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“I’ll see you then.”

She hurried to the dining room, not wanting anything to look different than any other day. Everyone was already seated, and again, like yesterday, they each seemed to have a more pleasant, less stressed demeanor.

Knowing Kingsley would see this footage later, Serena conducted herself like it was just another day of captivity. All the while, her heart was pumping with optimism. Was it possible that in just a few days she, and all these people sitting at the table with her, could be out of here?

When the meal was finally finished and she was able to leave as if to go to her workroom, her excitement soared. The instant she walked out of the dining room, she spotted Smith and wanted to go straight toward him. However, her routine was to go to her bedroom and brush her teeth. Deviating would look highly suspicious.

When he saw her head to the stairway, he nodded his approval and disappeared down the hallway where she knew he would be waiting.

Ten minutes later, she was headed back downstairs. But instead of going to her workroom, she rounded the corner and walked briskly down the hallway. She was halfway to the end when Smith stepped out and said, “In here.”

When she entered the room, she was surprised that instead of the expected closet-sized area, it was actually a small office with a desk, a couple of chairs, and a small table.

“This is nice,” she said.

“This is my office,” Smith said. “When I first came here, I worked in Mr. Kingsley’s office, but he didn’t like sharing. He gave me this room.”

She settled into a chair, and Smith sat across from her.

“How do you want me to start?” he asked.

“Why don’t we start with you? Tell me how you came to be here.”

His eyes widened as if he was surprised she was interested in his story. He gave her a nod, took a breath, and began telling her the tragic story of a little boy no one had wanted.

“I don’t have many memories of my early childhood. I know I was cold and hungry a lot, but there are no real distinct memories. I was about six or seven when I was moved to a house with other kids my age. We learned to read, write…normal stuff for a kid, I guess. We took a lot of tests. I realized later they were trying to pinpoint our strengths.

“When I was about ten or so, I was moved to another house with different kids. We learned languages and computer skills. Did more testing—logic, reasoning, negotiations, problem-solving.

“A few years later, I was transferred to a large training facility. There were at least two hundred girls and boys, all around my age. In between classes on philosophy, history, and world politics, we learned how to fight and shoot and how to survive in the wild.”

Both fascinated and heartbroken for the little boy who’d never known the love of a family, Serena listened intently. The questions would come later. For now, she wanted to hear Smith’s experience. From what she could tell, they’d trained him in a variety of skills, all the while trying to determine where his talents lay.

“When I was eighteen, I moved to a military-like facility.” He gave a small grimace and said, “When it was discovered that killing someone wasn’t something I could stomach, no matter how severely I was disciplined, I was sent to a detention center until they figured out what should be done with me.”

He went silent, and his eyes took on a faraway look. Serena saw the pain behind the pause. She could only imagine the kind of “discipline” they’d used to try to turn him into a killer.

He gave her a slight shrug and an apologetic look. “We didn’t do a lot there. Some light exercise, minimal classes, occasional physical and mental tests. I was there maybe three or four months before I noticed that people were disappearing.”

“Disappearing? Couldn’t they have just been sent to other places or given other assignments?”

“That’s what I thought at first, but the ones who disappeared were the weakest of the group. Even though we weren’t encouraged to fraternize, when the lights went out, we talked within the barracks. One of the guys said he’d heard a couple of the guards discussing one of the boys who’d disappeared. Said he went for a hundred thousand dollars.”

“He was sold?”

“Yes. But that’s not the worst part.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he considered worse than being sold as a human being, but she asked, “What do you mean?”

“One of the soldiers said he heard that his body had been dumped in the ocean. Said it was all cut up because all the organs had been removed.”

And there was her answer. The fact that this vile organization sold body parts shouldn’t shock her. Organ harvesting was one of the ultimate evils, and she had already determined the people who ran the Wren Project had sold their souls to the devil long ago. This was just one more atrocious element.

“That’s when I realized where I was.”

Though she was already coming to that conclusion herself, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“It was a death house. We were being kept alive for whatever they needed us for. I knew I had to change if I wanted to survive.”