I eased the body to the ground while Rafael kept watch, no judgment in his eyes. It was strangely intimate, him watching me kill. He didn't flinch, didn't look away. That level of acceptance was something I'd never expected to find.
"Clear," I whispered, retrieving my blade and wiping it clean.
The corridor beyond opened into a more finished area, the concrete giving way to sterile white walls and recessed lighting. The school's facade of legitimacy extended even to these underground levels, maintaining the illusion of a prestigious academic institution rather than a child soldier factory.
We encountered two more guards before reaching the children's quarters. Both died silently, their bodies hidden behind access panels or supply closets. Blood high was starting to build in my system, that familiar cocktail of adrenaline and satisfaction that made colors sharper, sounds clearer, my body more alive than it ever felt outside of combat or sex.
The children's dormitory area appeared around a corner. The walls were painted cheerful colors, cartoon characters stenciled at intervals in a grotesque parody of normal childhood. Eight doors lined the hallway, each with a small window and electronic lock.
"This is it," Rafael said softly. "These are worse than prison cells."
I froze, staring at the identical doors, the numbered plates beside each one. The cartoon characters weren't random. I knew what they meant.
I was eight years old, standing by proudly as they pasted a new cartoon animal on my door, a fierce-looking cobra, eyebrows drawn, red tongue flicking out. I was so proud. I was the only snake in my unit. Everyone else was a fox, a lion. There were one or two rabbits as well, but those were weaklings.
"The snake is patient." Dionysus ran his fingers over the new decal. "It strikes only when necessary, conserves energy, calculates. The perfect predator."
A twisted pride bloomed in my chest. Not just because I was the only snake in the unit, but because he was proud of me. I'd made him smile. I lived for those rare moments, for the smiles, for his approval.
"Lorenzo?" Rafael touched my elbow lightly. "Are you okay?"
I blinked, suddenly aware I'd been staring at the fox stenciled beside the third door. My hands had curled into fists without my permission, nails biting into my palms. I forced them open. "I'm fine," I lied, tearing my gaze away. "We take them all, starting here."
Rafael nodded, attaching a bypass device to the first lock. "We need a way to keep them calm, keep them from alerting anyone."
"I've got that covered," I replied, reaching into my pack for the small syringes Jasper had provided. Each contained a mild sedative, enough to keep the children docile but conscious during extraction. "Remember, they won't trust us. They may resist, even attack."
"I know," Rafael said softly. "I remember what you told me."
The lock disengaged with a soft click. Inside, a small boy, perhaps seven years old, sat bolt upright on his bed, eyes instantly alert despite the late hour.
"Hello," Rafael said gently, keeping his distance as he entered the room. "We're here to take you somewhere safe."
The boy's eyes flicked between us, assessing threat levels, calculating odds with a precision no child should possess. His tiny body was coiled tight, ready to fight or flee depending on which offered better survival odds.
"I know you're scared," I said, crouching to his eye level, keeping my hands visible. "I was too, when I was where you are."
"They'll find me," the boy said, his voice barely audible. "They always find us." He brought his hands out from under the blanket.
"Not this time," I promised, with a savage certainty in my voice. "Because we're going to make sure there's nowhere for them to come back to."
I held out the syringe so he could see it. "This will make you sleepy, just for a little while. It's the safest way for us to move you. Roll up your sleeve for me. It won't hurt. I promise."
He presented his shoulder, sleeve rolled up, without question. Anger burned inside me. He'd been conditioned to obey any directorder. I administered the sedative carefully, watching the moment his small body relaxed against my hands as the medication took effect.
"One down," I whispered, lifting the child easily. He weighed almost nothing, all sharp angles and fragile bones beneath the thin pajamas. "Seven to go."
Rafael took the boy from me, cradling him naturally. "I'll hold him. You focus on the others."
The second child, a girl with dark hair cut in a short, practical bob, tried to run. She made it three steps before I caught her, holding her steady while Rafael murmured reassurances. She fought like something feral, all teeth and desperation, until the sedative took hold and her body went slack.
The third was the smallest, the one who hid under the bed. Rafael coaxed her out with the kind of patience that came naturally to him, his voice low and soothing. She clutched a small stuffed rabbit, the only personal item I'd seen in any of the rooms. She didn't even flinch when I administered the sedative. She just kept staring at Rafael like he was the first kind thing she'd ever seen.
The fourth child attacked me the moment the door opened. A boy, maybe eight, with scars on his knuckles and murder in his eyes. He was good, better than he should be at his age, but I was better. I pinned him without hurting him, held him until the fight went out of his body and something else replaced it. Exhaustion came over him then, the kind that comes from fighting a war you can never win.
"I'm tired," he whispered against my shoulder as the sedative kicked in. "I'm so tired."
I had to pause after that one. I had to take three breaths with my hand pressed against the cold wall before I could move to the next door. Rafael didn't comment, just redistributed the children in his arms and waited as I fought memories and ghosts.
