because I can save this one," he said simply. "And that has to count for something."
Davis stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Then he let out a long breath and rubbed his face with both hands. "My youngest—Sarah—she's about to have her first kid. A little girl." He looked up at Evan. "I keep thinking... if someone was doing to that baby what they're doing to this elf child... I'd want someone to have the balls to stop it."
Relief flooded through Evan. "So you'll help?"
"I'll help. But we need more people. This isn't a two-man job." Davis stood up, pacing.
The question heavy in air. Who will help them?