CHAPTER 106: THEIR ORGANS

Eleanor’s POV

Through the surging, panicked crowd, I saw Mira move with a fluid grace I envied. She darted between the disoriented guards, her movements sharp and precise. She’d jab a pressure point on a man’s arm, forcing his grip to loosen on a child, and before he could recover, she’d press the taser against his side. A sharp buzz, a muffled cry, and he’d crumple. Roxy was right behind her, scooping up the limp children with an easy strength, tucking them safely against her as she created a protective space.

My eyes scanned frantically over the chaos, looking for the two faces Mr. Hans. And that woman. Where were they? The sea of terrified shoppers made it impossible to see.

I burst out of the mall’s main entrance, swept along in the current of the evacuating crowd. People were flooding into their cars, the parking lot a symphony of slamming doors and revving engines

. I needed a better view. I spotted a low concrete planter and scrambled onto it, the raised surface giving me just enough height.

I focused, letting my enhanced sight sharpen the world. The blur of distant figures snapped into clear detail. I scanned the lines of traffic, my heart pounding.

There. Near the exit lane, I saw her. The woman from the dressing room, her face a mask of despair as she was shoved forcefully into the back of a black van.

I had to catch up.

I jumped down, weaving through the chaos to our car—a sleek blue Chevrolet Corvette. I slid into the driver’s seat, my fingers already flying over my phone to text the group chat.

I have found the woman, she is held in a van. Heading north from the mall.

Mira’s reply was instant. Don’t do anything that will bring more trouble! Roxy and I will secure the kids and call the authorities.

I won’t do anything troublesome, I typed back. The engine roared to life.

I pulled out, merging into the stream of traffic. I spotted the van several cars ahead and hung back, keeping a safe distance, my eyes glued to its nondescript shape. My hands were clammy on the steering wheel. I hit the call button on my car’s interface.

"911, what’s your emergency?"

"I believe someone has just been kidnapped," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I’m following it north from the Supermall."

The dispatcher asked for more details, but the van had no plates. I could only describe the vehicle and its direction. They said units were being dispatched, but the words felt hollow.

I kept following and wished I could see straight through the metal van walls. It signaled and turned, and I followed at a careful distance.

It turned again, and my breath hitched. It was heading down, into the dimly lit underground parking garage of Evergreen Hospital.

Wait a minute. Why here?

A cold dread, entirely separate from the current chase, washed over me. This was the same hospital where I’d once come, desperately searching for any record of my real parents. I’d found nothing but Dr. Evans and a man with the same rare silver-white hair as me, his face fully obscured.

The conversation I’d overheard that day had been laced with a sinister implications.

I couldn’t follow the van inside. They’d spot me for sure. I drove past the entrance and pulled into a spot at a parking meter a block away. I fed the meter with the coins before I walked briskly through the hospital’s main doors.

The sterile, bright lobby was a jarring contrast to the tension coiling inside me. I moved with purpose, past the reception desk, following signs for the stairs. Pushing the door open, I began my descent into the concrete underbelly, the air growing cooler and smelling of oil and dampness with every step.

When i got into the garage, I pressed myself against a wide pillar, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs, and dared a peek around its edge.

My blood ran cold. Mr. Hans was there. He was leaning against a different, sleek black car that had already been parked. And standing with him was Dr. Evans. A terrible, icy feeling settled in my stomach. I focused, letting the ambient garage noises fade as I tuned my hearing to their conversation.

"...a complete disaster," Mr. Hans was saying, his voice tight with annoyance. "Our mission was cut short. That alarm..."

Dr. Evans waved a dismissive hand. "It’s fine. As long as you brought some goods, it’s better than returning with nothing. You’re in good standing with Mr. Nomad. He won’t be mad at you."

Mr. Hans grunted, pulling out a cigar and lighting it. The acrid smoke wafting while Dr. Evans walked toward the van. He nodded at the driver, who slid the side door open with a rough shove.

My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp. It wasn’t just the woman. There were more. I counted ten figures huddled inside, their postures defeated.

And around each of their necks was a thick, gleaming silver collar. The metal was pressed directly against their skin, which was already an angry, blistering red where it made contact.

They were all werewolves.

They shuffled out at a silent command from the driver, lining up beside the van like a row of broken dolls. Dr. Evans paced slowly down the line, his cold, clinical gaze inspecting them as if they were livestock.

I pressed myself harder against the cold pillar, my breath caught in my throat.

"When will Mr. Nomad be here?" Mr. Hans asked.

Before Dr. Evans could form a reply, a voice, calm and chilling, cut through the garage. "I have always been here."

He had simply materialized. The man with the silver-white hair, his face, just as before, was completely obscured. Mr. Hans’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant; his sense of authority evaporated into meek submission as he bowed deeply. "Sir! I wasn’t aware you were already here."

Mr. Nomad didn’t acknowledge him. He walked past, his focus entirely on the line of captive werewolves. Mr. Hans scurried after him, his voice turning obsequious. "I made sure to select the best goods I could find. Each of them I believe is to your preference."

It looked like Mr. Nomad was cross-checking a list. He turned his hidden face toward Dr. Evans. "I will be collecting their organs tonight."

Oh, shit. This is bad. This is really, really bad.

Dr. Evans shifted uncomfortably. "Doing the procedures for all of them by yourself will take a while. I must plead for it to be tomorrow night. We need more time to—"

A distant, but unmistakable, sound cut him off. A police siren. It was growing closer.

Mr. Hans spun around, his face contorted in panic. "Shit!" He grabbed the driver by his collar, slamming him against the van. "Why the fuck is the police here? Were you tailed?"

The driver shook his head frantically. "No! I made sure i wasn’t followed!"

Mr. Nomad turned, a silent command in his posture. The driver, released from Mr. Hans’s grip, began urgently herding the captives back into the van.

My mind raced. If that van leaves, the police will never find them. Those people will be carved up for their organs. I had to stop them.

I slipped back into the hospital stairwell, moving as quickly and quietly as I could. I burst out into the daylight, sprinted to my car, and slid inside. My hands were shaking as I started the engine. I had no real plan, only a desperate, reckless need to cause a disruption.

I drove around the block, positioning my Corvette at the exit lane of the underground garage. I could hear the deep rumble of the van’s engine growing louder as it approached the mouth of the exit.

This was it.

I took a sharp, deep breath, slammed my foot on the accelerator, and wrenched the steering wheel, swerving directly into the exit path.

Then—BAM.

The world erupted in a shriek of twisting metal and shattering glass as my car collided head-on with the van.