Page 89 of Rescuing Sophia

“Show us,” Ethan commands, his voice tight with barely contained emotion.

Stitch nods, tapping her screen. The map disappears, replaced by grainy footage. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize the figure on the screen.

Sophia.

Her face is gaunt, cheekbones sharp under sallow skin. She stands at one end of what looks like a courtyard, her body tense, poised to move.

As she takes a halting step forward, her body suddenly convulses. A collective gasp ripples through the room. My knuckles turn white as I grip the edge of the table, the metal digging into my palms.

“What the hell is around her neck?” Gabe’s voice is barely above a whisper.

Realization dawns, cold and sickening.

“It’s a collar. A fucking shock collar.

We watch in horrified silence as Sophia takes another step, then another, each accompanied by increasingly violent spasms. She’s moving toward a high wall, her progress agonizingly slow.

With each step, the intensity of her pain seems to increase. My nails dig into my palms, my whole body rigid with fury and helplessness.

Suddenly, a figure steps into frame. A short man in a rumpled suit with cold eyes that seem to bore through the camera.

Malfor?

Is it possible we’re seeing him for the first time, the phantom given physical form?

“Mitzy—” Sam starts.

“On it,” Mitzy interrupts, her fingers already flying over her keyboard. “Running facial recognition now. We’ll find this bastard.”

The footage continues, showing the same scene playing out day after day. Sophia, being led from a cell, forced to approach the wall, collapsing in agony each time.

“He’s conditioning her,” I growl, the words clawing their way out of my throat. “He’s training her not to try to escape.”

A low, rumbling cough cuts through the tension. Forest steps forward, his face grim. “That’s not what’s happening.”

I whirl to face him, anger bubbling up. “What do you mean?”

Forest holds up a hand, silencing me. “Watch closely. It’s not about the wall.”

On screen, Sophia reaches out, her hand trembling violently, and touches the wall. Malfor’s face fills the frame, his satisfaction palpable even through the poor quality of the video. He dangles something in front of Sophia—a scrap of fabric.

“He’s breaking her, piece by piece.” Forest crosses his arms over his chest.

And then we see it. The ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as she accepts the meager reward.

“Oh God,” Ethan breathes, the horror of understanding dawning on his face.

Forest nods, his voice heavy. “This isn’t about the wall. It’s about fulfilling Malfor’s demands, no matter how cruel or pointless. He’s conditioning her to find joy in compliance, to crave his approval.”

The room falls silent as the weight of Forest’s words sinks in. This is beyond physical torture. This is the systematic destruction of a person’s will and sense of self.

“It’s the worst kind of dehumanization,” Forest continues, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Because eventually, the victim beginsto participate in their degradation. They find pride in pleasing their tormentor.”

The room erupts in a cacophony of voices, but I barely hear anything. All I can see is Sophia’s face, contorted in pain, yet still pushing forward.

Still fighting.

I stare at the image of Sophia, clutching that scrap of fabric like it’s the most precious thing in the world, and feel something break inside me.

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