Page 66 of Lost Echoes
Billa studies them both, her voice cautious but hopeful. “So you’re saying we don’t just shut down one facility? We dismantle the whole thing.”
“That’s the only way,” Sofia says. “Cutting one head won’t stop a hydra. We need to expose the whole network at once.”
A hush settles over the circle. The enormity of it presses on me as if the roof could cave in. But for a change, it doesn’t feel impossible.
Luke clears his throat from where he’s leaning against the wall. “That means timing matters. We strike when they’re all looking the other way—when they’re distracted.”
Sofia’s expression hardens. “They have a rehearsal coming. That’s when we’ll find Radley. We confront him, with Kenzi at the center. It has to be public, undeniable, recorded.”
Kenzi doesn’t flinch. Her jaw sets like stone.
Florencia glances at her then back to Sofia. “I can already see the headline.”
Sofia offers a faint, grim smile. “And I can already see the footnotes.”
They both laugh softly, and for a strange moment, the tension breaks. So many here are survivors, but also allies. Maybe even new friends.
I look around the circle—Billa, Luke shadowing us, Kenzi sharper than I’ve ever seen her, Florencia and Sofia leaning close like they’ve known each other longer than an hour.
The fear is still there. But beneath it, something new is taking root. Not just survival or defiance, but momentum. That’s what’s going to propel us forward.
33
Kenzi
The clock on the safe house wall ticks too loudly, each second a reminder that tomorrow exists—that there’s no turning back. We’re near the other institution, having traveled out of state. I didn’t ask what she had to say to get permission for me to do this.
She probably didn’t. The higher-ups at the hospital likely think we’re at some wellness retreat. It’s probably best I don’t know. I just need to focus, otherwise our weeks of preparation could be for nothing. I will not mess this up.
Sofia sits across from me, her notebook open but her pen untouched. She’s not the doctor tonight. No, she’s a survivor, a co-conspirator. A woman who stopped hiding.
Between us, the table is scattered with papers full of summaries, questions, and possible responses. The “script” for tomorrow. She hates calling it that, but it is what it is. The final act.
There’s no denying it.
“Walk me through it again,” she says. “I want to make sure we have our part down flat.”
I take a breath and try to keep my hands from shaking. “You’ll start by establishing the timeline. I’ll confirm what I remember. Then I’ll describe the stage and the performances.”
She nods, her eyes steady on me. “Good. Remember, you control the pace. You can stop at any time.”
I nod, though I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop once it starts. My pulse spikes at the thought.
Sofia leans forward. “What’s the first phrase that comes to you when you think of him? Dr. Radley.”
The air thickens. I don’t have to think, and the words slip out automatically. “The curtain falls when the children sleep.”
Her pen doesn’t move. For a heartbeat, I see fear, or maybe recognition, flicker across her face. It’s hard to tell.
“That was one of his cues, wasn’t it?” she whispers.
I nod, my throat tight. “He used it to end the sessions. To make us stop talking or start performing.”
Sofia exhales and closes the notebook. “That’s enough for tonight.”
But my words—no, his words—keep circling in my head, whispering like a lullaby I can’t shut off. The curtain falls when the children sleep.
I rub my arms. “What if I freeze tomorrow? Worse, what if I start repeating what he wants me to say?”
