Chapter Four

The morning light filtered through the kitchen window, casting golden lines across the table where Ava’s mom sat, slowly stirring her tea, not drinking it. Her father paced near the door, phone in hand, as if expecting it to ring.

They hadn’t slept much.

Her little brother was watching cartoons in the living room, unaware, legs curled beneath him. Her sister had her backpack slung over one shoulder, too distracted to leave for school.

“Has she called yet?” Grandma asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

“No,” her mother whispered. “But maybe the bus hasn’t gotten there yet. It’s a long trip.”

Just then, her father's phone buzzed. Everyone froze.

He answered. “Hello?”

It was Ava’s aunt from Greystone.

“Is she close?” her voice asked casually. “I want to be sure someone’s at the station when she arrives.”

Her father frowned. “What? She’s not with you?”

“No, she never showed up. That’s why I’m calling. She should’ve arrived hours ago.”

His blood ran cold. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve been waiting since morning. The last bus already came.”

He didn’t speak.

“What’s wrong?” his wife asked, standing quickly.

He ended the call and looked at her like the world had cracked beneath his feet. “She never made it.”

Silence fell over the house, then exploded into panic.

“What do you mean she never made it?!”

“I thought you said the bus was safe—”

“She left last night—we put her on the bus—”

“Did something happen on the road?”

Her sister’s bag dropped to the floor. “Call her. Try again.”

They called Ava’s number. Straight to voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Her mother started crying.

Grandma reached for her rosary.

Her father moved on instinct—calling the police, pacing the floor. “My daughter is missing. She left by bus last night for Greystone. She never arrived.”

They asked him to describe her. To stay calm. That someone would be in touch. But it all felt too slow.

He called Nico next.

The boy answered on the second ring.

“Mr. Hale?” Nico sounded tired. “What’s wrong?”

“Ava never made it.”

Nico sat up straight in bed, adrenaline rushing through him. “What?!”

“She left last night. She was supposed to arrive by morning—her aunt just called. She’s not there.”

Nico didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming over.”

He grabbed his hoodie, keys, and bolted.

---

Fifteen minutes later, he was in their living room.

“They shut off the cameras,” Ava’s father said, hands trembling. “We called the bus company. No help. No records after the stop.”

“They took her,” her mom whispered. “He took her.”

Nico’s jaw clenched. He didn’t ask who “he” was. He already knew.

Leo Moretti.

Of course.

“I’ll find her,” Nico said, voice hard. “I swear to God.”

“Do you know where they’d take her?” her sister asked, barely above a whisper.

“No,” he admitted. “But I know who to ask.”

He didn’t tell them he was scared. Or that going after Leo Moretti was like walking into the mouth of hell. All he knew was Ava was gone—and no one else was going to fight for her the way she needed.

The ropes bit into her wrists, but it wasn’t the pain that scared Ava most—it was the silence.

She was locked in a windowless room, dimly lit, with the sharp scent of bleach in the air. No one had spoken to her since they shoved her in here hours ago. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know why. Not really.

All she had done… was spill coffee.

She leaned her head back against the cold wall, trying not to cry, trying to stay calm. Her arms were tied behind her, ankles bound too, but loosely now—like they didn’t think she’d try to run. Like they knew she had nowhere to go.

Her skin burned from where the ropes had rubbed, and her mouth was dry. But she was alive.

The door creaked open.

Three men stepped in. Black boots. Black coats. Blank expressions.

Her heart climbed into her throat.

One of them nodded toward her. “Bring her.”

“W-Where are we going?” she croaked, her voice barely there.

No answer.

They didn’t drag her. Not rough—just firm. They untied her wrists but kept her arms behind her back, guiding her down a narrow hallway.

The walls were pale grey, sterile. Cold. The kind of place that didn’t want to be remembered.

They stopped in front of a wide door. One of the men opened it and led her inside.

It was a different kind of room. Brighter. Cleaner. And completely empty—except for the massive mirror along the far wall.

Someone tossed a folded sweatshirt and sweatpants on the ground near her.

“Put these on.”

She hesitated. One of the men stepped forward like he’d do it for her if she didn’t.

She snatched the clothes with shaking hands and turned her back to change.

When she was done, they gave her water. No food. No words.

Then a voice echoed from a speaker in the ceiling.

“Leave us.”

Her stomach dropped.

The men left the room. The door clicked shut behind them.

And silence.

She stood frozen, hugging herself. Then the voice came again.

“You’re not dead because I decided you’re not. Understand that.”

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t know who you were—”

“You didn’t have to. Your carelessness humiliated me.”

“I said I was sorry—”

“I don’t want your apology."

Ava flinched.

The light above her buzzed faintly. The room still looked clean, safe even. But she knew that wasn’t true.

“From this moment,” Leo said, “your life belongs to me. You can cry. You can scream. You can pray. But you will do exactly as I say.”

Her knees buckled, and she sank slowly to the floor.

“You’ll remain here until I decide otherwise. Eat when I allow it. Sleep when I say.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

Then the voice cut out.

The room dimmed slightly, leaving her alone in eerie stillness. There was no bed. No pillow. Just the cold floor and the echo of his voice in her head.

She pulled her knees to her chest, her breaths shallow.

This was no accident. This wasn’t just about spilled coffee.

She had touched a monster.

And now he had touched her world—and everything in it was starting to rot.