Chapter 139
POV: Aria
Chapter: The Van, the Darkness, and Them
Everything hurt. My wrists. My head. Even my chest, where the panic lived.
It was dark inside the van. I couldn’t tell how long I’d been there. Hours? A day? More? Time didn’t feel real anymore. The air was hot and thick, and every bump in the road sent pain shooting through my body. My arms were lied, and the tape over my mouth tasted like old glue. My head throbbed where they’d hit me, and I could barely keep my eyes open.
I didn’t know where I was. Or why. All I remembered was being at home. Alone. Then–hands. A rough grip. Something pressed to my nose. A cloth. A sharp smell. Then nothing.
My body trembled. Every little noise outside–the wind, the tires, the creak of metal–made me flinch. Were they taking me somewhere worse? Was this it?
But then…
Gunshots.
Loud. Fast. Real.
The van swerved hard, tossing me against the metal wall. I hit the floor with a grunt, my cheek pressed to the cold, dirty surface. I tried to lift my head, but everything spun.
More gunfire. Tires screaming. Then–voices. Angry. Shouting. Familiar.
A name broke through it all.
“ARIA!”
I knew that voice.
Enzo.
My heart stuttered in my chest. I wanted to scream. To move. But all I could manage was a soft cough, a broken sound from the back of my throat. I wasn’t even sure if anyone heard.
But the voices got closer. The noise got louder. And then-
Light.
The van’s back doors were torn open, and I squinted, blinking hard against the sudden brightness. At first, I saw shadows. Blurry shapes.
Then… Enzo.
His eyes found mine. And in them, I saw everything–fear, rage, guilt, and something else… something warm. He rushed forward, falling to his knees beside me. His hands were shaking as he reached for me.
“Aria,” he whispered, voice rough, like he hadn’t breathed in hours. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
The tape was gone a second later, and I gasped, coughing hard. He cradled my head, careful not to hurt me.
“Enzo…” I tried to speak, but my throat was dry, my voice weak.
1/2
Chapter 139
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When do rajes wilt way, a collapsed bith the orthe. The grip tightened, plating me into Ret chest like he was afraid I’d disappear again.
Weresting you home, he sold, bis voice shaking now. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
But I wasn’t okay.
As they carried me out of the van, everything came rushing back. The moment I was taken. The feeling of a hand grabbing me. The cloth. The struggle and then à faire One of them had said something.
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