Chapter 12 - Inside Room 404
Marcus and his lead assault operative reached the fourth-floor landing,
their boots making no sound on the worn institutional carpet.
The hallway was lined with rows of identical wooden doors,
each bearing a small metal plaque with a child's name.
At the very end of the corridor stood Room 404.
There was no electronic keypad on this door; instead,
it was secured by a heavy brass padlock bolted from the outside—a chilling reminder that the children here were treated less like human beings and more like incarcerated prisoners.
Marcus raised his compact hydraulic bolt cutters.
With a single powerful squeeze,
the heavy brass shackle snapped like a dry twig.
Marcus pushed the wooden door open slowly,
stepping into the dark,
sterile room.
Inside,
the room was bare except for a narrow iron cot pushed against the far wall.
Curled up beneath a thin,
scratchy gray blanket was a small boy.
He looked to be about six years old,
with unruly dark hair and a pale,
delicate face that bore an unmistakable,
haunting resemblance to Clara Hail.
His large,
luminous green eyes widened in stark terror as the dark-clad tactical operatives entered his room.
He scrambled backward against the wall,
clutching a worn,
missing-eared stuffed dog to his chest like a shield.
“Don't hurt me,” the boy whispered,
his voice trembling violently.
“I was good.
”
“I didn't make any noise.
”
Marcus immediately lowered his weapon,
clicking his helmet flashlight off so the harsh beam wouldn't blind the child.
He knelt down slowly on one knee,
removing his tactical helmet to reveal a kind,
weathered face.
“Hey there,
Toby,” Marcus said softly,
using a gentle,
reassuring tone he rarely used in the field.
“I’m not going to hurt you.
”
Toby stared at him wide-eyed.
“How.
.
.
how do you know my name?”
“Your uncle sent me,” Marcus replied with a warm smile,
pulling a small,
soft toy puppy from his tactical vest pouch—the very toy Ivy had requested Julian purchase earlier that night.
“He’s waiting for you at home.
”
“And he brought you a friend.
”
Toby’s lower lip quivered as he looked at the toy puppy in Marcus’s hand.
He slowly lowered his blanket,
reaching out a small,
trembling hand to touch the soft fur.
“Is it really for me?” Toby asked softly.
“It’s yours,
buddy,” Marcus said gently,
lifting the boy into his arms.
May you like
“Let’s go home.
”
