Chapter 169 up
The first scream tore through the apartment just after midnight.
Nyla woke instantly, her body already moving before her mind fully caught up. She was out of bed and down the hallway in seconds, bare feet silent against the floor, heart pounding with a dread that had become too familiar.
“Evan,” she called softly, pushing open his door.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of the night lamp. Evan sat upright in bed, sheets tangled around his legs, his small chest rising and falling too fast. His eyes were open, but unfocused—caught somewhere between sleep and terror.
“No—no, please—” he gasped.
Nyla crossed the room and sat beside him, pulling him into her arms. He clutched her shirt as if she were the only solid thing left in the world.
“I’m here,” she said firmly, her voice steady even as her hands trembled. “I’m here, Evan. You’re safe.”
It took several long moments before his breathing slowed. Even then, he didn’t let go.
“She took you,” he whispered hoarsely.
Nyla stiffened. “Who did?”
Evan shook his head, pressing his face into her shoulder. “I don’t know. Everyone said it was okay. They said I’d see you later. But later never came.”
A chill crept up Nyla’s spine.
“It was a dream,” she said gently, stroking his hair. “Just a bad dream.”
“But it felt real,” Evan insisted, his fingers digging into her sleeve. “They closed the door. I couldn’t open it. And you kept calling my name, but I couldn’t reach you.”
Nyla closed her eyes, swallowing the surge of rage and grief that threatened to break her composure. These weren’t ordinary childhood nightmares. They were echoes—of fear planted deliberately, watered by uncertainty and adult cruelty.
She shifted carefully and lay down beside him, keeping one arm wrapped around his small frame.
“Sleep,” she murmured. “I won’t go anywhere.”
Evan nodded weakly, but even as his eyelids drooped, his body remained tense, as if he were afraid to let go.
When morning came, it arrived quietly, sunlight creeping through the curtains as if unsure whether it was welcome.
Evan didn’t remember falling asleep again. He woke to the sound of Nyla breathing beside him, steady and real. For a moment, he simply lay there, listening, convincing himself she hadn’t disappeared.
“Did you stay?” he asked softly.
Nyla opened her eyes immediately. “Of course.”
He studied her face, searching for something he couldn’t quite name. Then he relaxed, just a little.
At breakfast, Evan barely touched his food. He sat curled into himself, shoulders drawn inward, eyes flicking toward the hallway as if expecting someone to appear uninvited.
“Do you want to talk about the dream?” Nyla asked gently.
He shook his head. “If I talk about it, it might come back.”
She didn’t press him.
Instead, she reached across the table and placed her hand over his. He hesitated, then intertwined his fingers with hers.
Later that afternoon, Clark arrived.
Nyla had been expecting it. He never stayed away long—not when he sensed distance, not when he felt control slipping further through his fingers.
Clark’s knock was polite. Measured. As if manners could soften what he represented.
“I just want to see him,” Clark said when Nyla opened the door. “Five minutes.”
Evan stood a few steps behind Nyla, half-hidden by her body. He did not move forward.
“Evan,” Clark said, lowering his voice. “Come here. I want to talk.”
Evan’s grip tightened around Nyla’s hand.
“No,” he said quietly.
Clark blinked, surprised. “What?”
“I don’t want to,” Evan repeated, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
Nyla felt the shift instantly—the subtle, irreversible moment when a child chooses safety over obligation.
Clark forced a smile. “Buddy, I’m your father.”
Evan looked up at Nyla, then back at Clark. His face was pale, but his eyes were clear.
“Then why do you scare me?” he asked.
The question landed like a blow.
Clark straightened, his expression hardening just enough to reveal the fracture beneath. “I don’t scare you.”
“Yes, you do,” Evan said, his voice shaking now. “You look like you’re going to take me somewhere.”
Silence filled the space between them.
Nyla felt tears prick her eyes, but she kept her voice even. “He’s had nightmares,” she said. “He needs space.”
Clark’s jaw tightened. “You’ve been putting ideas in his head.”
“No,” Nyla replied sharply. “The system did that. You did that.”
Clark ignored her, focusing on Evan instead. “I would never hurt you,” he said. “I just want what’s best.”
Evan shook his head slowly. “You don’t know what’s best for me.”
The words were simple, but their weight was devastating.
Clark took a step forward.
Evan recoiled instantly, pressing closer to Nyla, his breathing quickening again.
“That’s enough,” Nyla said, stepping fully in front of him. “You need to leave.”
Clark stared at her, fury flickering behind his eyes. “You’re turning him against me.”
“No,” Nyla said. “He’s listening to himself.”
Clark left without another word.
That night, Evan refused to sleep alone.
“I don’t want the dark,” he said, his voice small. “It’s easier to take things in the dark.”
Nyla didn’t argue.
She brought a mattress into her room and let him choose where to sleep—beside her bed, within arm’s reach. He chose the spot closest to her, placing his hand against the side of her mattress as if to anchor himself.
As the lights dimmed, Evan spoke again.
“If they make me go somewhere else,” he asked hesitantly, “will you come get me?”
Nyla sat up, her heart breaking all over again.
“I will always come for you,” she said without hesitation. “Always.”
He nodded, satisfied—not because he fully understood, but because he believed her.
The nightmares returned over the next few nights.
Sometimes Evan cried out. Sometimes he woke silently, eyes wide, watching Nyla to make sure she was still there. Each time, she pulled him close, whispering reassurances into the dark.
Clark called. Nyla didn’t answer.
Clark sent messages. Nyla didn’t respond.
Evan noticed.
“He keeps trying,” Evan said one evening as Nyla tucked him in.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Is it bad that I don’t want to talk to him?”
Nyla met his gaze, choosing her words carefully. “No,” she said. “It means you’re listening to how you feel.”
Evan considered this. “I feel safe with you.”
Something in Nyla’s chest broke open at those words—not painfully, but irrevocably.
That night, as Evan finally drifted into a deeper sleep, Nyla sat beside him, watching his face relax, his breathing even out.
She realized then that Evan was no longer simply reacting to fear.
He was choosing.
Choosing who calmed him. Who listened. Who stayed when the world grew frightening.
And no court order, no threat, no carefully worded manipulation could undo that.
Evan had begun to trust his own instincts.
And Nyla knew—this was the most dangerous thing of all to those who thrived on control.
She brushed a kiss across his forehead, her voice barely audible.
“I see you,” she whispered. “And I won’t let them take that from you.”