Page 121 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

The reality of our situation settles like a weight on my shoulders. This isn’t theoretical anymore. These aren’t precautions against an abstract threat. We’re planning our survival.

“I agree with Rebel,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. “Children first, then their mothers. The rest of us will deal with whatever comes.”

While waiting for Violet to arrive, Stitch walks us through thepanic room’s features—the reinforced door that locks with both electronic and manual systems, the emergency medical kit with everything from bandages to surgical supplies, the weapons locker concealed beneath one of the bunks.

“In a worst-case scenario,” she says, demonstrating the pistol stored inside, “you have defensive options. But remember, this room is designed to keep you safe until help arrives. It’s not a base for launching a counterattack.”

Violet arrives holding hands with a sleepy Zephyr. Luke, roused from sleep by Sophia, rubs his eyes and stares wide-eyed at the hidden room.

“It’s like a secret fort,” Sophia tells him, keeping her voice light and excited. “We’re going to play a game to see how fast we can all get inside when Stitch gives the signal.”

“Like hide and seek?” Luke asks, perking up slightly.

“Exactly like that,” Sophia agrees. “But better because we all hide together.”

Stitch positions herself by the apartment door with a stopwatch. “I’ll sound the alarm, then you have twenty seconds. Ready?”

We nod, spreading out through the apartment to simulate a realistic scenario. I take position in the kitchen, Malia in the living room, Rebel near the balcony door. Sophia sits with Luke on the floor, while Violet holds Zephyr close to the bathroom.

“Remember,” Stitch says, “prioritize speed. Three, two, one—” She presses a button on her tablet, and a high-pitched alarm sounds through the apartment.

What follows is controlled chaos.

Luke startles, eyes wide.

Max bolts for the front door, planting himself in front of it like a sentinel—ears forward, muscles taut, ready. Not barking. Just watching. Waiting.

Sophia scoops Luke up, Violet grips Zephyr tighter, and the four of them rush for the panic room. The hiss of the pneumatic seal cuts through the chaos. The door shuts—locking them safely inside.

The rest of us freeze in place, scattered around the living room like debris after an explosion—outsidethe safe zone.

The postmortem is fast and sharp—just like the drill needed to be.

“We missed the mark,” Stitch says, glancing down at the stopwatch. “Twenty seconds. That was the goal. You clocked in at thirty-four.”

Sophia shifts Luke on her hip. He’s calmer now, but her arms are tense.

“He froze,” she admits. “I should’ve picked him up the second the alarm went off.”

“Next time, you will,” Stitch replies. “That’s why we train.”

Violet nods, brushing Zephyr’s curls from her damp cheek.

Stitch looks around the rest of us—Malia, Rebel, Jenna, me. “None of you went for weapons.”

Rebel stiffens. “We weren’t sure if?—”

“Don’t guess,” Stitch cuts in. “Part of your prep is knowing beforehand where your fallback weapons are. Grab-and-go. One second, two max. You don’t have time to think. You don’t have time to search.”

Malia exhales slowly. “We were just trying to get them inside.”

“And that’s the priority,” Stitch says. “But you don’t go empty-handed unless you have to. Every second counts. Every tool matters.”

She paces once, then stops. “Again.”

This time, we all move faster.

Sophia doesn’t hesitate—Luke in her arms before the alarm finishes its first ring. Violet’s already halfway to the panic room with Zephyr. Rebel snags the tactical pen from the couch cushion as she passes. Malia grabs the curtain rod.

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