Page 118 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Jenna doesn’t push, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. None of them do. As the morning progresses and the others wake, I catch concerned glances and whispered conversations that stop when I enter a room. They’re worried about me, which only heightens my own anxiety.

Chapter 34

The day passes in a haze.I help Sophia with Luke, grateful for the distraction of a child’s uncomplicated needs. We build LEGO structures and read stories, activities that require just enough attention to keep the nightmare at bay. But every time a shadow passes the window or a door opens unexpectedly, I flinch, my body reacting as if the dream has followed me into waking life.

“You keep doing that,” Sophia observes quietly while Luke naps. “Jumping at shadows.”

“Sorry,” I murmur, embarrassed by my obvious paranoia. “I’m not usually this jumpy.”

“I was the same way after Blake rescued Luke and me from Malfor,” she says, her gaze understanding rather than judgmental. “Every sound was a threat. Every strange face was an enemy. It took months before I stopped checking the locks three times every night.”

“How did you get past it?” I ask, genuinely curious.

She smiles, a small, private expression. “I didn’t, not completely. I just learned to channel it. Blake calls it my ‘spidey sense’ now—that hyperawareness that notices things others miss.”

Her words strike a chord. Perhaps the nightmare wasn’t just anxiety manifesting. Maybe it was my subconscious piecing together subtle warning signs my conscious mind had dismissed.

“What if it’s not paranoia?” I ask slowly. “What if we really are in danger?”

Sophia’s expression turns serious. “Then we stay alert. We protect each other. It’s what we’ve always done.”

The conviction in her voice steadies me. These women have survived Malfor before. They’ve faced threats and emerged stronger. Whatever comes—real or imagined—we’ll face it together.

But as the day wears on, small incidents keep triggering flashes from my dream. The emergency lights flicker briefly during a power test, casting the apartment in that same bloody glow. Max growls at a delivery person; his hackles raised exactly as they were before he attacked in the nightmare. Rebel cleans a knife, the blade catching the light just so.

Each time, my heart rate spikes, palms sweating, breath shortening. My body remembers the dream’s terror even when my mind tries to dismiss it.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Malia observes as she finds me gripping the kitchen counter, trying to steady myself after the latest flashback. She places a calm hand on my back. “Breathe with me. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

I follow her lead, gradually regaining control of my breathing.

“This is more than thesis stress,” she says once I’ve calmed. “What’s going on?”

“I keep seeing it,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “The dream. But I’m awake. It’s like…déjà vu, but for things that haven’t happened yet. That can’t happen.”

Instead of dismissing my fears, Malia considers them seriously. “The mind processes information in ways we don’t always consciously recognize. Perhaps your subconscious is connecting dots your conscious mind hasn’t yet.”

“You think it could be real?” I ask, surprised by her willingness to entertain the possibility.

“I think your instincts are worth listening to,” shereplies carefully. “And I think we should take additional precautions, just in case.”

With Malia’s support, I voice my concerns to the entire group that evening. To my surprise, no one laughs or dismisses me as paranoid. They listen intently as I describe the dream in detail, including the sensory elements—the smell of gas, the taste of fear, the specific words Mike spoke.

“Some of those details are tactically significant,” Jenna notes, her expression thoughtful. “The darts, the gas, the approach through windows… those are actual infiltration techniques.”

“And the timing makes sense,” Rebel adds. “With most of our operators deployed, security is at its thinnest right now.”

“So what do we do?” Malia asks, looking around the circle of women. “If there’s even a chance Ally’s right, we need a plan.”

Jenna takes charge naturally. “We increase our awareness. Max stays alert at all times. We keep weapons accessible but hidden. We establish a safe room for Luke and Zephyr. And we contact Stitch to update her on our concerns.”

“I’ve got knives,” Rebel says, her voice steady as she pulls a slim case from her bag. She flips it open to reveal a collection of throwing knives nestled in velvet. “Ethan insists I keep them close after what happened last time.”

Sophia shifts uncomfortably. “Weapons and children don’t mix well.”

“We’ll place them strategically,” Jenna assures her, moving to a tall bookshelf. “High enough that Luke can’t reach, but accessible to us in seconds.” She pulls a chair over and stands on it, positioning Rebel’s knife case on the top shelf, partially concealed behind a row of books but with the edge visible to those who know where to look.

Malia’s nervous laugh breaks the tension. “Walt would freak out if he knew we were doing this.”

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