Page 3 of Cipher's Baby Girl
“It’s a shipping container," I answer, keeping my voice steady and factual. Panic helps no one.
"Who are you?" she asks.
“My name’s Rose.”
She wrinkles her nose, and I don't blame her. The container smells of sweat, fear, and human waste. We're either in a port, a shipping yard, or a warehouse. From the snippets of conversation I've overheard when our captors open the door long enough to remove our bucket-toilet or to toss us bottles of water, I'm aware we're due to be moved soon.
Natasha rocks in the corner, red hair falling in tangled curtains around her knees. Mei sits with perfect stillness, conserving energy like a wounded animal hiding from predators. Zoya lies facing the wall, having given up on engagement entirely.
The girl introduces herself as Luna. There's something in her eyes—a spark of defiance that the rest of us lost days ago.
"Has anyone tried to escape?" Luna whispers.
A sad smile crosses my lips. We’ve explored every inch of this prison—running fingers along seams, banging on walls, testing for weaknesses. "The container is locked from the outside," I explain. "They only open it sporadically to throw in water bottles or..." I hesitate, unwilling to finish the sentence.
The memory of rough hands grabbing my arms flashes through my mind, followed by the clicking of a camera, men's voices discussing me as if I were livestock. I push the memory away, focusing instead on Luna.
"Are you in pain?" I try to examine the bump on her head. It's hard to see in the dim interior, but the wound seems to have stopped bleeding.
"Not really," she claims, but the tension in her voice tells me otherwise.
I offer her my water bottle—half-empty, the contents warm and plasticky. "Here, drink this." I'm not sure when they'll bring more...orif.
When she tries to return it after just a sip, I shake my head. "Finish it. You need it more than I do."
“How did you get here?" Luna asks.
The question should cut deeper than it does, but I've gone numb to my own story. "My stepfather sold me," I say simply.
I don't elaborate. Don't explain that the man who was supposed to protect me saw me only as chattel. I don't think I need to.
When I ask Luna the same question, her story spills out—a fake note, a trap, a desperate attempt to save people she's grown to care about.
"Motorcycle club?" I ask when she mentions it, unable to hide my surprise. My knowledge of such things is extremely limited, but I’m instantly intrigued.
"The Shadow Reapers," she says, wincing at the movement of her nod. "My...my man is their Sergeant at Arms."
There's something reverent in her voice when she says "my man", something that speaks of a deep connection.
“And you think they might be looking for you?" I ask, not bothering to hide the cynicism in my voice.
"I know they are,” Luna says with complete conviction.
A tiny flame of hope ignites in my chest—the first warmth I've felt in days—years, if I’m being honest. If these men are as dangerous as they sound, maybe theydohave the power to find us, and just maybe theycanbreak us out of this metal coffin.
I lean closer to Luna, lowering my voice to ask more about this outlaw motorcycle club, but the sound of heavy boots approaching outside stops me cold.
The other women tense instantly. Natasha's rocking speeds up. Mei closes her eyes. Zoya curls tighter into herself.
"Don't fight them," I whisper urgently to Luna. "It only makes it worse."
The lock rattles—a harsh, metallic sound that sends ice through my veins. The door begins to creak open, and a sliver of artificial light cuts through our darkness like a knife.
I squeeze Luna's arm once, then pull away, making myself small, invisible. It's a survival technique perfected through years of living with my stepfather’s moods.
Two men appear in the doorway—bulky shadows against the light. I keep my eyes down, but I'm acutely aware of their gazes sweeping over us, assessing, calculating value.
"That one," one of them says, pointing at Mei.
