Chapter 94 The Child They Marked (Demilia’s POV)
The second Adrian said “child,” something ancient woke up in me. Suddenly, none of this was about tactics or reputation or being influenced by anyone. It was just raw instinct. I had to protect.
“They’ve identified a new subject,” Adrian said, voice low. “Early-stage. High potential. Similar markers to yours.”
Pain shot through my chest. “How old?” I managed.
“Eight,” he answered.
Eight. The number hit like a punch.
“Eight years old,” I breathed. “They’re starting even younger.”
Riven’s face darkened. “They learned from you. You got out of their hands too fast.”
“They want someone they can mold,” Ethan said, voice bitter.
I clenched my teeth. “They’re not getting her. Not if I can help it.”
Adrian put a fuzzy profile up on the screen. Everything important was blacked out her name, where she lived. Just scraps of school records, test scores, future predictions. Someone had already decided she was special. Emotional intelligence off the charts. Saw patterns where others couldn’t. Already projecting influence.
I stared at the screen, heart pounding.
“They’re already planning this kid’s life,” I said.
Adrian nodded. “They’ve started making little moves. Nothing obvious yet.”
My gut twisted. “Like what?”
“Scholarships. Mentorships. Handpicked experiences. Putting her in just the right places at just the right times.”
Riven shook their head, disgust written all over their face. “Another version of us. Before she even knows what choice is.”
I felt it in my bones. My own childhood surged up those lucky breaks that never felt like luck, the doors that opened for no reason, the little pushes disguised as coincidence.
“They took my freedom before I even knew what the word meant,” I said, voice barely more than a whisper.
But then I straightened. “They’re not doing it to her.”
We got to work. Adrian chased money trails. Liora mapped out everyone orbiting this girl. Riven tore into the stories being built around her. Ethan handled everything on the ground, making sure no one saw us coming.
By the end of the day, we had a name: Amara.
She was bright, creative, kind. Already called “exceptional” by people who barely knew her. My heart twisted.
“She’s not some experiment,” I whispered. “She’s just a kid.”
That night, I couldn’t get her out of my head. What would it feel like, knowing eyes followed you everywhere? Feeling different, special, but never knowing why? Carrying a weight before you even had words for it?
I rested a hand on my stomach. “You deserve a real childhood, Amara,” I promised, soft enough for only me to hear.
And just like that, this stopped being a mission. It was personal. More than anything else ever had been.
The next day, Adrian dropped a bombshell.
“They’ve put handlers in place,” he said. “They look like teachers, sponsors, mentors, but they’re not.”
“So she’s already surrounded,” Ethan said, mouth tight.
Adrian nodded. “They’re quietly shaping everything she sees.”
My chest went tight. “We have to get to her first.”
Riven agreed. “But we can’t scare her. Or tip off the people running this.”
“Then we move slow,” I said. “We move like people, not machines.”
We set up surveillance—not on Amara, but on the web closing in around her. Her school. Her so-called mentors. The sponsors who acted like saints. What we found chilled me.
Grown-ups talked about her like she was an investment. I saw funding pitches calling her “a long-term narrative asset.” Charts mapping out how her reach could be used, one day, for whatever cause they wanted.
“She’s not even a teenager,” I whispered. “And they’re planning her future headlines.”
“They don’t see people,” Riven said quietly. “Just tools.”
Then, two days later, everything got worse.
Adrian called us together, face pale. “We found something else.”
My pulse jumped. “What?”
He spun the screen around. Two profiles. My childhood. Amara’s. Side by side. Overlapping almost perfectly.
“She’s on the same path you were,” Adrian said.
I couldn’t breathe.
“They’re trying to build another me,” I whispered.
Adrian nodded, silent.
For a minute, no one spoke. Riven finally exhaled. “They lost control of you. Now they want a do-over.”
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped me. “So they’re not freeing me. They’re just making a replacement.”
But that wasn’t it. Not really.
“No,” I said, soft but certain. “They’re just repeating the abuse.”
That night, I asked Adrian for something I’d never asked before. Something just for me. “Show me where she lives,” I said, barely above a whisper.
He paused, just for a moment, but then nodded. Led the way.
A quiet street.
A small, unremarkable house.
A mother who looked tired, but soft around the eyes.
This was her world.
“She doesn’t know,” I breathed. “She has no clue what’s lurking just out of sight.”
My chest tightened. God, it hurts.
“Neither did mine,” I muttered.
Still, I kept coming back.
We set up a visit—nothing pushy or obvious. No tricks, no pressure.
Just watching, from a safe distance.
One afternoon, Amara sat on her porch, sketchbook on her knees.
Her mother brought her a glass of juice, and Amara’s face lit up.
Every so often, she’d break into a laugh, like she was sharing a secret with the air.
She looked exactly like any kid should—safe, untouched, innocent.
It made something ache deep inside me.
“She reminds me of myself,” I said.
Ethan’s voice came out low. “Before they stepped in.”
That night, it all became too much.
“They’re not getting her,” I said, my voice sharp. “I don’t care what it costs.”
Riven met my eyes.
“We need a plan,” they said. “Not just good intentions.”
“I have one,” I told them.
The room went quiet.
“I want to tell her mother,” I said, softer this time. “Everything.”
Ethan’s whole body tensed. “That risks everything.”
“I know. But if I were her mom, I’d want to know.”
We argued for a while, but in the end, we agreed.
We reached out, careful and anonymous.
Set up a meeting.
This wasn’t about scaring anyone—it was about being straight.
Sitting across from Amara’s mother, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“She’s special,” she told me, smiling with that familiar pride. “Everyone says so.”
“She is,” I said, and my voice almost broke. “Just not for the reasons they think.”
Her face changed.
“What do you mean?”
I swallowed.
“There are people watching her,” I said. “Not because she’s in danger because they want to shape her. Use her future for their own ends.”
The color drained from her cheeks.
“You’re telling me she’s being groomed?”
I nodded. “Yes. For power. For control.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“She’s just a little girl.”
I nodded. “We want to help her. We want to stop them.”
That night, I cried alone. Not for myself. For her for the girl who had no idea she was being hunted.
“They took my childhood,” I whispered, “but they won’t take hers.”
That’s when we started working on how to pull Amara out whatever it took.
But then Adrian hit me with something I never saw coming.
“Demilia,” he said, voice gentle, “there’s something you need to see.”
“What?”
He turned his laptop so I could see the screen.
Genetic data. A match.
I felt my heart freeze.
“What is this?” I asked, barely able to get the words out.
He didn’t meet my eyes.
“She’s not just like you,” he said, almost too quietly.
“She’s your blood.”
The world just… spun.
“What do you mean?”
He hesitated.
“She’s your half-sister.”
The words hit me like a car crash.
All this time, the girl they picked. The one they wanted to turn into their next experiment
She was family.
Just a kid, and she was tied to me in a way that changed everything.
This wasn’t just a mission anymore.
It was personal.
It was blood.
It was a legacy, whether I wanted it or not.
Now, I have to find out why they chose us.
Why my bloodline.
And what it means, knowing the next subject isn’t just some stranger
She’s my sister.