It was a cold morning when they arrived.
The sky hung low and heavy, a dull gray blanket stretching endlessly above the crooked rooftops of the orphanage. A biting wind swept through the cracked windows and rattling doors, slipping under the threadbare blankets of the children still asleep in their bunks. Outside, the trees stood skeletal and unmoving, like silent witnesses to something dark making its way in.
At first, Anna thought they were just another group of visitors—a wealthy family, perhaps, looking to adopt a few of the children. The orphanage was no stranger to visitors, though most came and left within the hour, their eyes glazed with pity or indifference. They often arrived with shallow smiles, handed out plastic toys, or made empty promises, then disappeared into polished cars and warmer homes. Few ever came back.
But these people were different.
They came in sleek black vehicles that moved like shadows, their engines quiet, almost ominous. The moment the cars stopped in front of the orphanage gates, something shifted in the air. A sense of stillness, of dread, that settled over the place like a fog. The children sensed it, too. The usual morning chatter and rustling fell silent, replaced by wary glances and hushed whispers.
Anna watched from the cracked window of the small bedroom she shared with her brother. Her breath fogged the glass, and her fingertips felt numb from the cold. But she didn't move. She couldn't.
They stepped out of the cars, one by one.
Men and women dressed in immaculate, dark suits. Their coats fluttered in the wind, their eyes hidden behind tinted sunglasses despite the overcast sky. They moved like they owned the ground they walked on, their heads high, shoulders back. Their expressions were unreadable—cold, calculated, and utterly devoid of empathy.
Guards surrounded them. Tall, broad-shouldered men with rigid postures and weapons strapped to their belts. They moved in perfect synchronization, scanning every corner of the yard as if expecting an ambush.
It felt like the entire orphanage had been overtaken.
Anna's heart pounded. Her hands gripped the windowsill tightly, her knuckles white. She glanced back at Calvin.
He was still lying in bed, his body curled up beneath the thin blanket, his face pale and slick with sweat. His breathing was shallow, barely audible, and his skin burned with fever. She had been trying to care for him—using cool cloths, stolen medicine, whispered lullabies in the dark—but he was getting worse. Too fast.
She turned back to the window just as the group entered the building. The tall man at the front walked with the confident ease of someone used to giving orders. He didn't hesitate, didn't glance around like the others had. He went straight to the main office—straight to Nanny Elga.
Anna pressed her ear to the cold glass. She couldn't hear the words, but she could see them.
Nanny Elga emerged, her spine stiff and her hands clasped neatly in front of her. Her face was polite, almost pleasant, but Anna knew better. She had seen the cruelty in that woman's eyes, the way she smiled when a child cried. She ruled the orphanage like a warden ruled a prison—stern, heartless, and unbothered by suffering.
The tall man spoke, his gestures small but commanding. The woman beside him—beautiful, with blood-red lips and perfectly styled hair—stepped forward. Her heels clicked sharply against the wooden floor.
Anna crouched down by the open crack of the window, straining to hear.
"He's the one with the illness, right?" the woman asked, her voice smooth and detached, like she was inquiring about a faulty product.
"Yes, that's him," Nanny Elga replied. Her tone was cool, businesslike. "He's already weakened beyond repair. But he's young. His organs are worth a lot more than those of an older child."
Anna's blood ran cold.
"What do you mean, 'worth'?" the woman asked, interest flickering across her face like a predator catching the scent of prey.
Nanny Elga smiled. It was the kind of smile Anna had learned to fear—the kind that meant someone else was going to suffer.
"It's simple," she said, shrugging. "His organs are still in good condition, even though he's dying. We can sell them. Kidneys, heart, liver—it's a gold mine. The boy's not going to make it much longer anyway. He's a perfect candidate."
Anna's breath caught in her throat. Her hands trembled violently, and her knees felt weak beneath her.
"They'll take everything from him," she whispered, barely able to form the words.
She couldn't look away. Her eyes burned, but she couldn't blink. The people downstairs—those polished monsters—were talking about Calvin like he was inventory. Like he was already dead.
The tall man spoke again, his voice low and commanding.
"I don't care what you do with the body once he's gone," he said. "But make sure the payment is delivered as promised. We can't afford to wait."
It felt like the world tilted on its axis.
Anna stumbled back from the window, her back hitting the wall. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob rising in her chest. Her vision blurred. She tasted salt.
Calvin.
Her baby brother.
The one she'd promised to protect.
They were going to carve him up like he was nothing. They weren't even going to let him fight. To them, he was just a collection of valuable parts. A body with a price tag.
Anna's mind raced. Panic surged through her like ice water, but beneath it, something else bloomed—hot and wild and furious.
She had to act. She couldn't let this happen.
She turned toward Calvin, stumbling over to his side. He stirred at the sound, his eyelids fluttering open for a moment.
"Anna?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"I'm here," she said, brushing his damp hair back. "I'm right here."
He gave her a weak smile, and it nearly broke her.
She wrapped him tighter in his blanket, kissing his forehead. "We're leaving," she whispered. "I don't care how, but I'm getting you out of here."
He didn't respond—already slipping back into fevered sleep—but she didn't need an answer.
She stood, wiping her face with her sleeve. Her legs felt shaky, but her resolve had hardened. She paced the small room, looking for anything she could use. There wasn't much. A dented tin cup. A length of rope under the bed. A chipped mirror.
None of it mattered.
She didn't need tools. She needed a plan.
Anna crept back to the window, watching as the group moved deeper into the orphanage. The guards were spreading out now, searching. Preparing. Maybe they were already planning to take Calvin that night. Maybe even sooner.
She didn't have time.
She had to find a way out—somewhere the guards wouldn't be watching. The main doors were impossible. The hallways, too dangerous. The only way might be through the vents, or the back storeroom with the broken latch.
She would carry him if she had to. Through snow, through mud, through fire. Whatever it took.
Because she had seen the look in those people's eyes.
And she knew what it meant.
They had already decided he was going to die.
But Anna hadn't.
And she would burn the whole place down before she let them touch him.