The night they took Alex, Cora woke to the sound of fists hammering on the door.
It was a sound that split the silence like a gunshot. Not a knock. Not a request. It was the kind of pounding that meant no matter what you did, no matter what you said, they were coming in.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
“Open the door! Now!”
The voice was sharp, metallic, filtered through the speaker of a helmet. The walls seemed to vibrate with each impact.
Cora bolted upright, her chest tightening, her body frozen between the instinct to run and the certainty that there was nowhere to go. The air was thick, humid with late summer heat, laced with the scent of sweat, old books, and Alex’s woodsy cologne. A normal night, shattered in an instant.
Alex was already moving.
She saw the glow of his phone as he fumbled with it, hands shaking, breath coming fast. His face was tight, pale beneath the dim light from the streetlamp outside.
Then he turned to her.
“Cora, hide. Now.”
His voice was low, urgent, but calm in a way that made her stomach drop.
Boom. Boom. BOOM.
“Open the door! Last warning!”
She barely had time to slip under the bed before the doorframe splintered.
It didn’t just break—it exploded, the force of the battering ram ripping it from its hinges. The entire apartment seemed to shake as it slammed against the floor, sending up a cloud of dust from the carpet. The smell of splintered wood mixed with something sharp, something cold—metal, sweat, and the unmistakable scent of power.
The enforcers poured in, faceless shadows in heavy black armor. No insignias. No names. Just mirrored visors and weapons strapped to their sides.
Alex’s phone flew from his hand, tumbling across the floor, landing face-up. The screen still glowed, still recording. All it captured now was the ceiling fan, spinning lazily overhead, indifferent to the violence below.
“No warrant! No consent!” Alex’s voice rang out, strong despite the tremor beneath it.
It didn’t matter.
The first blow came fast, the baton slamming into his ribs with a sickening thud.
Alex gasped but didn’t fall.
Two of them grabbed him, twisting his arms behind his back. Another drove a knee into his stomach, and this time he did go down, crumpling to his knees. The breath left him in a strangled cough.
Cora could see everything from where she lay, chest pressed to the floor, body curled into herself like a child hiding from a nightmare. But this wasn’t a nightmare. This was real.
The acrid scent of sweat and fear filled the room. The floor was cold beneath her fingertips, the fibers of the carpet rough against her skin. The fluorescent hallway light cast long, distorted shadows, stretching the enforcers into something inhuman.
One of them struck Alex across the face. A burst of red sprayed against the floor. Blood. She could smell it.
Alex lifted his head slowly. His lip was split, his cheekbone darkening before her eyes. Blood dripped from his nose onto the cheap linoleum floor.
And then, through everything, he smiled.
It was small, just a flicker, but she saw it.
A weak wink followed, just for her.
Then the black bag came down over his head, and the moment was gone.
They dragged him out like he was nothing, his body limp between them. His feet scraped against the ground, one shoe slipping from his foot. The apartment door, now nothing more than a heap of broken wood, gaped open into the night.
Then they were gone.
Just gone.
Cora lay frozen under the bed, unable to move, unable to breathe. The room still smelled like sweat, blood, and something even worse—the cold, hollow scent of finality.
Her ears rang in the silence they left behind.
Somewhere, Alex’s phone was still recording, the glowing screen capturing nothing but the spinning ceiling fan.
She hadn’t seen him since.
Her parents had turned him in.
No trial. No due process. No rights.
The Circle had taken him, taken everything.
And now, there was nothing left.
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