NO SAFE HAVENS

NO SAFE HAVENS
I found a small gas station with a payphone, I knew it was now or never. I slipped a few crumpled bills into the slot, dialled Ethan’s number from memory, and prayed he’d pick up.

He answered on the second ring. “Sophie?! Where the hell are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I got out.”

“You escaped?” he breathed, sounding like he hadn’t exhaled since I vanished. “How?”

“No time to explain,” I said quickly, glancing over my shoulder. The station clerk was too busy wiping down his counter to notice me. “Maria helped. I’m out of the mansion. But I found something.”

“Sophie, what did you find?”

“An address,” I said. “She gave me an address. Said it would lead me to Adrian. I don’t know what I’ll find, but… I think he might be there.”

Ethan cursed under his breath. “Sophie, wait. Don’t go alone. Just tell me where you are. I’ll come to you, and we’ll figure it out together.”

“I can’t wait, Ethan. If Adrian’s alive, he could be in danger…”

“No. Listen to me…just wait until I…”

The line crackled sharply.

Then died.

“Ethan?” I tapped the receiver. “Ethan!”

Nothing but static.

My stomach twisted. I stood frozen for a moment, holding onto the silence, hoping it would somehow turn into his voice again.

But it didn’t.

I hung up slowly, drew a breath, and pulled the slip of paper from my jacket pocket.

The address stared back at me like a challenge.

Whatever waited at the end of this road, I was going to face it.

The address Maria had slipped into my hand was scrawled hastily in red ink on a torn scrap of paper. No name. No explanation. Just a single location far beyond the city limits. The handwriting was frantic, almost trembling—as if it had been written in fear… or urgency.

It took me hours to get there, hitching rides, walking stretches of dark roads, relying on nothing but determination and adrenaline. My body ached, my head throbbed from the blow I’d taken the night before, but I didn’t stop—not even once. I knew this address mattered. I could feel it.

When I finally arrived, the place stood at the end of a gravel path shrouded by trees. A single, narrow structure. Modest. Discreet. And quiet—eerily quiet. A convalescence facility, just like Maria had said. But not the kind that welcomed guests.

There were no visible signs. No guards at the gate. Just a low perimeter fence and dim lights glowing faintly through thick curtains.

Whatever this place was, it didn’t want to be found.

I circled the building, my footsteps silent in the grass. Every window was drawn. Every entrance locked tight. But then, at the far corner, I spotted one—slightly ajar. Cracked just enough to slip through if I pushed carefully.

I took a deep breath, steadied my hands, and wedged myself through the frame.

The inside was darker than I expected, almost like a mausoleum. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and something older—wood, dust, and secrecy. I ducked low beneath the window and crept forward.

The hallway was narrow, the floor lined with aging tile. A single fluorescent bulb flickered above me. I moved cautiously, each step deliberate, my senses sharp and stretched thin.

That’s when I heard it.

A shuffle. Then, a voice.

"Who's there?" the voice snapped, sharp and tense.

I froze behind a cabinet just outside what looked like a patient room. My breath caught in my throat.

"I have a gun!" the voice warned. "Don’t come any closer! I swear I’ll shoot!"

A gun?

Shit.

I ducked lower, crawling beneath a nearby table as quietly as I could. I couldn’t see who it was, but the voice didn’t sound like a man’s. It was female—strained, high-pitched, bordering on panic.

Another set of footsteps echoed across the floor, this time closer. Whoever it was was moving toward me. I had seconds to decide—stay put and risk getting shot, or make a move.

The shadow moved toward the doorway, crossing the hallway.

Now.

I launched upward from beneath the table and slammed my shoulder into the figure standing over me. She yelped as the gun clattered to the floor and skidded beneath a chair.

We wrestled. Her nails raked across my forearm as she tried to shove me off. She was faster than I expected. Desperate.

"Let go of me!" she screamed.

"Drop it!" I shouted, though the gun was already lost in the chaos.

She pushed me hard against the wall, her elbow catching my ribs. I groaned but held my ground. I shoved her back, and she stumbled—heel catching the top step of a short flight of stairs leading to the lower level.

“No—wait—”

Too late.

She lost her balance, arms flailing.

I reached for her instinctively, but my fingers grazed only air.

Her body crashed down the steps in a sickening tumble, hitting the bottom with a loud thud.

Everything froze.

My chest rose and fell like I’d run a marathon. The silence that followed was deafening.

I crept down the steps slowly, cautiously, my heart pounding in my ears.

The woman was sprawled at the foot of the stairs, motionless.

I dropped to my knees beside her, breath caught in my throat.

Her head had hit the corner of a low cabinet. Blood pooled slowly beneath her temple.

I turned her over gently.

The sight hit me like a punch to the gut.

Jazmine.

Unconscious. Pale. Barely breathing.

My fingers trembled as I checked her pulse.

Still alive—but barely.

I stared down at her, emotions warring inside me. Anger. Confusion. Guilt.

What the hell was she doing here?

Why was she guarding this place? Why did she have a gun?

And most of all…

What was she protecting?

Whatever secrets lay inside this house, they were guarded with desperation. And if Jazmine was here—if she was willing to shoot me to keep me out—then the truth had to be close.

Too close.