Next week, The Last Bloom reaches its explosive conclusion.

After months of survival, secrets, betrayals, and unanswered questions, Sassy and the others finally uncover pieces of the truth hidden beneath the Garden. But the ending is far from simple.

The final chapters will bring readers into the collapse of the facility itself as the group fights to escape the Sentinels, confront what Jimmy has become, and discover that the Garden may have only been the beginning of something much larger.

And yes, some of the biggest questions readers have been asking will finally be answered.

But not all of them.

Because while Book 1 may be ending… Book 2 is already nearly complete.

From the beginning, we wanted to release The Last Bloom differently.

Substack gave us the opportunity to tell this story episodically — allowing readers to slow down, theorize, react in real time, and become part of the world as it unfolded chapter by chapter instead of consuming it all at once. In an era of binge culture and algorithm-driven storytelling, we wanted readers to have space to sit with the mystery, speculate between drops, and truly engage with the characters and the world around them.

That freedom changed the story itself.

Reader reactions, messages, theories, and emotional investment became part of the experience in a way traditional publishing rarely allows. Watching people connect with Sassy, Jimmy, Benji, Wren, Levi, and Colton week after week has been one of the most rewarding parts of writing and releasing this series.

And while next week closes one chapter of this world, it opens another.

Book 2 will push far beyond the walls of the Garden and deeper into the mystery surrounding Sassy’s father, the true purpose of the program, and what still exists outside the world they thought they understood.

Freedom was never the end of the story.
It was the beginning.

The final drop arrives next week…

If you stuck with this series, we would love to hear from you. If you’re new to the chapters and have thoughts, let us know! Join our new chat below and let us know what you think.

For decades, documentary and unscripted television narration has relied on one core principle: trust.

Whether delivered through the commanding authority of Morgan Freeman, the conversational warmth of Mike Rowe or the measured gravitas of countless documentary voice actors working behind the scenes, narration has historically served as the emotional and informational guide connecting audiences to a story.

Now, artificial intelligence is beginning to disrupt that relationship.

As AI-generated voices become increasingly realistic, producers, networks, streaming platforms and independent creators are rapidly experimenting with synthetic narration tools capable of replicating tone, pacing, accents and even celebrity voices. The shift is creating both new opportunities and growing anxiety across the nonfiction television and documentary industries.

The technology has advanced quickly.

Companies including ElevenLabs, Narration Box, and other AI voice startups now offer human-sounding narration systems capable of generating documentary-style reads in multiple languages within minutes. AI voice libraries specifically marketed for documentary storytelling have also emerged, promising “rich, articulate documentary voices” for creators and media companies.

The growth of AI narration is accelerating across adjacent industries as well. One 2025 industry report found AI-narrated audiobook titles increased from roughly 1,600 in 2023 to more than 40,000 in 2025, though human-narrated projects still dominate the market overall.

Another market analysis projected the global AI-generated voice acting market could grow from approximately $4.8 billion in 2025 to $28.6 billion by 2034.

For unscripted television producers, the appeal is obvious.

Narration is expensive. Professional narrators, studio sessions, revisions, pickups and localization costs can quickly add tens of thousands of dollars to a production budget — particularly for long-running factual series, international distribution or streaming libraries requiring multiple language versions.

AI narration dramatically reduces those costs.

In lower-budget spaces including YouTube documentaries, digital explainers, true crime content and “faceless” video channels, AI-generated narration has already become commonplace. Platforms marketing AI narration tools increasingly target creators seeking “studio-grade narration in minutes.”

The nonfiction industry, however, presents a more complicated challenge.

Unlike automated customer service or instructional content, documentary narration is often deeply tied to emotional authenticity, audience trust and performance nuance. Critics argue synthetic narration still struggles with subtle emotional shifts, pacing instincts and the human imperfections that make a storyteller feel believable.

Even within the voiceover industry, attitudes toward AI remain divided.

A 2025 survey from the National Association of Voice Actors found many respondents viewed AI as a direct threat to artistic labor and creative industries, with concerns centered on consent, compensation and job displacement.

At the same time, other voice actors and studios are beginning to explore hybrid models in which AI tools are used for scratch tracks, translations, temporary edits, multilingual localization or approved digital replicas licensed directly by performers.

Some high-profile actors have already entered that space.

In 2025, Michael Caine and Matthew McConaughey partnered with AI voice-cloning company ElevenLabs to license synthetic versions of their voices. Both framed the technology as a tool intended to expand storytelling and accessibility rather than replace performers entirely.

Other public figures have taken a far more cautious stance.

Stephen Fry publicly warned about the dangers of unauthorized voice cloning after discovering an AI-generated version of his voice had been used in a documentary without his consent. Morgan Freeman has also criticized companies using AI-generated imitations of his voice, calling unauthorized replication “theft.”

The ethical debate becomes even more sensitive when AI recreates the voices of deceased individuals.

In 2025, a Netflix docuseries about Gabby Petito sparked backlash after filmmakers used AI to recreate Petito’s voice with her family’s permission. Critics questioned whether audiences fully understood when they were hearing synthetic narration versus authentic recordings.

Similarly, a recent BBC documentary recreated the voice of late Scottish football legend Davie Cooper using AI-generated audio trained from archival recordings. Producers said the project was completed with family approval due to limited surviving interview material.

For documentary filmmakers, those examples highlight a growing tension between technological capability and ethical storytelling boundaries. Questions surrounding disclosure, audience transparency, consent and authenticity are increasingly moving to the center of industry conversations. The concern extends beyond celebrity voices.

Researchers studying synthetic speech have warned that AI-generated vocal replicas create emerging risks involving misinformation, identity misuse and reputational harm. A 2025 academic paper examining voice actors in the AI economy found performers expressed fears about their voices being repurposed without control in political messaging, scams or manipulated media.

At the same time, many producers acknowledge AI narration is unlikely to disappear.

Instead, industry observers increasingly believe nonfiction storytelling may split into two categories: content prioritizing efficiency and scale, and premium storytelling emphasizing human authenticity as a differentiator.

Some production companies have already begun marketing projects as “AI-free” to emphasize the use of real performers and human storytelling craft. Industry surveys suggest many buyers still strongly value authentic human narration, particularly for emotionally driven content.

That distinction may become increasingly important as audiences grow more aware of synthetic media.

In nonfiction television, narration has never simply been about reading words from a script. It has functioned as an emotional contract between storyteller and audience — one built on credibility, personality and human connection.

AI may change how that voice is produced. But the larger question facing documentary and unscripted television is whether audiences will continue to trust a narrator once they know the storyteller may not actually exist.

60

White light seared through the room. Sassy’s scream drowned in its brightness. The halo above her crackled with electricity, pain stinging her scalp even before it touched her skin. Across the room, the second halo engulfed Benji—forcing him to the floor, body convulsing in violent spasms.

The Elder watched with clinical fascination.

“Fascinating,” he noted. “He shows early signs of Protector resonance. Trauma-born loyalty. Very strong potential.”

Sassy thrashed against the restraints until her wrists bled.

“STOP hurting him!” she screamed.

The Elder didn’t even look at her.

“Adjust output point-seven.”

A technician slid a dial.

Benji arched in agony, jaw clenched so tight it looked like bone might crack.

Sassy’s voice broke.

“BENJI! LOOK AT ME! BENJI—PLEASE!”

And he did.

His eyes found hers through the haze of light and in that moment, he wasn’t bending, breaking, or rewriting. He was fighting. He mouthed something across the room—

Run.

Sassy’s breath released into a small sob.

“No,” she said. “Not this time.”

She twisted harder, sharper—her left wrist sliding against the metal restraint just enough to loosen it. Pain radiated down her arm. She gritted her teeth, pushing through it.

Behind her, alarms blared again.

“Unauthorized breach in Sector Five.”

“Containment compromised.”

The Elder tapped a wrist device. “Seal all lower levels. Begin purge protocols.”

Sassy froze.

Purge?

The walls shifted—metal shutters sliding across doors, locking corridors, sealing rooms. Somewhere out there—Wren, Levi, Colton—were trapped in the facility’s tightening jaws.

But first she had to free Benji.
And then Jimmy.

And then get them all out alive.

She yanked her left wrist once more—
felt something tear—
and the cuff popped open.

Her hand was free.

She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the descending halo device above her head and ripped it sideways. Electricity snapped, pain shooting down her arm—but the apparatus jerked off its mount, slamming into the floor. Sparks flew.

The Elder turned. Surprise flickered across his face.

“That was unexpected.”

“Get away from him,” Sassy snarled, ripping her right arm free.

The Elder pressed a button on his wrist. Two automated defense turrets unfolded from the ceiling, targeting her.

She dove forward.

The first turret fired. A beam grazed her shoulder—pain exploding in a white-hot streak. She hit the ground, rolled, grabbed the abandoned baton from earlier, and hurled it at the turret.

Sparks.
A short-circuit.
The turret powered down.

The second turret adjusted—

Benji rose.

Barely.
Shaking.
Drenched in sweat.
But rising.

He grabbed the turret’s barrel before it could fire and slammed his weight into it, wrenching it sideways until the mount cracked. Electricity coursed through him, but he didn’t let go.

“BENJI!” Sassy cried.

He grunted, twisted. The turret snapped off the ceiling. The Elder stepped back in genuine alarm. Benji staggered, knees buckling. Sassy ran to him. He fell into her arms, breath shallow but alive.

“Sassy,” he rasped, voice trembling, “you gotta… you gotta get Jimmy before they… before they finish rewiring him.”

She cupped his face. “Benji, I’m not leaving you.”

He shook his head, dazed. “Don’t worry… I’m still me. Mostly.”

Mostly. She didn’t have time to process that. The Elder’s voice broke the moment.

“You cannot save them both.”

Sassy turned sharply.

The Elders were regrouping near the sealed door, speaking into synchronized comms panels.

“Activate secondary protocol,” the old man ordered. “Separate the assets.”

Assets. Not people. Not lives. Assets.

Sassy stood, fists clenched. “I’m not your asset.”

“No,” the Elder said, “you are our outcome.”

He touched his wrist device again. A screen on the wall flickered alive showing Jimmy’s chamber. Jimmy was strapped upright, head angled down. Still unconscious. Still not moving. Behind him a door opened. Two masked technicians stepped inside, carrying syringes. The Elder narrated softly:

“Phase Two is simple. We erase his autonomy. Strip his identity. And prepare him for the bond.”

“No,” Sassy yelled.

“Once he is compliant,” the Elder said, “you will be brought to complete the link. If you refuse—”

He pressed a button. Jimmy jerked violently as electricity surged through his restraints.

“—we let him break.”

Sassy’s scream tore from her chest.

“ENOUGH!”

She lunged.

Benji grabbed her wrist. “Wait. Sass—think.”

She whipped around, tears streaking down her face. “If I don’t go now, they’ll fry what’s left of him.”

Benji stared into her eyes, bleary but determined.

“We’ll get him together.”

Her breath shook. “Benji—if they rewired you—if they changed anything—”

“They didn’t,” he said. “They tried. But I had something stronger than their programming.”

“What?” she said.

He leaned closer, voice almost breaking. “You.”

The room trembled as distant explosions rocked the facility again.

“No time,” Benji said. “We need a route.”

Sassy scanned the room and spotted the ventilation panel halfway up the wall.

“Help me up.”

Benji braced against the wall. Sassy climbed onto his shoulders. She kicked the vent. Once, twice, and the grate broke free. A tunnel. Narrow. Rugged. Leading deeper into the facility. Toward Jimmy. Sassy crawled inside, turning back just long enough to extend a hand to Benji. He grabbed it.

The last Elder in the room shouted:

“SECURE THE BLOOM! DO NOT LET HER REACH THE PROTECTOR!”

Sassy hissed through her teeth, “watch us.”

And they disappeared into the ducts. The tunnel air was warm, stale, humming with machinery. Benji crawled behind her, shaking but still strong.

“Sass… when you saw your dad in that vision… did it feel like a memory or a trick?”

She paused.

“It felt real.”

Benji nodded grimly. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

She turned, heart pounding. “Why?”

He took a breath that shuddered in his chest. “Because your father didn’t just run from the Garden.”

He met her eyes. “He started a rebellion.”

Sassy froze.

“What… what rebellion?”

Benji swallowed.

“The one we’re in right now.”

Light flickered ahead. Another room opening up and the sound of approaching footsteps. The Elders weren’t done. Not even close.

61

The vents narrowed as Sassy crawled, metal scraping her elbows and knees. The heat from the facility’s machinery throbbed through the ducts, making every breath feel thick, claustrophobic.

Benji breathed heavily behind her, still shaken from the Elder’s attack.

“Benji…” she whispered. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Silence encased them. Then— “Not even remotely.”

She stopped, twisting enough to see him in the dim glow. He forced a grin.
“Still me, though.”

Her chest tightened. “I’m not losing you too.”

“You won’t,” but his voice wavered. “We just gotta get Jimmy and then get the hell out of this rat maze.”

Sassy nodded and crawled forward.

The duct bent sharply, revealing a grated opening overlooking a hallway below lit by harsh white lights. Two armored silhouettes marched past. Their steps were unnervingly synchronized.

Benji stiffened. “Elite Sentinels.”

Sassy swallowed. The Garden’s most trained loyalists. Humans as conditioned as the Protectors.

Unbreakable.
Unquestioning.
Unforgiving.

Benji leaned close, voice barely audible. “They’re not supposed to be here. Sentinels only deploy for two reasons: rebellion… or retrieval.”

Sassy asked quizzically, “Retrieval of who?”

Benji met her eyes. “Sassy… of you.”

Her blood chilled, but she pushed it down. No time for fear. They needed to move. She pointed down the duct.

“This way. Jimmy’s chamber is on the west wing. There’s an auxiliary drop near bio stabilization rooms.”

Benji blinked. “Since when do you know this place?”

“I don’t,” she said. “But… something in me does.”

A pause. Benji didn’t argue. Just nodded. Because they were far beyond the point where explanations mattered more than survival. They crawled deeper.

“Benji, tell me what you meant earlier. About my father,” Sassy asked looking for information but also any distraction from the treacherous path they were on.

The duct creaked under their weight as they turned another corner. Benji exhaled shakily.

“Sass… I didn’t know the full story. Just pieces. The memories feel like a dream. Or dreams. I don’t really remember them happening but they’re in my head. Like they’ve always been there.”

Sassy stopped to stare at Benji. Understanding more than he did about what was happening. But she needed to know what he was remembering.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“I don’t really know,” he stammered. “I have faint memories of my grandpa muttering about ‘the Ghost.’”

“The Ghost?”

Benji nodded.

“That’s what they called him. Something about the only Garden heir to ever turn on them and disappear. Just… gone.”

Her pulse quickened. She saw again the memory the Crucible forced on her—a man with her eyes whispering into the night that they’d never have her.

“What did he do?” she asked.

Benji swallowed.

“I remember them saying he didn’t just run. He stole something from them.”

“What?”

Benji hesitated. A wave of panic swept over his face.

“You.”

Sassy’s breath left her body.

“The Ghost is your father,” Benji said quietly. “He stole you out of the Garden before you could be indoctrinated. Before they could claim you as the next leader.”

Her chest tightened. “He—he fought for me.”

“I remember my grandpa telling my father he built an entire splinter group,” Benji said. “A rebellion. People who wanted to bring the Garden down from the inside. But somewhere along the way… something went wrong.”

Sassy felt cold.

Benji swallowed. “They said the Ghost had one weapon the Garden feared more than anything.”

“What weapon?” she asked.

Benji met her gaze through the dark. “I think it’s you.” A metallic clang echoed from deeper in the duct. Benji tensed. “They’re sweeping the vents.”

Sassy crawled faster, heart racing. They turned another sharp corner—and stopped. The duct ahead split three ways.

Left.
Right.
Forward.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.

Think. Think. You know this place. You’ve been here before. Even if you don’t remember it, your body does.

A faint vibration drifted through the metal from the left path. A rhythm. A pattern. Her pulse synced to it.

“Their machines,” she said. “The stabilization generators. Jimmy’s chamber is near them.”

Benji nodded. “We go left.”

But then—THUD. A Sentinel landed in the duct behind them.

Sassy whipped around.

The armored figure crouched in the metal shaft, mask gleaming, posture impossibly still. Slowly, it tilted its head at her like it was studying prey.

Benji swore softly. “Keep going,” he yelled. “I’ll slow him—”

“No,” Sassy said, grabbing his arm. “We stay together.”

The Sentinel lunged. Sassy shoved Benji down the left duct and scrambled after him. The Sentinel followed in a blur of motion, faster than either of them could crawl.

Ahead a grate. A drop. Sassy kicked the grate out with both feet—metal tearing free.

“Benji, DROP!”

They fell. The Sentinel dove after them. They crashed onto a steel platform. Sassy rolled hard, pain shooting up her spine. The Sentinel landed on its feet. Benji raised a metal pipe he’d grabbed mid-fall. “Come on then—”

But Sassy grabbed his sleeve.

“NO—WAIT—”

Because down the hallway beyond the platform a door was open. A chamber she recognized instantly. Jimmy’s chamber. Wires glowing. Screens flashing. A figure inside. Standing. Alive. Eyes open.

Jimmy.

Except—His eyes were glowing gold. Just like in the Crucible trials.

Sassy’s heart split.

“Oh god,” she whispered.

Jimmy stepped forward. The Sentinel immediately dropped to one knee.

Benji stiffened. “What the hell—?”

Jimmy’s voice was soft.
Cold.
Unfeeling.

“Bring her to me.”

The Sentinel rose.

Sassy felt her knees weaken.

“Jimmy… no…”

He didn’t blink.

“You are the Bloom,” he said. “I am the Protector. We complete each other.”

Benji positioned himself between them. “Over my dead—”

Jimmy didn’t even look at him. “Move.”

Benji lifted the pipe. “Make me.”

The golden-eyed Jimmy tilted his head. “You cannot stop me.”

And Sassy felt the truth of it like a punch.

This wasn’t Jimmy. This was the Garden’s version of him. Her Jimmy was somewhere buried under the programming.

Sassy’s voice cracked. “Jimmy… look at me.”

His eyes flickered. Just once.

Brown.
Human.
Terrified.

Then the gold surged back. He whispered—for a fraction of a second— “Sassy… run.”

The Sentinel lunged.

Jimmy followed. And the hallway erupted into chaos.

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62

The hallway exploded into motion.

The Sentinel launched itself forward—a blur of armored limbs and crushing force. Benji swung the metal pipe with all his strength, but the Sentinel caught it midair, twisted, and ripped it free like snapping a twig.

Benji stumbled back. “GO!” he yelled to Sassy.

But she didn’t run. She couldn’t. Not with Jimmy advancing behind the Sentinel, eyes blazing gold. The Protector. The Garden’s weapon. But also—the boy who loved her.

“Jimmy!” she cried. “STOP!”

He didn’t. He strode forward with chilling calm, each step deliberate, powerful, inevitable.

The Sentinel lunged for Sassy.

Benji intercepted, throwing himself between them, tackling the armored figure back into the wall. The impact reverberated through the hallway. Sassy crouched, grabbing a piece of the broken grate for a makeshift weapon. The Sentinel rose again with mechanical precision.

Jimmy raised a hand. “Stand down,” he commanded. The Sentinel froze. But not for her. For him. Jimmy turned those glowing eyes on Sassy. “You should not be resisting,” he said, voice devoid of warmth. “You should be ready.”

Sassy’s chest fractured. “Ready for what?”

“For the bond.”

Benji staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his lip. “You’re not touching her.”

Jimmy didn’t acknowledge him.

“You belong with me,” he said softly. Softly enough it almost sounded like him. “You were designed to.”

Sassy’s throat tightened.

“No. I choose who I belong with.”

Jimmy paused—a flicker. His jaw clenched. Then the gold in his eyes pulsed violently. He stepped toward her.

“Sassandra,” he said, tone deepening with command, “come to me.”

Something inside her shuddered, like her bones recognized the pull. Like something engineered inside both of them was activating.

“No,” she said.

His brow furrowed. Another crack in the programming.

“Sassy…”

And for a moment. Just a moment—the brown of his eyes broke through.

Human.
Hurting.
Jimmy.

She stepped toward him instinctively. Then the Sentinel lunged again. Benji shoved her aside as the armored figure swung. The blow hit him full force, knocking him into the wall so hard the metal dented. Sassy screamed, scrambling toward him.

Jimmy moved faster. He grabbed Sassy’s arm—firm, unyielding. Her breath caught. His hand was warm.

Her Jimmy.
His warmth.
His breath.
His pulse.

But his grip was controlled. Programmed.

“Sassy,” he softly muttered, golden eyes scanning her face with consuming attention. “Don’t fight me.”

She stared back, tears blurring her vision. “I’ll fight anyone who tries to take you from me. Even you.”

His breath hitched. A glitch. A crack.

“Sass…” His real voice surfaced—fragile, drowning. “Help me…”

The Sentinel turned toward them again. Benji lunged—bloody, limp, but unbroken.

“LET—HER—GO!”

He swung the broken pipe again. The Sentinel caught it, shoved him back. But Benji didn’t fall this time. He planted his feet. He stood between Sassy and death.

Jimmy’s head snapped toward him.

“Benji Fallon,” he said flatly. “Stand down.”

Benji spat blood at the ground. “Make me, Jimmy.”

The gold in Jimmy’s eyes pulsed brighter. He stepped forward. Benji squared himself—shaking but resolute.

“Come on,” he yelled defiantly. “If you’re really gone, prove it.”

Sassy screamed, “STOP! JIMMY, DON’T!”

Jimmy froze.

Sassy grabbed his hand with both of hers. “Look at me,” she begged. “Not them. Not the programming. Me.”

Jimmy trembled. His fingers tightened around hers. But not in dominance. In desperation.

“Sass…”

The Sentinel lunged again. And everything collapsed. Benji dove, tackling the Sentinel sideways. Sassy yanked Jimmy with her toward the wall. Jimmy stumbled, disoriented. His programming fracturing. Sparks flew from overhead panels as the battle crashed into the wall.

And then, a voice crackled from the security speaker overhead. A voice Sassy had never heard in the flesh. But one that lived in her bones.

“Sassandra. If you can hear this, it means the Elders failed to contain you.”

Sassy froze. Benji froze mid-struggle. Jimmy lifted his head, eyes flickering. The Guardian Sentinel paused, head tilting toward the speaker like a confused animal.

The voice continued. Low, steady, full of defiance:

“I am the Ghost. Your father.”

Sassy’s breath shattered.

Jimmy blinked. Something sparking in his expression.

The voice pressed on:

“Your mother hid you from the truth. The Garden hid you from the world. But I built this message into the circuitry before I vanished. The day you reached the Crucible; this system was programmed to activate.”

Benji stared at Sassy in stunned silence.

The Sentinel took a step back, processors confused. This was not part of its protocol.

Jimmy’s hand tightened in hers.

Her father’s voice grew quieter.

“Sassandra… you were never born to lead the Garden.”

Silence.

“You were born to destroy it.”

The hallway lights flickered. The facility hummed with disruption.

Sassy’s pulse roared.

“But…” the Ghost added softly, almost like a father telling a secret to his child—

“You cannot destroy it alone. You must save the Protector.”

Jimmy gasped—his knees buckled. He clutched his head, the golden glow flickering violently. Sassy caught him, holding him upright.

“Sassy—” he choked, “Sassy—they’re inside—they’re—”

He screamed. The speakers shut off abruptly as alarms blared:

SYSTEM OVERRIDE DETECTED
SECURITY PURGE INITIATED

Benji grabbed Sassy’s arm.

“We have to MOVE—NOW!”

Sassy dragged Jimmy up with her, her father’s voice echoing in her skull.

Save the Protector. Save Jimmy.

Because if she didn’t The Garden would use him or destroy him and she would lose the only real thing she ever had.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. Benji pulled his rifle from the floor. Jimmy stammered through the pain, clutching her hand:

“Sass, I don’t know… how much longer I can hold them off.”

Sassy wiped his face with trembling fingers.

“You don’t have to hold them off.”

She lifted her chin as another explosion ripped through the facility behind them.

“We fight them together.”

63

The hallway strobed red as alarms blared above them:

SECURITY PURGE IN PROGRESS
ALL PERSONNEL EVACUATE
PROTECT THE BLOOM AT ALL COSTS

The words echoed off the metal walls in a sickening rhythm. Sassy tightened her grip on Jimmy’s arm. He staggered with every step, breath ragged, eyes flickering violently between familiar brown and glowing gold.

Benji limped ahead of them, rifle raised, blood streaking down his temple. The ground trembled. Lights blew out in bursts overhead.

“This wing’s going down,” Benji shouted. “We need the tunnels—now!”

Jimmy stumbled, clutching his skull. “Sass… they’re inside—pushing—”

“Stay with me,” Sassy begged, cupping his face.

He shut his eyes, jaw clenched, fighting an enemy in his own head. Then, footsteps. Shouting.

Benji spun, rifle leveled but the figures bursting through the smoke were familiar.

“BENJI, DON’T SHOOT!” Wren shouted, skidding beside them. She was bleeding from her shoulder, eyes wild but alive.

Levi clambered in behind her, dragging a dented metal case, wheezing. Colton followed last, gripping a wrench like a medieval weapon. Sassy nearly broke with relief.

“You made it!”

Benji exhaled sharply. Relief, frustration, and renewed fury.

Wren stared at Jimmy’s flickering eyes.

“Oh shit,” she breathed. “He’s halfway switched.”

Jimmy looked away, ashamed.

Levi wiped blood from his chin. “We found the server rooms. The whole system’s imploding.”

Sassy’s heartbeat surged. “My father…”

Wren grabbed her arm. “He planted some sort of self-destruct mode. And he left messages—breadcrumbs. One of them triggered when things started collapsing.”

She pointed down the hallway. A large security monitoring station flickered erratically—screens shaking in and out, some broken, others filled with static. One central monitor sparked, the glass cracked like a spiderweb. And on that cracked screen a face appeared.

Grainy.
Shadowed.
Broadcast like a hijacked security feed.

A man with her jawline.
Her cheekbones.
Her eyes.

Sassy stopped breathing.

Her father. The Ghost. The feed glitched, lines running through his image, but his voice came through steady and calm:

“Sassandra. If you’re seeing this, then the Elders failed to contain you.”

Sassy’s hand flew to her mouth.

Jimmy looked up sharply, something in him snapping toward awareness.

The Ghost continued:

“This isn’t live. But it is real. I embedded myself into their system. Every camera. Every server. I left traps, timers… and warnings.”

The screen flickered, showing Jimmy bound and screaming earlier. Sassy recoiled. Jimmy flinched like he’d been punched.

“The Garden built a weapon,” her father said. “The Protector. But they never understood that the real threat… was the Bloom.”

Sassy felt the floor drop beneath her.

Wren screamed, “Holy hell…”

Benji stepped beside Sassy protectively, blocking part of her from view as if the Garden could see her through the screen.

“You were not born to lead them,” the Ghost said. “You were born to end them.”

Jimmy’s breath stuttered.

Levi wiped sweat from his brow. “That’s… one hell of a parenting choice, man.”

But the Ghost wasn’t done.

“The Garden will attempt to complete the bond. If they do—your Protector becomes their weapon. Not yours. Not his. Theirs.”

His image glitched, but his words cut through:

“Save him, Sassandra. Save the boy. The world changes only if he survives with you—not with them.”

Jimmy’s knees buckled. Sassy caught him as his body shook violently.

“Sassy,” he said, panicked. “They’re coming back—inside my head—they’re coming—”

She held him tight. “Fight it. Please, Jimmy. Fight it.”

On-screen, her father’s image leaned forward as if he saw her through time.

“There is a way out. They hid it, but I rewired the purge indicators to guide you. Follow the red pulsing lights—they lead to the incineration shaft. The only exit not under Sentinel control.”

Colton grimaced. “We’re escaping through a giant oven? Awesome.”

But Levi shook his head. “It’s decommissioned. Abandoned.”

The Ghost’s final words came through, glitched but strong:

“Sassandra… my little star…if you make it out, you become the one thing the Garden could never control.”

The screen fizzled. Static overtook his face. A final spark burst the monitor entirely. Darkness swallowed the hallway.

Sassy felt a sob choke her chest. Jimmy leaned against her, trembling violently.

“I’m losing myself,” he whispered. “I can’t stop it…”

Benji grabbed his other arm. “You’re not losing anything. We’ve got you.”

Wren pointed her knife down the hall. “Sentinels incoming. Lots of them.”

Levi sealed the Ghost’s device in the metal case. “Then let’s go before the purge wipes the last exit.”

Colton swung his wrench. “Finally. Some cardio.”

The facility trembled again as doors slammed shut behind them. Sassy took Jimmy’s face in her hands. “Listen to me,” she said. “I’m getting you out. I don’t care what they put in your head. I’m not leaving without you.”

For a flicker—
just a flicker—
his real eyes surfaced.

“Sass…”
His voice broke.
“Please hurry.”

And together—with Sentinels closing in and the purge countdown echoing—the group ran toward the only exit her father left behind…

Into the incineration shaft. Toward the Garden’s collapse.

60

White light seared through the room. Sassy’s scream drowned in its brightness.

The halo above her crackled with electricity, pain stinging her scalp even before it touched her skin. Across the room, the second halo engulfed Benji—forcing him to the floor, body convulsing in violent spasms.

The Elder watched with clinical fascination.

“Fascinating,” he noted. “He shows early signs of Protector resonance. Trauma-born loyalty. Very strong potential.”

Sassy thrashed against the restraints until her wrists bled.

“STOP hurting him!” she screamed.

The Elder didn’t even look at her.

“Adjust output point-seven.”

A technician slid a dial.

Benji arched in agony, jaw clenched so tight it looked like bone might crack.

Sassy’s voice broke.

“BENJI! LOOK AT ME! BENJI—PLEASE!”

And he did.

His eyes found hers through the haze of light and in that moment, he wasn’t bending, breaking, or rewriting. He was fighting. He mouthed something across the room—

Run.

Sassy’s breath released into a small sob.

“No,” she said. “Not this time.”

She twisted harder, sharper. Her left wrist sliding against the metal restraint just enough to loosen it. Pain radiated down her arm. She gritted her teeth, pushing through it. Behind her, alarms blared again.

“Unauthorized breach in Sector Five.”

“Containment compromised.”

The Elder tapped a wrist device. “Seal all lower levels. Begin purge protocols.”

Sassy froze.

Purge?

The walls shifted—metal shutters sliding across doors, locking corridors, sealing rooms. Somewhere out there—Wren, Levi, Colton—were trapped in the facility’s tightening jaws.

But first she had to free Benji.
And then Jimmy.

And then get them all out alive.

She yanked her left wrist once more, felt something tear, and the cuff popped open. Her hand was free. She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the descending halo device above her head and ripped it sideways. Electricity snapped, pain shooting down her arm—but the apparatus jerked off its mount, slamming into the floor. Sparks flew.

The Elder turned.
Surprise flickered across his face.

“That was unexpected.”

“Get away from him,” Sassy snarled, ripping her right arm free.

The Elder pressed a button on his wrist. Two automated defense turrets unfolded from the ceiling, targeting her.

She dove forward.

The first turret fired. A beam grazed her shoulder—pain exploding in a white-hot streak. She hit the ground, rolled, grabbed the abandoned baton from earlier, and hurled it at the turret.

Sparks.
A short-circuit.
The turret powered down.

The second turret adjusted.

Benji rose.

Barely.
Shaking.
Drenched in sweat.
But rising.

He grabbed the turret’s barrel before it could fire and slammed his weight into it, wrenching it sideways until the mount cracked. Electricity coursed through him, but he didn’t let go.

“BENJI!” Sassy cried.

He grunted and twisted. The turret snapped off the ceiling.

The Elder stepped back in genuine alarm.

Benji staggered, knees buckling.

Sassy ran to him.

He fell into her arms, breath shallow but alive.

“Sassy,” he rasped, voice trembling, “you gotta… you gotta get Jimmy before they… before they finish rewiring him.”

She cupped his face. “Benji, I’m not leaving you.”

He shook his head, dazed. “Don’t worry… I’m still me. Mostly.”

Mostly. She didn’t have time to process that.

The Elder’s voice broke the moment.

“You cannot save them both.”

Sassy turned sharply.

The Elders were regrouping near the sealed door, speaking into synchronized comms panels.

“Activate secondary protocol,” the old man ordered. “Separate the assets.”

Assets. Not people. Not lives. Assets.

Sassy stood, fists clenched. “I’m not your asset.”

“No,” the Elder said, “you are our outcome.”

He touched his wrist device again. A screen on the wall flickered alive showing Jimmy’s chamber.

Jimmy was strapped upright, head angled down. Still unconscious. Still not moving. Behind him a door opened. Two masked technicians stepped inside, carrying syringes. The Elder narrated softly: “Phase Two is simple. We erase his autonomy. Strip his identity. And prepare him for the bond.”

“No,” Sassy yelled.

“Once he is compliant,” the Elder said, “you will be brought to complete the link. If you refuse—”

He pressed a button.

Jimmy jerked violently as electricity surged through his restraints.

“—we let him break.”

Sassy’s scream tore from her chest.

“ENOUGH!”

She lunged.

Benji grabbed her wrist. “Wait. Sass, think.”

She whipped around, tears streaking down her face. “If I don’t go now, they’ll fry what’s left of him.”

Benji stared into her eyes, bleary but determined.

“We’ll get him together.”

Her breath shook. “Benji—if they rewired you—if they changed anything—”

“They didn’t,” he said. “They tried. But I had something stronger than their programming.”

“What?” she said.

He leaned closer, voice almost breaking.

“You.”

The room trembled as distant explosions rocked the facility again.

“No time,” Benji said. “We need a route.”

Sassy scanned the room and spotted the ventilation panel halfway up the wall.

“Help me up.”

Benji braced against the wall. Sassy climbed onto his shoulders. She kicked the vent
once, twice, and then the grate broke free. A tunnel. Narrow. Rugged. Leading deeper into the facility. Toward Jimmy. Sassy crawled inside, turning back just long enough to extend a hand to Benji. He grabbed it.

The last Elder in the room shouted: “SECURE THE BLOOM! DO NOT LET HER REACH THE PROTECTOR!”

Sassy hissed through her teeth:

“Watch us.”

And they disappeared into the ducts. The tunnel air was warm, stale, humming with machinery. Benji crawled behind her, shaking but still strong.

“Sass… when you saw your dad in that vision… did it feel like a memory or a trick?”

She paused.

“It felt real.”

Benji nodded grimly. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

She turned, heart pounding. “Why?”

He took a breath that shuddered in his chest. “Because your father didn’t just run from the Garden.”

He met her eyes.

“He started a rebellion.”

Sassy froze.

“What… what rebellion?”

Benji swallowed.

“The one we’re in right now.”

Light flickered ahead—another room opening up. And the sound of approaching footsteps.

The Elders weren’t done. Not even close.

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61

The vents narrowed as Sassy crawled, metal scraping her elbows and knees. The heat from the facility’s machinery throbbed through the ducts, making every breath feel thick, claustrophobic.

Benji breathed heavily behind her, still shaken from the Elder’s attack.

“Benji…” she whispered. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Not even remotely.”

She stopped, twisting enough to see him in the dim glow.

He forced a grin. “Still me, though.”

Her chest tightened. “I’m not losing you too.”

“You won’t,” but his voice wavered. “We just gotta get Jimmy and then get the hell out of this rat maze.”

Sassy nodded and crawled forward.

The duct bent sharply, revealing a grated opening overlooking a hallway below lit by harsh white lights. Two armored silhouettes marched past. Their steps were unnervingly synchronized.

Benji stiffened. “Elite Sentinels.”

Sassy swallowed. The Garden’s most trained loyalists. Humans as conditioned as the

Protectors.
Unbreakable.
Unquestioning.
Unforgiving.

Benji leaned close, voice barely audible. “They’re not supposed to be here. Sentinels only deploy for two reasons: rebellion… or retrieval.”

Sassy asked quizzically, “Retrieval of who?”

Benji met her eyes. “Sassy… of you.”

Her blood chilled, but she pushed it down. No time for fear. They needed to move. She pointed down the duct.

“This way. Jimmy’s chamber is on the west wing. There’s an auxiliary drop near bio stabilization rooms.”

Benji blinked. “Since when do you know this place?”

“I don’t,” she said. “But… something in me does.”

A pause. Benji didn’t argue. Just nodded. Because they were far beyond the point where explanations mattered more than survival. They crawled deeper.

“Benji, tell me what you meant earlier. About my father,” Sassy asked looking for information but also any distraction from the treacherous path they were on.

The duct creaked under their weight as they turned another corner. Benji exhaled shakily.

“Sass… I didn’t know the full story. Just pieces. The memories feel like a dream. Or dreams. I don’t really remember them happening but they’re in my head. Like they’ve always been there.”

Sassy stopped to stare at Benji. Understanding more than he did about what was happening. But she needed to know what he was remembering.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“I don’t really know,” he stammered. “I have faint memories of my grandpa muttering about ‘the Ghost.’”

“The Ghost?”

Benji nodded.

“That’s what they called him. Something about the only Garden heir to ever turn on them and disappear. Just… gone.”

Her pulse quickened. She saw again the memory the Crucible forced on her. A man with her eyes whispering into the night that they’d never have her.

“What did he do?” she asked.

Benji swallowed.

“I remember them saying he didn’t just run. He stole something from them.”

“What?”

Benji hesitated. A wave of panic swept over his face.

“You.”

Sassy’s breath left her body.

“The Ghost is your father,” Benji said quietly. “He stole you out of the Garden before you could be indoctrinated. Before they could claim you as the next leader.”

Her chest tightened. “He—he fought for me.”

“I remember my grandpa telling my father he built an entire splinter group,” Benji said. “A rebellion. People who wanted to bring the Garden down from the inside. But somewhere along the way, something went wrong.”

Sassy felt cold.

“They said the Ghost had one weapon the Garden feared more than anything.”

“What weapon?” she asked.

Benji met her gaze through the dark.

“I think it’s you.”

A metallic clang echoed from deeper in the duct. Sassy froze.

Benji tensed. “They’re sweeping the vents.”

Sassy crawled faster, heart racing. They turned another sharp corner—and stopped. The duct ahead split three ways.

Left.
Right.
Forward.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.

Think. Think. You know this place. You’ve been here before. Even if you don’t remember it, your body does.

A faint vibration drifted through the metal from the left path. A rhythm. A pattern. Her pulse synced to it.

“Their machines,” she said. “The stabilization generators. Jimmy’s chamber is near them.”

Benji nodded. “We go left.” But then—

THUD.

A Sentinel landed in the duct behind them.

Sassy whipped around.

The armored figure crouched in the metal shaft, mask gleaming, posture impossibly still. Slowly, it tilted its head at her like it was studying prey.

Benji swore softly. “Keep going,” he yelled. “I’ll slow him—”

“No,” Sassy said, grabbing his arm. “We stay together.”

The Sentinel lunged. Sassy shoved Benji down the left duct and scrambled after him. The Sentinel followed in a blur of motion, faster than either of them could crawl.

Ahead—
a grate.
A drop.

Sassy kicked the grate out with both feet—metal tearing free—

“Benji, DROP!”

They fell.

The Sentinel dove after them. They crashed onto a steel platform. Sassy rolled hard, pain shooting up her spine. The Sentinel landed on its feet. Benji raised a metal pipe he’d grabbed mid-fall. “Come on then—”

But Sassy grabbed his sleeve.

“NO—WAIT—”

Because down the hallway beyond the platform a door was open. A chamber she recognized instantly. Jimmy’s chamber.

Wires glowing. Screens flashing. A figure inside. Standing. Alive. Eyes open.

Jimmy.

Except his eyes were glowing gold. Just like in the Crucible trials.

Sassy’s heart split.

“Oh god,” she whispered.

Jimmy stepped forward. The Sentinel immediately dropped to one knee.

Benji stiffened. “What the hell—?”

Jimmy’s voice was soft.
Cold.
Unfeeling.

“Bring her to me.”

The Sentinel rose.

Sassy felt her knees weaken.

“Jimmy… no…”

He didn’t blink.

“You are the Bloom,” he said. “I am the Protector. We complete each other.”

Benji positioned himself between them. “Over my dead—”

Jimmy didn’t even look at him.

“Move.”

Benji lifted the pipe. “Make me.”

The golden-eyed Jimmy tilted his head.

“You cannot stop me.”

And Sassy felt the truth of it like a punch. This wasn’t Jimmy. This was the Garden’s version of him. Her Jimmy was somewhere buried under the programming.

Sassy’s voice cracked. “Jimmy… look at me.”

His eyes flickered. Just once.

Brown.
Human.
Terrified.

Then the gold surged back. He whispered for a fraction of a second—“Sassy… run.”

The Sentinel lunged.

Jimmy followed.

And the hallway erupted into chaos.

62

The hallway exploded into motion.

The Sentinel launched itself forward—a blur of armored limbs and crushing force. Benji swung the metal pipe with all his strength, but the Sentinel caught it midair, twisted, and ripped it free like snapping a twig.

Benji stumbled back.

“GO!” he yelled to Sassy.

But she didn’t run. She couldn’t. Not with Jimmy advancing behind the Sentinel, eyes blazing gold. The Protector. The Garden’s weapon. But also—the boy who loved her.

“Jimmy!” she cried. “STOP!”

He didn’t. He strode forward with chilling calm, each step deliberate, powerful, inevitable. The Sentinel lunged for Sassy. Benji intercepted, throwing himself between them, tackling the armored figure back into the wall. The impact reverberated through the hallway. Sassy crouched, grabbing a piece of the broken grate for a makeshift weapon. The Sentinel rose again with mechanical precision.

Jimmy raised a hand.

“Stand down,” he commanded.

The Sentinel froze. But not for her. For him.

Jimmy turned those glowing eyes on Sassy.

“You should not be resisting,” he said, voice devoid of warmth. “You should be ready.”

Sassy’s chest fractured. “Ready for what?”

“For the bond.”

Benji staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his lip. “You’re not touching her.”

Jimmy didn’t acknowledge him.

“You belong with me,” he said softly—softly enough it almost sounded like him. “You were designed to.”

Sassy’s throat tightened.

“No. I choose who I belong with.”

Jimmy paused. A flicker. His jaw clenched. Then the gold in his eyes pulsed violently. He stepped toward her.

“Sassandra,” he said, tone deepening with command, “come to me.”

Something inside her shuddered like her bones recognized the pull. Like something engineered inside both of them was activating.

“No,” she said.

His brow furrowed. A crack in the programming.

“Sassy…”

And for a moment. Just a moment—the brown of his eyes broke through.

Human.
Hurting.
Jimmy.

She stepped toward him instinctively. Then the Sentinel lunged again. Benji shoved her aside as the armored figure swung. The blow hit him full force, knocking him into the wall so hard the metal dented. Sassy screamed, scrambling toward him. Jimmy moved faster. He grabbed Sassy’s arm—firm, unyielding. Her breath caught. His hand was warm.

Her Jimmy.
His warmth.
His breath.
His pulse.

But his grip was controlled. Programmed.

“Sassy,” he softly muttered, golden eyes scanning her face with consuming attention. “Don’t fight me.”

She stared back, tears blurring her vision. “I’ll fight anyone who tries to take you from me. Even you.”

His breath hitched. Another glitch. A crack.

“Sass…” His real voice surfaced—fragile, drowning. “Help me…”

The Sentinel turned toward them again. Benji lunged—bloody, limp, but unbroken.

“LET—HER—GO!”

He swung the broken pipe again. The Sentinel caught it, shoved him back—but Benji didn’t fall this time. He planted his feet. He stood between Sassy and death. Jimmy’s head snapped toward him.

“Benji Fallon,” he said flatly. “Stand down.”

Benji spat blood at the ground. “Make me, Jimmy.”

The gold in Jimmy’s eyes pulsed brighter. He stepped forward.

Benji squared himself, shaking but resolute.

“Come on,” he yelled defiantly. “If you’re really gone, prove it.”

Sassy screamed, “STOP! JIMMY—DON’T—”

Jimmy froze. Sassy grabbed his hand with both of hers.

“Look at me,” she begged. “Not them. Not the programming. Me.”

Jimmy trembled. His fingers tightened around hers. But not in dominance. In desperation.

“Sass…”

The Sentinel lunged again. And everything collapsed. Benji dove, tackling the Sentinel sideways. Sassy yanked Jimmy with her toward the wall. Jimmy stumbled—disoriented—his programming fracturing. Sparks flew from overhead panels as the battle crashed into the wall.

And then a voice crackled from the security speaker overhead. A voice Sassy had never heard in the flesh. But one that lived in her bones.

“Sassandra. If you can hear this, it means the Elders failed to contain you.”

Sassy froze.

Benji froze mid-struggle. Jimmy lifted his head, eyes flickering. The Guardian Sentinel paused, head tilting toward the speaker like a confused animal. The voice continued—low, steady, full of defiance:

“I am the Ghost. Your father.”

Sassy’s breath shattered.

Jimmy blinked, something sparking in his expression.

The voice pressed on.

“Your mother hid you from the truth. The Garden hid you from the world. But I built this message into the circuitry before I vanished. The day you reached the Crucible; this system was programmed to activate.”

Benji stared at Sassy in stunned silence. The Sentinel took a step back, processors confused—this was not part of its protocol. Jimmy’s hand tightened in hers. Her father’s voice grew quieter.

“Sassandra… you were never born to lead the Garden.”

Silence.

“You were born to destroy it.”

The hallway lights flickered. The facility hummed with disruption.

Sassy’s pulse roared.

“But…” the Ghost added softly, almost like a father telling a secret to his child—

“You cannot destroy it alone. You must save the Protector.”

Jimmy gasped—his knees buckled. He clutched his head, the golden glow flickering violently. Sassy caught him, holding him upright.

“Sassy—” he choked, “Sassy—they’re inside—they’re—”

He screamed. The speakers shut off abruptly as alarms blared:

SYSTEM OVERRIDE DETECTED
SECURITY PURGE INITIATED

Benji grabbed Sassy’s arm.

“We have to MOVE—NOW!”

Sassy dragged Jimmy up with her, her father’s voice echoing in her skull.

Save the Protector. Save Jimmy.

Because if she didn’t The Garden would use him or destroy him and she would lose the only real thing she ever had.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. Benji pulled his rifle from the floor. Jimmy stammered through the pain, clutching her hand:

“Sass—I don’t know… how much longer I can hold them off.”

Sassy wiped his face with trembling fingers.

“You don’t have to hold them off.”

She lifted her chin as another explosion ripped through the facility behind them.

“We fight them together.”

63

The hallway strobed red as alarms blared above them:

SECURITY PURGE IN PROGRESS
ALL PERSONNEL EVACUATE
PROTECT THE BLOOM AT ALL COSTS

The words echoed off the metal walls in a sickening rhythm. Sassy tightened her grip on Jimmy’s arm. He staggered with every step, breath ragged, eyes flickering violently between familiar brown and glowing gold. Benji limped ahead of them, rifle raised, blood streaking down his temple. The ground trembled. Lights blew out in bursts overhead.

“This wing’s going down,” Benji shouted. “We need the tunnels—now!”

Jimmy stumbled, clutching his skull. “Sass… they’re inside—pushing—”

“Stay with me,” Sassy begged, cupping his face.

He shut his eyes, jaw clenched, fighting an enemy in his own head.

Then—Footsteps. Shouting. Benji spun, rifle leveled. But the figures bursting through the smoke were familiar.

“BENJI, DON’T SHOOT!” Wren shouted, skidding beside them. She was bleeding from her shoulder, eyes wild but alive.

Levi clambered in behind her, dragging a dented metal case, wheezing. Colton followed last, gripping a wrench like a medieval weapon. Sassy nearly broke with relief.

“You made it!”

Benji exhaled sharply—relief, frustration, and renewed fury.

Wren stared at Jimmy’s flickering eyes.

“Oh shit,” she breathed. “He’s halfway switched.”

Jimmy looked away, ashamed.

Levi wiped blood from his chin. “We found the server rooms. The whole system’s imploding.”

Sassy’s heartbeat surged. “My father…”

Wren grabbed her arm. “He planted some sort of self-destruct mode. And he left messages—breadcrumbs. One of them triggered when things started collapsing.”

She pointed down the hallway. A large security monitoring station flickered erratically—screens shaking in and out, some broken, others filled with static. One central monitor sparked, the glass cracked like a spiderweb. And on that cracked screen a face appeared.

Grainy.
Shadowed.
Broadcast like a hijacked security feed.

A man with her jawline.
Her cheekbones.
Her eyes.

Sassy stopped breathing.

Her father. The Ghost.

The feed glitched, lines running through his image, but his voice came through steady and calm. “Sassandra. If you’re seeing this, then the Elders failed to contain you.”

Sassy’s hand flew to her mouth.

Jimmy looked up sharply, something in him snapping toward awareness.

The Ghost continued: “This isn’t live. But it is real. I embedded myself into their system. Every camera. Every server. I left traps, timers… and warnings.”

The screen flickered showing Jimmy bound and screaming earlier. Sassy recoiled.
Jimmy flinched like he’d been punched.

“The Garden built a weapon,” her father said. “The Protector. But they never understood that the real threat… was the Bloom.”

Sassy felt the floor drop beneath her.

Wren screamed, “Holy hell…”

Benji stepped beside Sassy protectively, blocking part of her from view as if the Garden could see her through the screen.

“You were not born to lead them,” the Ghost said. “You were born to end them.”

Jimmy’s breath stuttered.

Levi wiped sweat from his brow. “That’s… one hell of a parenting choice, man.”

But the Ghost wasn’t done.

“The Garden will attempt to complete the bond. If they do, your Protector becomes their weapon. Not yours. Not his. Theirs.”

His image glitched, but his words cut through: “Save him, Sassandra. Save the boy. The world changes only if he survives with you—not with them.”

Jimmy’s knees buckled.
Sassy caught him as his body shook violently.

“Sassy,” he said, panicked. “They’re coming back—inside my head—they’re coming—”

She held him tight. “Fight it. Please, Jimmy. Fight it.”

On-screen, her father’s image leaned forward as if he saw her through time.

“There is a way out. They hid it, but I rewired the purge indicators to guide you. Follow the red pulsing lights—they lead to the incineration shaft. The only exit not under Sentinel control.”

Colton grimaced. “We’re escaping through a giant oven? Awesome.”

But Levi shook his head. “It’s decommissioned. Abandoned.”

The Ghost’s final words came through, glitched but strong:

“Sassandra… my little star…if you make it out, you become the one thing the Garden could never control.”

The screen fizzled. Static overtook his face. A final spark burst the monitor entirely. Darkness swallowed the hallway. Sassy felt a sob choke her chest. Jimmy leaned against her, trembling violently.

“I’m losing myself,” he whispered. “I can’t stop it…”

Benji grabbed his other arm. “You’re not losing anything. We’ve got you.”

Wren pointed her knife down the hall. “Sentinels incoming. Lots of them.”

Levi sealed the Ghost’s device in the metal case. “Then let’s go before the purge wipes the last exit.”

Colton swung his wrench. “Finally. Some cardio.”

The facility trembled again as doors slammed shut behind them.

Sassy took Jimmy’s face in her hands. “Listen to me,” she said. “I’m getting you out. I don’t care what they put in your head. I’m not leaving without you.”

For a flicker—
just a flicker—
his real eyes surfaced.

“Sass…”
His voice broke.
“Please hurry.”

And together—with Sentinels closing in and the purge countdown echoing—the group ran toward the only exit her father left behind…

Into the incineration shaft. Toward the Garden’s collapse.

64

The purge sirens screamed as Sassy, Jimmy, Benji, Wren, Levi, and Colton sprinted down the collapsing corridor. Every few seconds the lights flickered, the floor quaked, and sparks rained from overhead.

Ahead, lit by intermittent red pulses, a massive circular hatch towered before them.

INCINERATOR ACCESS 07 – DECOMMISSIONED

Yes. The exit her father described.

Wren gripped the hatch wheel and strained. “It’s stuck—”

Benji shoved her aside, braced himself, and twisted. The metal screamed—then gave. The door slammed open, revealing a downward spiral staircase into darkness.

Colton whistled. “Yeah. Definitely looks like a place we shouldn’t go.”

“Perfect,” Levi muttered.

Sassy turned to Jimmy, who leaned against the wall, trembling, eyes flickering between gold and brown.

“You with me?” she asked.

He nodded but didn’t speak. That scared her more.

Behind them, the Sentinels’ metallic footsteps thundered closer.

Benji grabbed Jimmy by the arm. “No time. MOVE.”

They descended. The hatch slammed shut behind them, Benji turning the wheel but not locking it.

“Why not seal it?” Wren yelled.

“Because if it locks,” Benji said, “we’re trapped with no other exit.”

No one argued.

The shaft was a hundred feet tall, narrow, and claustrophobic. Old scorch marks stained the walls. Cables hung like dead vines. But the purge lights pulsed along the path—a breadcrumb trail left by her father.

They followed it through a tunnel into a massive chamber.

Benji’s jaw dropped.

“This is an escape port,” he said while scanning the walls. “Some kinda old launch system.”

Sassy stared at the strange machinery, rusted rails, and transport crates.

“We can escape,” she said. “We just need power—”

CRASH. The hatch above burst inward. Sentinels poured in.

Benji raised his rifle.
Wren lifted her knife.
Colton swung his wrench.

Jimmy stepped in front of Sassy—Eyes gold. Voice shifting.

“I’ll hold them back.”

Sassy grabbed his wrist. “NO! Jimmy, you can’t—”

He turned toward her. For a heartbeat his brown eyes returned.

“Sass,” he said, “if they take me, I won’t be me.”

He leaned his forehead against hers.

“You made me human, Sass. If I have to fight them… I’ll fight as myself.”

She gripped his shirt. “Then don’t die. That’s all I’m asking.”

He smiled faintly—achingly real.

“No promises.”

And Jimmy lunged at the Sentinels. The battle for the last exit began.

Unscripted television now accounts for roughly 23% of global production activity—a record high. Studios are doubling down on it for three simple reasons: it is cheaper than scripted, it moves faster, and it carries less financial risk. On paper, this should represent a peak moment for the segment of the industry that built modern television economics. It does not feel that way. Because while unscripted surges globally, the United States—the market that industrialized it, exported it, and scaled it into a multi-billion-dollar business—is experiencing something closer to contraction than growth.

Across Asia, Latin America, and parts of Europe, unscripted is expanding. New formats are launching at scale, production pipelines are accelerating, and local ecosystems are forming around volume, efficiency, and adaptability. In many of these markets, unscripted is not just surviving; it is becoming the foundation of entire content economies. Meanwhile, in the United States, the same sector is tightening. Production companies are closing or consolidating. Development pipelines have thinned. Entire segments of the workforce—story producers, editors, field crews—are sitting idle at levels that would have been difficult to imagine even a few years ago. For a business built on speed and scale, that kind of stall is not cyclical. It is structural.

Studios are not wrong about unscripted’s advantages. It is cheaper. It is faster. It is lower risk. But those advantages have increasingly become the strategy itself. Efficiency has replaced development. Volume has replaced originality. Cost reduction has replaced long-term investment. The result is an industry that still produces content, but less consistently builds lasting value. Globally, that model holds because labor costs are lower, production is decentralized, and volume is the primary objective. In the United States, that same model has reached its limits. This market was not built on volume alone. It was built on formats, talent ecosystems, and scalable intellectual property—systems that require sustained development, not just output.

What is disappearing in the U.S. is not just production volume. It is the middle layer that made the industry sustainable. Mid-level producers, development teams, independent production companies, and emerging creators once formed the backbone of unscripted television. They incubated new formats, trained the next generation, and created the pipeline of ideas that could scale globally. Today, many of those roles have been reduced or eliminated, and those companies are operating with far less stability. At the same time, consolidation has concentrated decision-making into fewer hands, resulting in fewer overall bets and smaller pipelines. Less risk is being taken, and fewer opportunities are being created.

This is the contradiction defining the current moment: unscripted has never been more dominant globally, yet the workforce that built it in the United States has never been more unstable. It is possible to have more content than ever and fewer people able to make a living creating it. That is not a temporary imbalance. It is a structural shift in how the industry operates.

The markets leading the current expansion—Asia-Pacific and Latin America—are not attempting to replicate the traditional U.S. model. They are building new systems: high-volume production pipelines, localized storytelling strategies, and hybrid formats that blend reality, documentary, and social content. They are optimizing for speed, accessibility, and scale. The United States, by contrast, is still attempting to optimize for cost reduction within an aging framework. Those are fundamentally different approaches, and they are producing different outcomes.

The question is no longer whether unscripted will continue to grow. It will. The question is where that growth translates into opportunity, and who benefits from it. The current moment demonstrates something uncomfortable for the U.S. industry: it is possible to lead the creation of a global market and still lose your position within it.

From a ScyTale Studios perspective, this is not the end of unscripted television. It is the end of one version of it. The next phase will not be defined solely by lower costs or faster production cycles. It will be defined by who can rebuild development pipelines, create scalable, narrative-driven formats, and connect storytelling to real-world impact. The global market is moving forward. The U.S. industry must decide whether it is evolving with it or watching that evolution from the sidelines.

56

Jimmy stood in the chamber bathed in golden light.

Not chained.
Not collapsed.
Not screaming.

Standing. Still. Waiting.

The chamber itself looked nothing like the ones before. It was too perfect—smooth floors, symmetrical walls, golden glyphs arranged in flawless circles. The air was warmer here, almost pleasant, like stepping into sunlight.

But underneath that warmth Sassy felt a hum. A pressure. A sense of being watched by the stone itself.

She took a step forward.

“Jimmy?”

He turned. Slowly. Too slowly. His eyes—brown, human, familiar—met hers. But they didn’t move. No flicker of relief. No widening with recognition. Just stillness. As if he’d been placed exactly there and told exactly what to do.

Sassy swallowed hard. “Jimmy… do you know who I am?”

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“You’re my Bloom.”

Her stomach spiraled.

“Jimmy, no,” she cried. “No, that’s not… that’s not the answer I’m looking for.”

The golden light intensified, haloing him, making him look divine and terrifying. He stepped toward her.

“One more step,” she said, “if you’re really you.”

He stepped.

Her heart twisted with hope—

“Now step back.”

He didn’t move.

Hope cracked like thin glass.

Jimmy’s head tilted the way Naomi used to—slow, curious, predatory.

“You came,” he said. “Just like she did.”

Sassy stiffened. “Who?”

“Your mother.”

Not said with cruelty. Not with warmth. Just a fact delivered like an execution.

The room trembled faintly.

“Sassy,” Jimmy said softly, stepping closer, “your trial is simple.”

Her spine chilled. “Trial?”

“You must choose,” he demanded. “Bind. Or break.”

“No,” she said, shaking. “Jimmy would never give me that choice.”

His expression flickered—pain, confusion, something unwelcome behind his eyes struggling to surface.

“Yes,” he whispered breaking through the walls binding him. “Yes, I—Sass, I—”

He reached toward her as if fighting through water. Then froze, arm suspended midair. His eyes glazed. The Crucible snapped him back into place like a puppet whose strings were being pulled too hard.

Sassy’s chest pounded from a mix of fear and longing.

“Jimmy, fight it. Please. Please fight it.”

He blinked slowly, expression smoothing into something calm and empty.

“You are meant to lead,” he said. “I am meant to follow. This is all that was written.”

“No,” she said fiercely, stepping closer. “Nothing was written. You and I were real. Don’t you dare let this place steal that from us.”

His jaw clenched as though something inside him cracked, just a little. The chamber shivered. A low repeating tone rose from the stone, shaking dust from the ceiling.

Sassy grabbed Jimmy’s face in both hands. She could feel his chest pulling in air while she cupped his cheeks. Looking for any signs of him.

“Look at me,” she demanded. “Not them. Not the Crucible. Me.”

His lashes fluttered.
His hands trembled.

“Sassy…” he breathed, voice splintered.

“Yes,” she wept, tears spilling. “Yes, Jimmy. Come back. Please come back. Please—”

He jerked violently, as though yanked back on invisible chains. His head tilted upward. His fingers curled like claws.

“Sass—RUN—” he gasped.

Then his voice cut off. Snapped. Replaced by something cold.

“You cannot break what was bound in blood.”

Sassy staggered back, heart caving.

Jimmy stepped toward her.

Slow.
Controlled.
Dragged by a force that meant to weaponize him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said in a voice that wasn’t his.

“You won’t,” Sassy said locking with his gaze.

“Then run.”

“Never.”

His expression flickered. Rage and fear and heartbreak warred inside his eyes for a single instant.

Then darkness fell.

The golden light dimmed to a sickly hue. Glyphs turned red, spiraling outward like spreading veins. The chamber vibrated with a feeling she had never known: It was deciding whether to let her live.

Her breath came fast.

Her entire life had been exposed as a fabrication—
Her memories curated.
Her father erased.
Her mother a villain.
Her childhood a cage disguised as a world.

There was no home.
No past.
No return.

Her life had been a story someone else wrote for her.

She tasted bile.

And yet—Jimmy was still fighting for her. If he wasn’t real… If their love wasn’t real… Then why was he breaking under the pressure of choosing?

Sassy stepped closer, voice shaking:

“Jimmy, I don’t have anything left but you. I don’t have a home. I don’t have parents. I don’t even know who I was before they rewrote me. But you—Jimmy—you are the only thing that felt real.”

His fingers trembled. He gasped slightly. One tear slid down his cheek.

“Sassy,” he said, voice almost his own, “please—please let me go. They’ll make me hurt you. They’ll make me—”

“They can make you do anything they want,” she said, stepping into his reach. “But they can’t make you stop loving me.”

His whole body convulsed.

The Crucible wailed, stones grinding, symbols flaring violently.

“Sassy—NO—” he cried, voice breaking.

“Jimmy, I’m not leaving you.”

And then a vision hit her like a hammer. For the first time, the Crucible didn’t show her mother. It showed him.

A man standing in a forest clearing. Tall. Dark hair like hers. Eyes—her eyes—sharp and haunted. He lifted a small bundle—a newborn—close to his chest.

“I’ll come back for you,” he promised, voice rough like gravel and grief. “I swear I will. They can’t have you. They’ll never have you.”

Naomi appeared behind him, smiling too sweetly.

“You’ll never see her again.”

Before he could turn, she struck him—hard—with something metallic. He crumpled. The infant cried. The memory dissolved.

Sassy gasped, stumbling backward. “My father…”

Jimmy reached for her—this time the real him, bursting through for one flicker of a heartbeat.

“Sassy,” he choked out, “I’m so sorry.”

The Crucible struck him like lightning. He screamed—a raw, human sound that tore Sassy’s heart into shreds. And then the entire chamber collapsed into blinding white light.

Jimmy lunged for her—
She lunged for him—

Their fingers brushed. And everything went dark.

57

Sassy’s eyes snapped open. Cold metal pressed against her cheek. Not stone. Not ancient earth. Steel.

She blinked hard, vision swimming until the shapes came into focus—

Smooth walls. Gridded floors. Recessed lights humming faintly overhead. Vents pushed recycled air into the room, carrying the sterility of disinfectant. There were no glyphs. No glowing minerals. No shifting stone.

The Crucible was a machine.

A controlled environment.
A labyrinth of engineered rooms.
Walls built to slide, floors built to tilt, illusions projected on a rising ceiling of screens.

A simulation. Not a mystical trial.

Sassy sat up sharply, nausea rising in her throat. The room was bare except for one metal chair and a single observation window tinted black from the other side.

She wasn’t underground anymore. She was inside a facility. A lab. A prison.

A voice crackled through unseen speakers.

“Sassandra.”

Her blood turned to ice.

Not Naomi. Not an illusion. An Elder.

An old man’s voice—measured, gentle, clinical.

“We apologize for the theatrics. But you finally reached the end, and so the performance is no longer necessary.”

Her hands curled into fists. “Where’s Jimmy?”

A soft chuckle. “Safe, for now. You both performed beautifully.”

Sassy staggered to her feet. “What is this? What the hell is this place?”

A panel in the wall slid open with a hiss. Light from outside poured in.

Three Elder figures stepped inside—men and women in pale gray clothing, identical in expression and posture. They looked like bureaucrats, not mystics. Scientists, not prophets.

The oldest of them—hair white, posture straight—smiled warmly.

“Hello, Sassandra. We’ve waited a very long time for you.”

She took a step back. “You’re not sacred. You’re not divine. You’re just—just people—”

“Yes,” the Elder said. “But people with purpose.”

Sassy’s voice trembled. “The Crucible—it changes shape, it—”

“Panels,” the Elder said.

“Electromagnetic mounts. A system of rotating chambers. Projection surfaces. Hallucinogenic gas delivery.” He nodded at her hands. “And a remarkable suggestibility profile, inherited from your mother.”

Sassy’s stomach flipped.

The Elder continued gently, “There is no magic here, child. No prophecy. Only design.”

Her breath shuddered. “Design for what?”

The woman Elder stepped forward.

“For evolution.”

Sassy stared.

“We study belief,” the woman said. “Obedience. Power dynamics. Genetic predispositions. We use the language of myth because myth motivates. Myth shapes behavior.”

Sassy’s pulse thundered. “You used us.”

“We shaped you,” another Elder corrected. “Curated you. Naomi played her part. Elias played his. Even Jimmy.”

Sassy’s voice cracked. “What did you do to him?”

“His entire life,” the Elder said calmly, “was preparation. A controlled environment. Selective reinforcement. Conditioning. Jimmy was not your destiny, Sassandra. He was your pairing.”

Her knees buckled.

“We needed to see if a Protector and Bloom could reach full synchronization under duress,” the Elder continued. “If emotional bonds accelerated the process. If love could override fear, or fear override love.”

A chill sliced through her bones.

“You tortured us,” she said.

“We gathered data,” he corrected.

“Why me?” Sassy demanded. “Why was I the center of all this? What did you want from me?”

The Elder smiled, a shift in expression that sent a chill through Sassy.

“You were the variable.”

“What variable?”

He stepped closer, eyes alight with pride.

“The daughter of our only successful escapee. The only known subject with the potential to resist us—or surpass us. We needed to know which you would become.”

Her stomach dropped.

“My father.”

The Elders exchanged pleased glances.

“Ah,” the old man said, “so Naomi didn’t bury it entirely. Yes. He was one of us once. Brilliant. Gifted. And when he fled with you still in the womb… well, that created a fascinating anomaly.”

Sassy shook. “So, you took me.”

“We reclaimed you.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. “All my life—everything—was controlled.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“And Jimmy?”

“His purpose,” the Elder said, “was to protect you long enough for the trial. To test whether the bond we engineered would become a threat or an asset.”

Sassy swallowed hard. “You wanted me to kill him.”

The Elder blinked, surprised at her clarity.

“Yes,” he said. “Or bind him completely. Either outcome would have told us exactly what you are.”

Sassy felt the floor tilt beneath her.

“And what am I?” she asked.

The Elder’s smile widened.

“You are our most successful experiment.”

She recoiled.

“No.”

“Oh yes,” he said softly. “You are the result of two converging bloodlines—your mother’s perfect compliance and your father’s perfect rebellion.”

His voice dropped to a reverent whisper.

“You are both the weapon and the wielder. And now… your training can truly begin.”

Sassy’s breathing steadied. Not from fear. From clarity.

“You think I’m staying here?” she said.

The Elders exchanged amused smiles.

“You have nowhere else to go.”

But Sassy did not flinch.

“My life was fake,” she said. “My mother was a monster. My memories were engineered. My relationships manipulated. But Jimmy—”

Her voice softened.

“Jimmy wasn’t fake.”

The Elders stiffened.

“Even you can’t control love,” she said.

Before they could respon, a scream echoed down the corridor. Jimmy’s scream.

Raw.

Terrified.

Painful.

“NO—DON’T TOUCH HER—DON’T—”

Sassy froze.

The Elders stepped aside, revealing a transparent wall behind them. On the other side, Jimmy strapped to a medical frame.

Needles. Restraints.
Panels of data flashing around him.

He was awake.
Struggling.
Terrified.

He saw her.

Their eyes met.

“SASSY—RUN!” he screamed.
“SASSY—DON’T LET THEM—”

Electricity surged through his restraints. He convulsed and Sassy screamed his name. The Elder pressed a button. Calmly. Almost tenderly.

“Session One,” he said. “Begin.”

And Jimmy screamed again.

58

Jimmy’s scream ripped through the observation room, slicing through Sassy’s nerves like a blade. She staggered toward the glass wall, palms slamming against it so hard the impact echoed.

“STOP!” she shouted. “STOP HURTING HIM!”

The Elders didn’t even glance at her. The old man adjusted a dial. Another raised a clipboard. A woman monitored the rising levels on a screen.

They treated Jimmy’s agony like data points.

Not a person.
Not a boy.
Not someone Sassy loved.

Just an experiment registering results.

Jimmy writhed against the restraints, teeth clenched until blood streaked from his gums. His voice cracked mid-scream.

“SASSY—RUN—RUN—”

An Elder tapped a panel. “Increase amperage point-three. His neurological resistance is higher than predicted.”

Sassy turned on them.

“What is WRONG with you?! He’s human!”

“Humanity,” an Elder replied mildly, “has never been a prerequisite for utility.”

Sassy’s nails dug into her palms. Her chest tightened, burning. She was shaking so badly she could barely breathe. She’d been through illusions, trials, memories—not one moment prepared her for this.

This was no myth.
No prophecy.
No sacred rite.

This was torture.

Controlled.
Clinical.
Cold.

She felt her pulse spike until it roared in her ears.

“You can’t do this,” she hissed. “You can’t—”

“We can,” the Elder said calmly, “and we must.”

The woman Elder stepped forward, clasping her hands.

“Jimmy’s function is not to live, Sassandra. His function is to catalyze you.”

Sassy froze. “Catalyze me how?”

“Trauma,” the woman said simply. “Deep emotional rupture stimulates higher compliance responses. Your mother responded with violent loyalty after her own conditioning.”

Sassy gagged, bile rising. “So, you’re hurting him to hurt me.”

“To activate you,” the woman corrected. “Your father resisted us because he lacked proper bonding stimuli. Your mother complied because her bonds were artificially severed. You contain both profiles. We must determine which one dominates.”

Jimmy howled—shaking so fiercely the straps creaked.

Sassy slammed her fist against the glass. “YOU DON’T KNOW ME!”

The Elder smiled.

“That’s the point, dear. We’re here to find out.”

Sassy’s vision blurred with rage.

Something inside Sassy snapped.

No—freed.

Her fear evaporated.
Her confusion hardened.
Her grief sharpened into something lethal.

She turned her back to the glass.

“Let him go.”

“No,” the elder said pleasantly. “Begin Phase Two.”

Jimmy convulsed—his back arching, muscles trembling.

He choked her name. “Sass—sa—STOP THEM—don’t—don’t let them—”

Sassy pressed her forehead to the glass.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I’m here. I’m here, Jimmy.”

He sobbed—a broken, human sound that would haunt her forever.

The Elder sighed.

“Restrain her,” he said.

Two guards entered through a side door—large, armed, calm. They didn’t make it to her. Sassy moved first. She pivoted, grabbed the first guard’s arm, and yanked, twisting until he dropped his baton. The motion was instinctive—like her body remembered a training she had never consciously learned.

The second guard lunged.

Sassy ducked, grabbed his wrist, and slammed him into the observation wall so hard the glass cracked in a spiderweb of fractures.

The Elders stared. Not horrified. Delighted.

“She’s activating,” the old man noted. “Remarkable.”

Sassy lifted the baton she’d taken from the guard—lightweight, metal, buzzing with a mild current.

“Open that door,” she snarled. “LET ME IN!”

“No,” the Elder said. “You’re not ready to see him.”

Sassy smashed the baton against the cracked glass.

The Elders stepped back.

Another strike. Another.

Jimmy’s muffled voice from beyond the wall—

“SASS—DON’T—”

She didn’t stop. She wouldn’t.

Crack.
Crack.
CRACK.

The glass fractured further.

On the other side, Jimmy strained toward her, tears streaming down his face. She pressed her hand to the splitting barrier. He pressed his to the other side. It was the closest they’d been since the garden stole him.

“Sassy… You have to run. You have to leave me,” Jimmy pleaded.

“No,” she choked. “I’m not losing you. Not again.”

His voice cracked. “They’ll kill you.”

“Then I’ll take them with me.”

His eyes widened. And then—

An alarm began blaring. Lights flashed red. The facility shook.

The Elders’ faces snapped toward the door.

“What is—?”

A distant explosion rattled the ceiling. A voice screamed from the hallway:

“BREACH! THEY’VE BREACHED THE LOWER CORRIDOR!”

Sassy’s heart jackknifed.

Benji.
Wren.
Levi.
Colton.

They found her.

The Elders turned back toward Sassy. The old man sighed, disappointment and fascination blending.

“It seems your friends have arrived.”

He tapped a button on his sleeve.

“And so has your final test.”

Metal shutters sealed the observation window. Jimmy disappeared behind a wall of steel.

“No!” Sassy screamed, throwing herself at it. “NO! JIMMY!”

His fading voice echoed on the other side.

“SASSY—RUN—RUN!”

A hiss filled the room. Sleep gas.

Sassy staggered, disoriented, lungs burning. She fought it. Fought harder than anything she’d ever fought. But the world dimmed. The last thing she heard was a familiar voice in the hall—Benji shouting her name.

“SASSY! HOLD ON—WE’RE COMING!”

Then darkness swallowed everything.

59

Sassy surfaced slowly.

Her eyelids felt glued shut, her tongue heavy, her throat burning with the taste of chemicals. Her limbs wouldn’t move. Not from paralysis but from restraint. Cold metal cuffs encircled her wrists and ankles, bolting her to a reclined metal chair.

She forced her eyes open.

The room was darker than the observation bay—deep gray walls lined with embedded panels, cables snaking overhead like veins feeding an artificial heart. The air hummed with machinery.

This wasn’t the Crucible. This wasn’t a test chamber. This was an indoctrination room.

A voice crackled overhead. “Good morning, Sassandra.”

Her pulse spiked at the Elder’s calm tone.

She yanked against the restraints. “Let me OUT!”

“We will,” he replied, “once you’ve completed what your mother never could.”

Images flickered to life on the walls—Naomi standing in a similar chair, younger, calmer, eyes glassy with obedience. Naomi bowing before the Elders. Naomi leading a line of blindfolded initiates through a stone corridor.

Sassy jerked her head away. “Turn it off!”

“It’s important you see what came before,” the Elder said. “So, you understand what comes next.”

The screen blinked. A new image filled the wall.

Jimmy.

Straps across his chest.
A metal brace around his skull.
Eyes closed.
Not moving.

Sassy’s lungs seized. “JIMMY!”

No response from him.
No twitch.
No tremor.

Just stillness.

The Elder tsked softly. “He cannot hear you right now.”

“What did you do to him?!”

“Stabilization,” he said mildly. “He endured significant… dysregulation during the final trial. We must ensure he is prepared for his role before the bond ceremony proceeds.”

Her blood iced.

“Ceremony?”

“Yes,” the Elder said. “The binding of the Bloom and Protector.”

Sassy’s stomach dropped. They weren’t testing anymore. They were moving forward with their original plan.

“No,” she said. “You can’t. I won’t let you.”

“You misunderstand your position,” he replied. “This is not a negotiation.”

She thrashed in the restraints. “I WON’T BE YOUR LEADER!”

“Naomi said the same thing once,” he said gently. “Before she flourished.”

“No,” Sassy hissed. “My mother lived terrified. Controlled. You broke her.”

“Correction,” the Elder said softly. “We shaped her. And we will shape you.”

He pressed a button. A panel in the ceiling clicked open. A thin armature lowered—a halo-like ring of dark metal, glowing with pulsing nodes. It hovered inches above her forehead.

Sassy’s heart crashed against her ribs. “What is that?!”

The Elder smiled.

“A stimulus regulator. It will help align your cognition with the Garden’s priorities.”

“It’s brainwashing,” Sassy spat.

“It’s guidance,” he corrected. “You are a hybrid of compliance and rebellion. We must refine you.”

The halo descended—Then—BOOM.

A distant explosion rattled the chamber. Dust drifted from the ceiling. The lights flickered. Another boom. This time closer.

“BREACH IN SECTOR THREE—FALLBACK!”

Sassy’s heart surged. That was Benji’s voice. Muffled, distant—but unmistakable.

The Elder sighed. “Your friends are persistent.”

She bared her teeth in a feral grin. “They’re coming for me.”

“For now,” the Elder said. “But the facility is large, our guards many, and your protectiveness of Jimmy creates… obvious advantages.”

The screens changed again. They showed three intersecting hallways each containing a different trapped figure.

Benji—
Colton—
Wren—
Levi—

Each one surrounded by auto-sealing doors, alarms blaring.

“Let them go!” Sassy screamed.

The Elder tilted his head. “You still believe this is about choice. It is about outcomes. And your outcome requires obedience.”

He lowered the halo again.

“Stop!” Sassy twisted violently. “STOP!”

The metal ring buzzed, thousands of tiny currents gathering into a single pulse—

“INITIATE PHASE ONE,” the Elder commanded.

But before the ring touched her—BOOOOM. A blast tore through the far wall. Smoke billowed inward. Shouts echoed through the crackling comms. Gunfire erupted.

A silhouette appeared in the breach.

Dust-covered.
Wild-eyed.
A rifle in his hands.

Benji.

He saw her.

“SASSY!”

Her breath tore free in a sob.

“BENJI!”

He charged into the room.

Two guards surged forward.

Benji tackled the first, slamming his head into the floor. The second swung a baton—Benji took the hit and drove his elbow into the guard’s throat.

Sassy sobbed, “Benji—Jimmy—they have Jimmy—”

“I know,” he rasped, grabbing a downed guard’s keycard. “We’re getting him. We’re getting you.”

The Elder hit a button.

Benji didn’t see it in time.

A security panel snapped open in the ceiling and a second halo apparatus dropped. This one aimed at Benji.

The Elder smiled faintly.

“If Sassandra refuses to lead willingly, then we will begin with her protector instead.”

Benji spun—

The halo fired but not a physical beam. A pulse of electromagnetic force hitting him square in the chest.

Benji gasped and collapsed to one knee—eyes wide in electric shock.

“No!” Sassy screamed. “BENJI—!”

He fought to rise.

The Elder pressed another button. More energy crackled along the device.

Benji’s body shook.

The Elder stepped forward calmly.

“Your love for Sassandra makes you dangerous. But your loyalty can be rewritten.”

Sassy’s scream tore her throat raw.

“STOP! STOP! STOP!”

The Elder smiled toward her.

“Phase Two,” he announced. “Begin.”

The room filled with white light.

Electrifying Benji.

Swallowing Sassy.

And plunging the Garden’s world into a full-scale war.

A federal judge’s decision to freeze Nexstar Media Group’s proposed $6.2 billion acquisition of Tegna Inc. is more than a setback for a single deal. It is a signal, clear and difficult to ignore, that the regulatory environment surrounding media consolidation has shifted. And for companies eyeing the next phase of scale, including any potential combination involving Paramount Global and Warner Bros. Discovery, the implications extend well beyond local broadcast.

At its core, the Nexstar–Tegna case is rooted in traditional antitrust concerns: local station concentration, retransmission fee leverage, and regional advertising dominance. But the decision to halt the deal (pending further review) suggests something broader. Regulators and courts are no longer treating media mergers as routine scale plays. They are beginning to interrogate how consolidation impacts control over distribution, pricing power, and ultimately, access to audiences.

Historically, large media mergers have navigated regulatory review through a familiar calculus: define the market narrowly, demonstrate competition exists, and offer targeted divestitures if necessary. That playbook may no longer be sufficient. What the Tegna freeze introduces is a willingness, at least in this instance, for the judicial system to engage more directly with the downstream effects of consolidation, particularly in advertising and carriage negotiations.

For Paramount and Warner Bros. Discovery—or any future pairing of major content and distribution entities—the concern is not that their business models mirror Nexstar’s. They don’t. The modern battleground is no longer just local broadcast ownership; it is a fragmented but increasingly interconnected ecosystem spanning streaming platforms, connected TV (CTV) advertising, and data-driven audience targeting. What regulators appear to be recalibrating is not just who owns stations, but who controls monetization pathways at scale.

That shift matters because the economics of media have changed. As linear television continues its decline, companies are aggressively repositioning around streaming and advertising-supported models. CTV ad revenue is growing, and with it, the ability for a smaller number of players to aggregate both inventory and audience data. The introduction of AI-powered ad tools designed to optimize targeting, pricing, and placement only accelerates that concentration of influence.

Against this backdrop, the Tegna decision lands differently. It suggests that regulators may begin to view disparate parts of the media ecosystem—broadcast, streaming, digital advertising—not as isolated markets, but as interconnected levers of power. If that perspective takes hold, future mergers will not be evaluated solely on legacy definitions of competition. They will be assessed on their cumulative ability to shape how content is distributed, discovered, and monetized.

There is also a political and cultural layer that cannot be ignored. The past decade of media consolidation has been accompanied by repeated waves of layoffs, restructuring, and newsroom contraction. While antitrust law is not explicitly designed to address employment outcomes, the broader narrative around consolidation—fewer owners, fewer voices, fewer jobs—has gained traction. That context can influence how aggressively deals are scrutinized, particularly when they involve companies with significant reach.

None of this means a Paramount–Warner Bros. Discovery–type transaction is off the table. But it does suggest that the path forward will be more complex. Expect longer review timelines, more aggressive information requests, and a higher likelihood of structural remedies. Divestitures may not be enough; regulators could push for behavioral conditions tied to advertising practices, data usage, or platform access.

For executives and investors, the takeaway is not that consolidation is over. It is that the assumptions underpinning consolidation have changed. Scale alone is no longer a sufficient argument. The burden is shifting toward demonstrating that increased size does not translate into disproportionate control over markets that are themselves still being defined.

In that sense, the Nexstar–Tegna freeze functions as a warning shot. Not because it directly blocks the next major merger, but because it reframes the question regulators are asking. The issue is no longer simply whether a deal reduces competition in a narrowly defined market. It is whether it consolidates influence across a media ecosystem that is rapidly converging.

51

They traveled in a silence thick enough to choke.

The forest shifted as they descended. Taller trees, colder air, a haunting hum threading through the wind. The deeper they went, the more the woods felt… wrong. Not alive. Not dead. Waiting.

Elias led them, the severance blade wrapped carefully in cloth and strapped to his belt. Sassy walked between him and Benji, every step sending pain through her ribs. Grief, terror, determination blending into something sharp enough to cut.

Benji shadowed her like a second spine. Levi and Colton flanked behind, weapons raised. Wren walked beside Elias, face pale with recognition of a world she’d barely escaped. No one spoke until the trees thinned and the land sloped downward into a wide ravine.

Sassy stopped. She could feel it. Like heat off a fire, like static before lightning.

“Here,” she said. “It’s here.”

Elias nodded grimly. “The Crucible lies beneath this basin. Entrance is ahead.”

Benji moved to her side. “You okay?”

Sassy wiped her cheek. “No. But I’m going.”

He nodded once, jaw tight, eyes full of worry he didn’t bother to hide.

The ravine opened into a pear-shaped clearing. Boulders littered the ground. Ancient stone pillars, cracked and covered in vines, rose from the earth like broken teeth. In the center stood the entrance. A circular stone door half-sunk into the hillside. Symbols carved into its surface glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Levi muttered, “What… is this place?”

Wren stepped closer, swallowing hard. “This is older than the Garden. They built around it but didn’t create it.”

“Meaning?” Benji snapped.

Wren turned to him with haunted eyes. “Meaning Jimmy isn’t the only thing you should fear inside.”

Sassy shivered.

Elias approached the door, touching the glowing carvings with his fingertips. The symbols flared brighter, recognizing him.

Sassy stood in a trance of awe. “You can open it?”

“I was raised to,” Elias said quietly. “Before I knew better.”

Benji stepped forward. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Elias didn’t touch the door again. Instead, he turned to Sassy.

“There is one thing you need to understand before we enter.”

She stiffened.

“You are not going into a prison,” Elias said. “You are going into a trial.”

Benji cursed under his breath. “A trial of what?”

Elias met Sassy’s gaze.

“A trial of her. Of her lineage. Of her bond with Jimmy. And of what the Garden believes she’s meant to become.”

Sassy backed up a step. “I don’t want any of that. I just want Jimmy.”

“And that,” Elias said, “is why you’re their greatest threat.”

Benji moved closer, jaw clenched. “If the Garden wants a leader, they can dig up Naomi’s corpse and crown it. Sassy’s not playing their game.”

Elias laughed but there was no joy in it. “Benji, if it were that simple, none of us would be here.”

Wren said, “They’ll expect Sassy to take the Protector’s hand.”

Sassy’s breath stuttered.

Elias continued, “In the Crucible, the Protector is shown visions. Trials of loyalty. Tests of obedience. And at the end—”

Sassy swallowed. “At the end what?”

Elias hesitated.

Benji exploded. “TELL HER!”

“At the end,” Elias said gently, “he must choose his Bloom.”

Silence cracked the air. Sassy felt her heartbeat stumble.

“He already chose me.”

Elias nodded. “Yes. And that’s why he’s in there now.”

Colton stepped forward. “So, what, Sassy just walks in there and says, ‘Jimmy, baby, pick me’?”

Levi hit his arm. “Dude—not now.”

Benji exhaled sharply. “We go in together. I’m not letting her walk in alone.”

Elias’s tone hardened instantly. “No. She enters alone or Jimmy dies.”

Benji lunged toward him, murder in his eyes. “YOU DON’T GET TO DECIDE—”

Sassy grabbed Benji’s arm, voice breaking. “Benji—please—stop.”

He froze, chest heaving, eyes blazing at Elias.

“You’re sending her into a trap.”

“It is a trap,” Elias said. “But it’s also the only way to free him.”

Benji tore away, pacing like a caged animal. “This is insane. This is straight-up insane.”

Sassy stepped toward him, placing her hand on his cheek. “I know. But Jimmy would walk through fire for me. He already has.”

Benji closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for one aching second before pulling away, grief swallowing his voice.

“What if you don’t come back?”

Sassy swallowed the fear rising in her throat. “Then at least Jimmy won’t die alone.”

Benji flinched like she’d struck him. Even Wren turned away, unable to watch.

Elias pressed both palms to the stone symbols again. The carvings flared with white fire.

The ground trembled.
Air thickened.
A low, subterranean rumble rolled through the ravine like a waking beast.

The circle split open. A cold wind rushed out, carrying with it a cacophony of noises. Sassy’s heart seized. One voice cut through the rest.

“Sass…”

Barely audible.
Broken.
Calling her.

Jimmy.

Sassy stepped toward the entrance as if pulled by gravity.

Benji grabbed her arm. “Sassy—WAIT.”

She turned to him, eyes full of fear and fire both. “I have to.”

He looked at her for a long, agonizing moment, jaw quivering, shoulders shaking. Then he did the hardest thing he had ever done. He let her go. His hand slipped from her arm. His breath broke. His voice was a whisper meant only for her.

“Come back to me.”

Sassy nodded once, tears burning her eyes.

“I will.”

Then she turned—heart pounding, bracelet clenched. Every step fueled by a love she couldn’t abandon and descended into the Crucible.

Behind her, the stone door sealed shut with a final, echoing BOOM. Silence swallowed the ravine.

Benji fell to his knees.

Wren covered her mouth.

Levi quietly recited a prayer.

Colton muttered, “God help her.”

Elias stared at the sealed entrance, haunted.

“Let us pray,” he said, “that Jimmy still remembers her.”

And inside the Crucible. In the shifting maze of stone and shadow, a voice whispered softly in the dark:

“Sassy…?”

52

The air inside the Crucible changed the moment Sassy crossed the threshold. Thicker, colder, charged with something that felt older than language.

The Crucible wasn’t a tunnel. It was a living structure.

A vast cavern system carved by ancient hands or older forces. No one knew which. The walls were not smooth stone but layered strata of minerals that glowed faintly, veins of blue luminescence pulsing like sluggish heartbeats. Strange patterns—circles, spirals, intersecting lines—were etched into nearly every surface, weathered by centuries yet still humming with latent power.

The ground beneath her feet was uneven. Sometimes jagged rock, sometimes smooth as polished marble, other times soft with dust the color of crushed bone. The temperature shifted with each step, pockets of warmth and cold swirling unpredictably, like walking through the breath of a sleeping beast.

Even the sound was wrong.

Her footsteps echoed in distant directions rather than around her, scattering into corridors she couldn’t see. And somewhere deeper inside, a low rhythmic murmur resonated through the stone, as if the walls themselves were grinding, shifting, reshaping a maze in real time.

Sassy’s heart hammered.

The Crucible wasn’t just a place. It was a trial ground. A memory eater. A mirror of the mind. And she had stepped willingly into its jaws.

“Jimmy?” she called.

Her voice split. Three echoes drifting down three different corridors, each carved with different glowing patterns.

She stepped back. There had been one hallway when she entered. Now there were three. The Crucible had already started its work.

She closed her eyes. “Show me where he is.”

A tremble rippled beneath her feet. The glowing veins in the leftmost corridor brightened, throbbing like a pulse accelerating with anticipation.

Sassy steadied herself against the warm stone, inhaled shakily, and chose the lit path.

The hallway began wide enough for three people to walk shoulder to shoulder, but within ten steps narrowed so abruptly Sassy had to turn sideways to squeeze through. The walls pulsed faintly with shifting symbols—spirals giving way to jagged lines, then to glyphs resembling outstretched hands.

The temperature dipped sharply, frost forming on the tips of her hair.

A whisper drifted down the corridor:

“Sassy…”

She spun.

Jimmy’s voice.
Close.
Near enough it felt like warmth against her ear.

“Jimmy?” she called again, her voice cracking. “Jimmy—where are you?”

No reply.
But a soft, almost affectionate “Come…” drifted forward.

Sassy swallowed hard, moving faster.

The corridor opened into a circular chamber. Its walls smooth, almost carved to perfection, with a domed ceiling etched in spiraling constellations.

At the center stood a figure.

Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Head bowed.

Jimmy.

Sassy stumbled forward, breath hitching.

“Jimmy!”

He lifted his head.

Her heart slammed into her ribs—

His face was perfect.
Exactly as she remembered.
Except—

His irises glowed gold, swirling like molten metal trapped behind glass.

“Sassy,” he said.

Her whole body shook. It was his voice, his posture, his everything. But something in her gut twisted violently. This wasn’t right.

He stepped toward her, arms open. But Sassy froze.

His eyes were too steady.
His stance too confident.
His smile too practiced.

Jimmy’s real smiles always pulled crooked on one side, like he was surprised by his own happiness.

Her voice cracked. “You’re not him.”

The illusion blinked. And flickered. Its face blurred, then sharpened, then contorted as the golden glow intensified.

“You came for him,” it whispered, “as the Bloom must.”

Her hands curled into fists. “You’re not Jimmy.”

The illusion tilted its head.

“This is the first trial: fear of losing him.”

It reached toward her. Sassy stepped back, tears gathering.

“And I know Jimmy,” she snapped fiercely, “and he would never reach for me with hands that don’t shake.”

The chamber trembled. The illusion shattered into golden shards that dissolved into the air. The floor split open behind the remnants, revealing a new passage of iron-red stone.

Sassy wiped her face and stepped forward.

“Not him,” she pleaded. “Not yet.”

But the doubt burrowed deep.

The next passage descended sharply, walls shifting from blue-lit stone to rust-hued minerals streaked with dark veins like dried blood. The air grew colder. Sharp, almost sterile.

Whispers followed her.
Some pleading.
Some angry.
Some calling her name in voices she didn’t recognize.

Her breath fogged in front of her.

At the next chamber, a stone pedestal emerged from swirling mist. On it lay a small object. A bracelet. Not Jimmy’s. Hers. A childhood bracelet she barely remembered. Pink plastic beads, one cracked, one missing.

She touched it.

As if transported, she stood in a sunlit backyard. Bright, warm, buzzing with cicadas. A tire swing creaked. Her childhood home glowed golden. Naomi’s laughter floated through the air—soft, maternal, wrong.

And running across the grass—Jimmy. But not Jimmy. A young Jimmy, impossibly familiar and impossibly wrong.

“Come on, Sassy!” he called, holding a jar of fireflies.

Her head spun.
This wasn’t real.
They hadn’t met until high school.

Young Sassy stood beside him, laughing.

Naomi smiled at them both. “You two are trouble.”

Sassy staggered back.

“No—no—this isn’t real. Jimmy wasn’t here. I didn’t—he didn’t—this never happened!”

The illusion wavered.

Naomi’s smile curdled.
The fireflies turned to ash.
Young Jimmy’s face cracked like a mask.

“Maybe you always belonged to him,” a voice whispered behind her.

Sassy spun but no one was there.

The scene shattered and she collapsed back onto cold stone, the bracelet slipping from her hand. Her breath tore from her chest in broken gasps.

“Jimmy,” she begged. “Please be real. Please be out there.”

Then—A sound.

Not an illusion.
Not a memory.
Not a whisper.

A voice. Hoarse, cracked, unmistakably human.

“Sass…?”

Sassy froze.

“Jimmy?!” she screamed. “Jimmy, I’m here!”

His breath hitched, a choked sound of pain.

“Sass… don’t… come… they’ll…”

She bolted toward the sound. Heart hammering. Stone trembling. The Crucible rearranging itself in panic.

“I’m coming,” she vowed. “I’m coming right now.”

And the walls closed behind her.

53

Sassy sprinted down the narrowing hall, her footsteps echoing like frantic heartbeats against the jagged stone. The Crucible shifted with her acceleration. Ceilings contracting, walls widening or squeezing tight, the mineral veins flashing frenetic pulses of red and blue.

The entire structure reacted to her urgency.

Because Jimmy was close. Because Jimmy was hurting. Because Jimmy had called her name, not as a test, not as an illusion, but with breath and pain and fear.

She rounded a sharp bend and stopped dead.

The chamber before her was vast. Walls carved with spiraling glyphs that glowed in alternating pulses—blue, red, blue, red—as if syncing to a heartbeat not her own. Chains were anchored into the stone floor in a geometric pattern—five points, like the petals of a flower.

At the center—Jimmy.

His wrists bound above him with iron cuffs etched in sigils.
His knees pressed into the stone, trembling.
Blood streaked down his temple.
His shirt shredded across his back, revealing gashes that made Sassy’s vision blur.

But his eyes—God. His eyes were still Jimmy’s.

Not gold.
Not glowing.
Not hollow.

Brown.
Human.
Filled with pain but still HIS.

“Sass…” His voice cracked, but it was real. “No—no, you’re not supposed to be here—”

Sassy stepped forward, legs shaking violently. “Jimmy—Jimmy, look at me.”

He flinched as if her voice physically struck him. “Don’t—don’t come closer. They’ll use you—”

“Let them,” she said. “Let them try.”

The chamber rumbled at her defiance. Dust drifted from the ceiling. The chains clinked as Jimmy tried to back away, but he had nowhere to go.

“Sass.” He shook his head desperately. “Please—please turn around and go. You don’t understand what this place does—”

“Oh, yes I do,” she said, stepping closer. “It lies. It twists memories. It makes illusions. But you—” Her voice broke. “—you’re not an illusion.”

Jimmy’s breath caught. For a fleeting second, hope flickered in his eyes. But the Crucible hated hope.

The glyphs flared red—violently. The ground beneath Sassy’s feet lurched. A fissure cracked open at the far end of the chamber, and something slithered up from the dark shadows shaped like hands, like faces, like past versions of herself telling lies.

Jimmy flinched. “SASSY—MOVE!”

She ignored them all.
Ignored the shifting walls.
Ignored the illusions crawling out of the stone like memories given teeth.

She went to him. And knelt. Right in front of him. Close enough to touch. Close enough to see every tremor in his jaw. Close enough to smell the blood on his skin.

Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut, shaking. “You can’t touch me. You can’t—you can’t—if you try to break the chain, the Crucible will—”

Sassy reached up and cupped his face. Her thumb brushed his cheekbone.

Jimmy gasped—

as if her touch burned
and saved him
and broke him
all at once.

“Sassy,” he said, voice wrecked, “you were supposed to forget me.”

She shook her head fiercely. “I tried. It didn’t work.”

His eyes fluttered open—wet, terrified, tender.

“Why didn’t you run?”

“Because you told me to.”

Jimmy blinked, confused.

“You told me to run,” she cried, tears spilling, “so I did. But I ran to you. Not away.”

His whole body sagged against the chains.

“You shouldn’t have come. This place… it tests everything. It tests love until it bleeds.”

“Then let it bleed,” she said.

But before he could speak the Crucible let out a deep, ancient groan.

Symbols on the floor ignited in blinding red. The chains holding Jimmy tightened, wrenching a cry from his throat. Sassy threw herself against him, trying to hold him steady, but the force nearly knocked her sideways.

The illusions in the fissure writhed, chanting:

He’s not yours.
He belongs to us.
He was made for us.
You were made for us.

Jimmy’s voice cracked in panic. “Sassy—SASSY—listen to me—this is the second trial. They’re using me to break you—”

“Then they should’ve picked someone else,” she snapped.

She grabbed his face again, forcing him to look at her.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

He tried to breathe—couldn’t.

“Why?” he choked. “Why would you do this? Why risk everything?”

“Because you saved me,” she said. “Twice. And you did it knowing they would punish you. So now you’re not alone in this.”

His lips parted.
His breath trembled.
His eyes flooded.

“Sassy…”

The chains jerked violently. He screamed. Sassy screamed with him.

The room trembled.
The glyphs blazed.
The illusions surged.

And then a voice boomed through the chamber. A voice Sassy knew. A voice she had grown up fearing, loving, obeying without question. Her mother’s voice.

“So. You made it this far.”

Sassy whipped around but Naomi wasn’t there. It was only the Crucible speaking.
Using her mother’s tone. Her rhythm. Her menace. A perfect mimicry.

Naomi’s voice echoed from the walls:

“Let’s see if you can make it further.”

The chamber walls began to shift.
The floor cracked.
Jimmy’s chains tightened again.

Sassy caught his face one last time before the room tore itself apart.

“I’m coming back for you,” she swore. “I promise.”

Jimmy sobbed. Broken, terrified, hopeful.

“Sass—don’t leave—don’t leave me—don’t—”

The floor split beneath them and Sassy fell. Alone. Into the next trial.

54

Sassy hit the ground hard.

Air exploded from her lungs as she skidded across cold stone, scraping her palms. The chamber she landed in was dim. No glowing mineral veins, no spiraling glyphs. Just an oppressive darkness and the faint sound of water dripping somewhere far, far away.

Her ribs ached. Her palms burned. Her heart felt flayed open.

“Jimmy…” she called into the void.

The only answer was her own trembling breath.

Sassy pushed herself upright, each muscle shaking with adrenaline and fear. The room slowly brightened, not from any visible light source, but from the walls themselves awakening with a soft silver glow.

The chamber grew clearer.

It was small.
Circular.
Silent.

A stone archway appeared in front of her, growing out of the floor like a tooth pushing through gum.

Sassy wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“All right. Next one,” she demanded.

The archway shimmered as she approached, filling with a pale mist that rippled like water. When she stepped through, reality twisted.

She stumbled into a house. Not just any house. Her childhood home.

The wallpaper with the faded strawberries pattern. The old kitchen table with the scratch from when she was six. The crooked bookshelf Naomi never quite fixed.

Sassy froze.

“No,” she breathed. “No—this isn’t real.”

She heard humming. Her mother’s humming. Naomi stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. Her back was to Sassy.

“Mom?” Sassy said before she could stop herself.

Naomi turned. But it wasn’t Naomi as she remembered. This Naomi was young—mid-twenties, soft-faced, smiling gently. Not yet hardened. Not yet cruel.

“Sit, baby,” the woman said warmly. “I made your favorite.”

Sassy’s blood ran cold. Every instinct screamed at her to run. But the Crucible didn’t allow escape. It demanded confrontation. She sat slowly at the table. Naomi ladled a steaming bowl and set it before her.

“Tell me,” the illusion cooed, “what you think you are.”

Sassy swallowed. “I’m Sassy. I’m— I’m just a girl. That’s all.”

Naomi’s smile brightened. “No, sweetheart. Try again.”

The house shuddered. The cabinets rattled. The wallpaper curled. The room darkened at the edges.

Naomi leaned forward, pupils dilating.

“What. Are. You?”

Sassy gripped the edge of the chair.

“I’m NOT yours,” she snarled fiercely. “I’m not your heir. I’m not your Bloom. I’m not your legacy.”

The illusion Naomi blinked. Her face flickered like a glitching hologram.

“Good,” the false Naomi crooned. “Because the Garden never cared about you. They only cared about what your blood could unlock.”

Sassy’s skin crawled.

“What blood?” she asked demanding an answer.

Illusion-Naomi smiled wider, too wide, stretching unnaturally.

“Your father’s blood.”

The house released a haunting echo.

Sassy shot to her feet. “My father was an accountant from—”

“No,” Naomi said taunting Sassy. “Your REAL father.”

The room spun. Sassy stumbled back, hitting the wall. Her mother’s face dissolved into smoke and reformulated behind her, whispering in her ear.

“Why do you think Jimmy found you so early?”

Sassy froze.

“What?”

Naomi’s voice slithered.

“Why do you think he watched you long before he ever spoke to you? Why do you think the Garden let him near you? Because you two were—”

“STOP,” Sassy snarled, clamping her hands over her ears.

But the Crucible didn’t stop.

“—paired.”

Sassy sank to her knees, breath ragged.

“No. No. I met him in high school.”

Illusion-Naomi chuckled.

“Did you?”

Sassy’s mind reeled.

She remembered him on the football field.
Sitting behind her in English.
Showing up at the arcade to watch her play.

But then—Flashes. Buried images flickering under the surface of her thoughts.

A boy on a playground swing.
A boy handing her a band aid.
A boy with mud on his shirt.
A boy whispering, “Don’t be scared.”

Sassy’s breath fractured.

“No,” she said. “Those aren’t real. Those aren’t real.”

Naomi’s words curled around her spine:

“The Garden hid him in plain sight. And you were too young to remember.”

Sassy collapsed forward, shaking violently.

“Why? Why him?”

Naomi leaned in.

“He was born to protect you. You were born to lead him.”

The world shattered like breaking glass and the illusion broke.

Darkness pressed into Jimmy’s skull. His wrists burned. His chest heaved. His vision flickered in and out like bad electricity. But he felt her. Not physically. Psychically. Through whatever bond the Garden had carved into him since childhood.

He felt her fear.
Her confusion.
Her pain.

“Sassy…” he whimpered, tears streaking down his face.

The chains tightened painfully across his shoulders. The Garden voices hissed in the darkness:

She was made for you.
You were made for her.
Complete the bond.
Or let her die.

Jimmy slammed his head back against the stone, choking on a sob.

“No,” he rasped. “No, she deserves better. She deserves—freedom.”

The voices laughed.

Freedom? There is no freedom in destiny.

Jimmy’s voice cracked.

“She’s not my destiny.”

But you, the voices purred, are hers.

Jimmy screamed into the dark.

The shattered illusion dissolved into dust.

Sassy found herself back in a narrow hall. Kneeling, shaking, tears pooling beneath her. Her voice, hoarse and trembling.

“He wasn’t placed in my life by accident.” A realization sharp as a blade. “He was placed in my life by THEM.”

Her heart splintered.

Was any of it real?
His love?
Their connection?
Their moments?
Or was he always meant to orbit her, like a planet trapped in a predetermined pull?

Before she could crumble further Jimmy’s voice, raw and broken, echoed down the stone corridor.

“Sassy—please—don’t believe them.”

Her head snapped up. She staggered to her feet. He was close again. Close enough the Crucible could no longer mask him. Sassy wiped her face roughly.

“I’m coming,” she yelled into the void. “And this time, nothing in this hellhole is stopping me.”

She ran. Into the next chamber. Toward Jimmy. Toward the truth they both feared.

55

The corridor narrowed the further Sassy ran like a throat closing around her. The walls throbbed with dim red light, brightening each time she said Jimmy’s name, as if the Crucible itself hung on her voice.

She wasn’t sure anymore where the tunnels ended and where consciousness began. But she knew one thing with absolute clarity:

Jimmy was close.
Hurting.
Fading.

And the Crucible wasn’t done with either of them.

The corridor split into two paths ahead. Both identical, both breathing faintly like lungs. Sassy stopped, chest heaving. “Which way,” echoed in her brain. The air answered. A whisper. Broken, hoarse, undeniably real:

“Sass… left…”

Jimmy.

She bolted left.

The hall opened into another vast chamber larger than the last. Circular and cathedral-like, with a ceiling so high it vanished into black.

The walls glowed with shifting patterns. Spirals, then lines, then shifting silhouettes that looked disturbingly like her and Jimmy, merging then pulling apart, merging then tearing.

In the center, lit by a pillar of pale blue light stood a stone pedestal. Upon it lay a chain. Thin, silver, elegant. Deceptively simple. Yet Sassy felt a wave of nausea just looking at it.

Her stomach clenched. “No. Not this.”

Wren had described this kind of chain. Elias had warned about it.

A Bond Chain.
A tool the Garden used not to restrain, but to fuse.

Her mother’s voice, Naomi’s voice, echoed softly, as if the Crucible had recorded her breath and resurrected it: “A Protector must be bound to his Bloom. Mind. Memory. Will.”

Sassy’s heart splintered. Jimmy was somewhere up ahead - chained, hurting, alone. But if she touched this chain she would tether him to her forever.

No choice.
No freedom.
No escape.

And if she didn’t pick it up? Jimmy might not survive the next chamber. Her hands trembled violently.

“No,” she said. “You’re not doing this. I won’t bind him. I won’t steal his will.”

The light above the chain pulsed in warning like a heartbeat growing angry. A voice slipped from the shadows behind her.

“They bound him at birth, Sassy. And they bound you before you even had a name.”

Sassy’s blood turned to ice. She spun. A figure stepped from the darkness. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hooded. But his voice—Soft, deep, familiar.

Jimmy’s father. Elias. Except it wasn’t Elias. Not really. His outline blurred, his features shifting faintly like someone sculpted from fog. An illusion of Elias, crafted by the Crucible to test her. Illusion-Elias stepped closer.

“Do you know why your mother was chosen to lead the Garden?”

Sassy shook her head.

“She wasn’t the strongest,” he said. “Nor the most cunning. She was chosen because she carried a bloodline the Garden had chased for centuries.”

Sassy’s voice wavered. “Whose bloodline?”

His eyes gleamed silver.

“Your father’s.”

The floor under Sassy’s feet seemed to tilt.

“You already sensed the truth,” he said. “That man in the accountant’s uniform. The sweet man from your childhood. He wasn’t your father. Naomi loved him, yes. But you…”

He stepped closer.

“You were conceived before him.”

Sassy’s throat closed. “By who?”

Elias’s illusion smiled faintly.

“A Garden heir,” he said. “One who fled the cult long before Naomi ever tried.”

Her heart punched against her ribs.

A Garden heir.
A man whose lineage was sacred.
A man the Garden believed could create a perfect Bloom.

Sassy staggered back.

Then her voice cracked: “Jimmy’s father?”

The illusion didn’t blink.

“Elias was chosen to father the Protector,” it said, “not the Bloom.”

Sassy’s blood froze.

“So, who—”

“The one the Garden lost,” illusion-Elias whispered. “The one Naomi could never forgive. The one whose child was destined to either resurrect or destroy the Garden.”

Sassy’s jaw trembled. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” the illusion whispered. “Or do you feel it in your bones?”

Her vision blurred.

Her true father—
A Garden heir.
Unknown. Hidden.
A man whose identity the Garden still feared because of what she might become.

Because of what she already was.

Sassy’s nails dug into her palms. “What does this have to do with Jimmy?”

Illusion-Elias gestured to the chain.

“You are not bound to him because of fate. You are bound because your blood was destined to command him.”

Her stomach turned.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. I won’t accept that.”

“You don’t have to,” the illusion echoed. “But the Crucible will force you to.”

The chain glowed brighter - pulsing like it could hear her heartbeat.

Sassy shook, tears streaking down her face.

“If I touch it,” she said, “I take away his free will.”

“If you don’t,” the illusion said, voice soft and cruel, “he dies.”

The chamber shook violently.
Stone cracked.
A scream—Jimmy’s scream—echoed through the walls.

Raw. Agonized.

“SASS—!”

Sassy’s entire body jolted. She ran. Not toward the chain. Past it. Straight toward the next chamber.

Elias’s illusion shouted after her:

“If you don’t bind him, the Garden will!”

Sassy didn’t look back. She sprinted into the shifting hall, heart pounding, breath tearing free.

“I won’t bind him!” she cried. “He’s not my prisoner!”

Then quieter. Breaking.

“He’s the only person who ever chose me.”

The floor shook beneath her. Another scream reverberated through the stone—Jimmy’s voice shredded with agony.

“SASSY—RUN—DON’T LET THEM—”

Then silence. Absolute silence. Sassy froze mid-stride.

“Jimmy?”

No response.

She turned slowly, dread pulsing through her spine.

“Jimmy?” she called again.

The Crucible breathed in.

Once.

Twice.

Then the stone corridor ahead opened like a blossoming mouth, revealing a chamber bathed in golden light.

Jimmy was there. Standing. Unchained. Still.

His back to her. His posture unnatural. Too straight, too rigid, too calm.

Sassy’s heart sank. “Jimmy?”

He didn’t turn. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t move. And when he finally spoke…His voice was not entirely his.

“Sassy,” he said softly.

Tone warm.
Tone loving.
Tone wrong.

“You came back for me.”

Most people think they understand true crime. They’ve watched the documentaries. Heard the podcasts. Followed the headlines. But what they’re seeing is the version that’s been edited. Structured. Made safe enough to consume.

What they don’t see is what happens before that.

The letters that arrive from prison—sometimes years after the first contact. The interviews that don’t follow the script. The moment you realize the person you’re speaking to isn’t just answering questions—they’re studying you back.

Facing Evil is not about the crime. It’s about what happens when you get close enough to it that distance stops existing.

This series comes out of years spent working inside cases most people only encounter through a screen. Cases involving individuals who committed acts that are almost impossible to process from the outside.

But this isn’t a retelling.

There is no narrator guiding you through evidence. No voiceover creating separation. No clean arc that begins and ends with resolution. These stories are told from inside the process—through the perspective of the producer who stepped into them, stayed in them, and, in some cases, had to find a way back out.

Because the truth is, you don’t just “cover” this kind of work. You absorb it. And it doesn’t happen all at once. It builds slowly.

One conversation that lingers longer than it should.

One exchange that crosses a line you didn’t realize was there.

One moment where you’re no longer sure if you’re documenting the story—or becoming part of it.

That’s the part no one talks about.

The psychological cost of proximity. The blurred boundaries between subject and storyteller. The quiet, cumulative weight of spending years in conversation with people the world has already decided are beyond understanding.

Facing Evil is about that.

Not as spectacle. Not as entertainment. But as an unfiltered look at what it actually means to go inside these stories and stay there long enough to tell them.

The series will be released as both written essays and podcast episodes, because some stories don’t sit quietly on the page. And others shouldn’t be rushed past in audio.

This is not a series about making darkness digestible. It’s about removing the distance that allows it to be. Because once you step inside a story like this. Once it starts responding to you, shaping itself around you—you don’t get to go back to being just an observer.

You’re part of it now.

Facing Evil publishes as both written and audio. Subscribe to get each release as it drops.

There was a moment—brief, unexpected—when the walls cracked open.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, prisons became impossible to ignore. Outbreaks spread rapidly through facilities. Lockdowns intensified. Deaths rose. And for a time, the outside world was forced to look in.

Reporting from outlets like The Marshall Project led to investigations, policy changes, and even releases. Journalism didn’t just document the system, it changed it.

But as the pandemic receded, something else happened. The access that made that visibility possible didn’t expand. It contracted.

Access to prisons in the United States has always been limited. That’s not new. Courts have repeatedly upheld the government’s ability to restrict media entry, often prioritizing “security” over transparency.

But what’s happening now is different. It’s not just about denying cameras at the gate. It’s about tightening every channel that allows information to leave.

Across the country, policies have emerged that restrict communication between incarcerated people and the press—sometimes directly, sometimes through layers of bureaucracy. In some states, journalists can no longer speak to incarcerated individuals by phone or in person and must rely on written correspondence that can be delayed, filtered, or censored.

Even where access technically exists, it’s increasingly difficult to use.

A recent analysis found that while outright bans on prison journalism are rare, a “web of complex and vague policies” makes reporting from inside prisons extremely difficult—and sometimes risky.

At the same time, the few tools that once expanded access are being pulled back.

Social media, once a workaround that allowed stories from inside to reach the public, is now being aggressively restricted. Federal proposals have aimed to ban or heavily penalize incarcerated people’s use of social platforms, cutting off a major channel for visibility.

The reasoning is familiar: safety, security, control. But the impact is broader.

Social media has become one of the primary ways the public consumes news. Limiting access to it doesn’t just silence incarcerated voices, it removes them from the broader information ecosystem entirely.

For filmmakers, the shift is even more visible.

Access today is often tightly controlled, highly curated, or revoked altogether once filming begins to move beyond approved narratives.

Recent documentaries have highlighted this tension. In one case, filmmakers were allowed to capture controlled, surface-level moments inside a prison only to have access shut down when they attempted to document conditions more critically.

What’s shown is permitted. What’s real is often off-camera.

Prisons are one of the most powerful, and least visible, systems in the country. They are funded by public dollars. Operated by government agencies. And largely hidden from public view.

That lack of visibility isn’t just a media issue. It’s a structural one.

Human Rights Watch has noted that prisons operate with far less public scrutiny than other government institutions, removing a key safeguard against abuse of power. When access disappears, so does accountability.

COVID didn’t fix prison transparency. But it disrupted it.

For a moment, the system couldn’t fully control the narrative. Information flowed outward through journalists, legal filings, whistleblowers, and, in some cases, contraband phones.

Now, that disruption is being corrected.

Policies are tightening. Communication is narrowing. Access is being redefined—again.

For years, the conversation around gender in television has centered on progress. More women entering writers’ rooms. More female-led projects getting greenlit. More visibility across the industry.

But beneath those gains, a different trend is emerging, one that’s harder to quantify but increasingly difficult to ignore. In some areas of television production, representation isn’t just stalled. It’s slipping.

Recent data shows that the percentage of female TV creators dropped from 26% to 23% in a single year. In unscripted television—a sector often viewed as more accessible and less gatekept—the numbers are even more stark. Women make up just 16% of creators, with the gap widening rather than closing.

This isn’t just underrepresentation. It’s regression.

And it raises a more pressing question: not why women aren’t entering the industry, but why they aren’t staying at the top of it.

Because the issue isn’t the pipeline. Women are entering television production in meaningful numbers. They’re producing, writing, directing, and contributing across formats. The breakdown happens later—at the transition point between participation and power.

That’s where the system narrows.

Senior roles—executive producers, showrunners, creators—remain disproportionately male. And in some cases, the gap is widening, not shrinking. Reports point to a combination of structural pressures: lack of flexibility around caregiving, persistent ageism, and fewer opportunities to lead high-profile or high-budget projects.

Women’s representation drops sharply after mid-career, with visibility declining by roughly 13% after age 40 compared to just 3% for men. Their careers are also measurably shorter—by about 12.6%—and peak earlier, while men’s earning power and leadership opportunities tend to extend further into later stages of their careers. By age 50, the gap becomes even more pronounced, with women representing roughly 20% of the population but only about 8% of television presence. Taken together, these figures don’t point to a sudden disappearance, but to a gradual narrowing—where fewer opportunities, compounded by age and structural bias, make it increasingly difficult for women to remain, advance, or return to positions of creative authority.

These aren’t new issues. But in a changing industry, they’re becoming more consequential.

As television consolidates with fewer buyers, tighter budgets, higher stakes— the risk tolerance drops. And when risk tolerance drops, decision-making tends to default toward the familiar. That often means hiring from the same networks, the same track records, and the same profiles that have historically dominated the space.

The result is subtle, but measurable. Women are present in the system but less likely to be positioned at the center of it.

This dynamic is especially visible in unscripted television. Long considered a faster pathway to leadership, the genre is now showing some of the widest gaps in creator representation. As production models shift and budgets tighten, the opportunities that once served as entry points for new voices are becoming more limited and more competitive.

And when access narrows, advancement slows. What emerges is not a disappearance, but a bottleneck.

Women aren’t leaving television entirely. They’re getting stuck before reaching the highest levels of creative control and in some cases, being edged out of them altogether. That distinction matters.

Because the conversation around representation often focuses on visibility—who is working, who is credited, who is present. But the more critical measure is authority. Who is making decisions. Who is shaping the narrative. Who is being trusted to lead.

And right now, in key areas of television production, that power is not diversifying at the same rate as participation. If anything, it’s consolidating.

Which suggests that the next phase of this conversation isn’t about access. It’s about retention, elevation, and control. Because progress at the entry level doesn’t translate if it disappears at the top. And in television today, that’s exactly where the gap is growing.

46

The maintenance shed trembled as if something massive moved beneath it, shifting the ground in slow, seismic breaths. Dust rained from the ceiling; rusted tools clattered across the concrete. The Reclaimer didn’t flinch. It simply lifted its hand higher, palm facing upward as though summoning something from the earth itself.

Benji shoved Sassy behind him. “Get OUT!” he shouted. “Everyone OUT, NOW!”

Levi barreled through the sagging doorway first, Colton close behind him. Wren grabbed Sassy’s arm, pulling her toward the exit as Benji aimed one last furious glare at the Reclaimer.

But before he followed the others, Benji barked, “Touch her and I swear—”

The Reclaimer lowered its hand.

The trembling stopped. The night went still. Then it spoke.

“She is already touched.”

A chill ran down Sassy’s spine so violently her teeth clicked. Benji didn’t hesitate again; he backed out, rifle still trained on the figure until the shed swallowed it from view.

Once outside, they scrambled behind a collapsed section of scaffolding. Gravel, broken stone, and rusted beams provided minimal cover, but it was enough for a momentary breath.

Benji crouched in front of Sassy, gripping her shoulders. “Did it hurt you? Did it touch you? Tell me.”

She shook her head, still clutching the bracelet. “No. But… Benji—Jimmy’s blood—”

“I know,” he said, voice cracking. “I know.”

Levi peered over the rubble toward the shed. “What the hell was that thing doing? The ground shouldn’t move like that.”

Wren answered quietly. “Reclaimers don’t control the ground. They signal the ones who do.”

Colton swore. “Meaning?”

Wren turned toward them, eyes wide and hollow. “Meaning the Garden is closer than we thought. The tunnels run under this quarry.”

Sassy felt her stomach hollow out. “So, they can come up anywhere?”

“Yes,” Wren said. “Anywhere.”

A sudden metallic clang echoed through the quarry—like a hatch slamming open. Everyone ducked instinctively. Torches flickered from a fissure in the stone far to the left, illuminating shifting shadows.

“They’re breaching!” Levi hissed.

“No,” Wren said, backing away. “That’s not a breach. That’s a summons.”

The word summons chilled Sassy more than the cold night air.

Benji tightened his grip on his rifle. “Summoning what, exactly?”

Wren swallowed, fear turning into dread. “Whoever’s still alive.”

Sassy’s pulse wavered. “Jimmy.”

Benji’s reaction was instantaneous. “Sassy—NO.”

“He could be in there. He could be trying to get out.” Her voice trembled so powerfully she could barely form the words. “Benji, you didn’t see his face. He didn’t look ready to die.”

Benji dragged a hand down his jaw, torn between reason and the one truth he couldn’t escape: Jimmy mattered to her. Maybe more than anything else ever had.

“The Reclaimer didn’t bring a body,” Sassy deciphered. “He brought a clue.”

“That’s not a clue,” Benji shot back. “That’s bait.”

“Bait is only bait if you’re not worth saving.”

“Sassy.” Benji’s voice wavered. “You ARE worth saving.”

A silence hung heavy between them.

Then a howl split the quarry.

Not an animal.
Not human.

Something guttural. Agonized. Echoing through the stone and out across the shattered beams.

Wren jerked, terror twisting her features. “That’s a Protector cry.”

Benji’s eyes widened. “Meaning?”

“It’s used when a Protector is… unmoored. In pain. Or searching.”

Sassy collapsed to her knees.
“No. No—Jimmy—Jimmy—”

Benji grabbed her face, forcing her eyes to his. “We don’t know that’s him.”

Wren said, “It’s him.”

Benji shot her a lethal look, but Wren held firm.

“I trained with them,” she said softly. “I know what that sound is. That’s a Protector calling for his Bloom.”

Sassy gasped, tears spilling. The bracelet dug into her palm.

Benji wrapped an arm around her as another howl tore through the quarry. This one sharper, rawer, a sound torn from the center of a soul.

Sassy flinched as if struck. “He’s hurt.”

Benji swallowed hard. “Or he’s being made to feel hurt.”

Levi repositioned beside them. “Guys, decision time. We either run deeper into the ruins or head for the ridge.”

Colton added, “Staying here is suicide. The quarry is full of choke points.”

Wren pointed toward the far edge of the ruins. “Ridge is safer. Harder for them to funnel us.”

Another howl shook the stones.

Sassy stiffened. “He’s close.”

Benji closed his eyes for a moment, his grip on her tightening.

“You’re not going to him.”

It wasn’t a command.
It was a plea.

Sassy wiped her face, trembling but resolute. “Then what? We just leave him?”

Benji exhaled shakily. “We survive. We regroup. We fight later. We don’t walk into a trap.”

“But what if he’s dying?” she asked but was really pleading for reassurance.

Benji’s throat bobbed; he couldn’t answer.

Wren touched Sassy’s hand gently. “Jimmy saved you. Twice. Let that matter. Let that be enough for tonight.”

Sassy stared at the bracelet in her fist.

Jimmy’s blood.
Jimmy’s last known trace.
Jimmy’s howl echoing across the quarry.

She closed her eyes—and made a decision.

“Take me to the ridge,” she said.

Benji sagged with relief. “Thank God.”

“But once we’re safe,” she added, voice steadying into something fierce and unmovable, “I’m going back for him.”

Benji opened his mouth but before he could respond the ground beneath them shifted again. Not the trembling from before. A deliberate rise as if something beneath the surface was pushing upward.

Levi shouted, “MOVE!”

The earth cracked open less than ten yards away.

Benji hauled Sassy to her feet, sprinting toward the ridge as the crack widened and shadowy figures began to emerge from the dark throat of the underground.

Wren screamed.
Colton fired.
Levi covered the rear.

Sassy glanced back for one last, desperate look and in the rising dust, she saw a silhouette.

Tall.
Unsteady.
Reaching as if trying to remember how arms move toward someone they love.

Her breath stopped.

“Jimmy—?”

The shape staggered forward—

47

The silhouette swayed in the rising dust—tall, disoriented, one arm lifted as though reaching for something only he could see. The moonlight caught fragments of him through the swirling debris, enough to paint him familiar in all the wrong ways.

Sassy stumbled to a halt.

“Jimmy?”

Benji grabbed her wrist. “Sassy—NO.”

But she didn’t move.
She couldn’t.
Something in her bones turned toward that figure like it belonged to him.

The dust parted and the figure stepped forward.

Jimmy.

Bruised, bloodied, barely upright—but Jimmy.

His shirt was torn, one sleeve soaked darker where blood had dried. His hair hung in damp strands across his forehead. His eyes…

His eyes were unfocused.
Searching.
Lost.

But not empty. Not hollow like before. Something flickered behind them—pain, desperation, something painfully human.

Sassy’s breath broke into a sob. “He’s alive—Benji, he’s alive!”

Benji’s grip tightened painfully. “Sass, I don’t know if that’s really him.”

Jimmy stumbled again, knees buckling before he caught himself on a piece of rusted scaffolding. His chest heaved as he dragged in air.

“Sass…” he whispered, voice cracked and raw.

That single word punched the air from her lungs. He took another step.

The Garden hunters emerging from the fissure froze at the sight of him. Some bowed their heads. Others stepped back in confusion.

Wren gasped. “They weren’t expecting him.”

Benji raised his rifle toward the approaching cult members. “Levi—Colton—cover!”

Jimmy staggered again. When he lifted his head, his gaze locked on Sassy.

“Don’t…” he choked. “Don’t run.”

Sassy shook her head, tears streaming. “I’m not running—I’m right here, Jimmy, I’m right here.”

Benji yelled, “Sassy, we have to MOVE!”

“No!” she cried. “He needs help—look at him!”

Jimmy’s fingers curled inward as if he were fighting something inside himself. His voice broke with strain. “Please… don’t let… don’t let them—”

A Garden hunter lunged forward to grab him.

Jimmy snapped.

With a feral strength that didn’t look human, he slammed his elbow into the hunter’s jaw, spinning him to the ground. Another cultist stepped forward—Jimmy shoved him aside like he weighed nothing.

Benji swore under his breath. “What the hell—”

Wren said, horrified and awed, “He’s resisting them. He shouldn’t be able to resist like that.”

Sassy took a shaky step forward. “Jimmy—come to me—please—”

He lifted his head, trembling.

“Go,” he rasped. “Please, Sass… you have to go.”

She froze.

“No! Not without you,” she demanded.

His eyes widened in terror—not for himself, but for her.

“Sassy—RUN!”

Benji seized her around the waist, hauling her back as the ground behind Jimmy erupted with more emerging silhouettes—five, six, maybe ten Garden hunters.

Jimmy turned toward them, face contorted with fury and defiance. He threw himself into them.

A blur of motion—fists, elbows, a brutal crack of bone on bone. One screamed. Another fell. Jimmy fought like someone with nothing left to lose except her.

Benji dragged Sassy backward. “He’s buying us time—SASSY, MOVE!”

“No!” she screamed, kicking at him. “Let go—LET GO! He needs help—Jimmy—JIMMY!”

Jimmy took a blow to the ribs but didn’t fall. He roared something unintelligible, swinging wildly, blood spraying onto the stone.

He wasn’t controlled.
He wasn’t calm.
He wasn’t empty.

He was fighting like a man who had broken through something terrible.

Wren pulled at Benji’s arm. “They’ll swarm him. He won’t survive this. We have to go!”

Sassy’s sobbing grew violent. “He’s alone—he’s ALONE—”

Jimmy staggered, collapsing briefly to one knee.

Her heart cracked open.

“JIMMY!”

He lifted his head at the sound of her voice, just for a second, and she saw him. Really saw him.

Not the Protector.
Not the indoctrinated.
Not the hollow vessel.

Jimmy. Her Jimmy. His lips formed a single shape.

Go.

Before she could scream, a Garden hunter slammed a baton across Jimmy’s back. He crumpled forward. Another grabbed him by the arms. Two more circled.

“No—NO—JIMMY!” Sassy screamed, fighting Benji’s grip like a wild animal.

Jimmy twisted once, twice, trying to break free, face contorted with anguish.

“Please…” he mouthed. “Sassy—go—”

Benji hauled her up the incline toward the ridge, shouting orders she couldn’t hear. Levi and Colton fired behind them, forcing the hunters to duck for cover.

Wren ran ahead, screaming directions. “This way—UP THE RIDGE—GO!”

Sassy’s sobs ripped out of her as Benji dragged her away.

Jimmy, still fighting—

Jimmy, being overwhelmed—

Jimmy, disappearing into the swarm of bodies—

Jimmy, screaming her name—

“SASSY!”

Her legs buckled, screaming back until her voice shredded.

“JIMMY—JIMMY—I’M HERE—JIMMY—”

But she wasn’t there. Not anymore.

Benji pulled her over the ridge’s edge.
The quarry vanished behind the rise.
The sounds of Jimmy’s struggle cut off all at once.

Silence.

The group frozen in the trees.

Sassy collapsed to the moss, empty, shaking, her breath gone. “I left him. Oh God, I left him—”

Benji knelt beside her, forehead pressed to her shoulder, trying to breathe through the pain etched on his face.

“You didn’t leave him,” he explained. “He saved you.”

Sassy clutched Jimmy’s bracelet so tightly it cut into her palm. “He’s alive. He was alive.”

Benji closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Wren’s voice broke behind them. “But for how long… we don’t know.”

Sassy stared into the dark, heart split open, determination rising like fire in her blood.

“I’m going back for him,” she vowed.

48

Night clung to the ridge like a second skin. The group moved through the dense trees in broken silence, Sassy leaning heavily against Benji as they followed an old deer path Wren insisted would buy them distance.

By the time they reached a shallow ravine sheltered by fallen logs and thick underbrush, Sassy could barely stand.

Levi signaled for a stop. “This is as good as we’ll get tonight.”

Benji eased Sassy down against a slanted trunk. She curled inward, clutching Jimmy’s bracelet to her chest, the metal charm warm from her grip.

Wren crouched nearby, scanning the dark. “The Garden won’t pursue over the ridge until they regain control of the Protector.”

The words sliced through the air.

Benji snapped, “Stop calling him that.”

Wren didn’t flinch. “It’s what they think he is. Not what he actually is. If he was truly theirs, he wouldn’t have fought them tonight.”

Sassy’s voice was barely a whisper. “And now… what will they do to him?”

Wren looked away. “They’ll restrain him. Or cleanse him. Or—”

“Don’t say cleanse,” Colton muttered sharply. “Not in front of her.”

Sassy’s breath came shallow, uneven. She wiped her face roughly, trying to pull herself back into focus.

Because she wasn’t done.
She wasn’t broken.
And she wasn’t giving up on Jimmy.

She lifted her head.

“We need a plan,” she said. “Something to get him out. Something they can’t predict.”

Benji stared at her, awe and terror warring in his eyes. “Sass… you barely survived tonight.”

“And he didn’t,” Sassy said, her voice splintering. “He didn’t, because he made sure I did.”

Colton looked toward the trees. “We don’t even know where they took him.”

“No,” Wren replied quietly, “but I know someone who does.”

The group stiffened.

Benji’s hand went to his rifle. “Who?”

Wren’s voice dropped to a tremor.

“The High Mother.”

Sassy’s heart dropped. “She wouldn’t talk to you.”

“No,” Wren agreed, “but she might talk to you.”

Benji scoffed. “Yeah? What part of ‘escaped sacrifice’ makes you think she’s open to conversation?”

Wren shook her head. “Because Sassy was never meant to be a sacrifice. She was meant to be an heir.”

The forest seemed to freeze.

Sassy felt her pulse stutter. “What are you talking about?”

Wren licked her lips, hesitant. “There were rumors—fragments—about a Bloom who wasn’t chosen but born. Someone the Garden watched from a distance. Someone they marked early.”

Sassy’s blood ran cold. “No—no, that’s not possible. I grew up nowhere near them. My mother—”

A branch snapped behind them. Everyone whipped around. A figure stepped out from the shadows.

A woman. Thin. Pale. Hair matted with rain. Eyes glinting with a terrible, familiar intelligence.

Benji’s rifle came up instantly. “DON’T MOVE!”

The woman smiled softly.

“Sassy,” she sneered. “Baby… did you miss me?”

Sassy’s world tilted violently.

Her “mother.”

The woman who raised her.
The woman who lied.
The woman who fled.
The woman who left her to be taken.

The woman who faked dementia.

Sassy stood on numb legs.

“Why are you here?” she breathed.

Her mother stepped closer, hands raised in a gentle, mockingly maternal gesture.

“To finish what I started.”

Benji lunged forward, placing himself between them. “You take one more step toward her, and—”

“Oh, Benji Fallon,” she cooed. “Still playing guard dog. How sweet. How utterly useless.”

Benji’s finger twitched on the trigger.

Wren grabbed his arm. “Don’t. Not yet.”

Sassy’s mother smiled at Wren. “Good girl. At least one of you remembers the rules.”

Sassy felt nausea rise in her throat. “You’re Garden. All along, you were—”

Her mother laughed softly. “No, sweetheart. Not Garden. I led Garden. Before your accident.”

Sassy staggered backward as if struck.

“My… accident?” she said. “You told me I fell. You told me the trauma… took my memories.”

Her mother’s eyes gleamed.

“Oh, you fell, Sassy. But not the way you think.”

Benji snarled, “Speak plainly, you witch.”

Her mother ignored him.

“You were born into the Garden’s line,” she said. “Born to replace me. Born to fulfill what I could not.”

Sassy clutched the bracelet, shaking. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t need to,” her mother said. “The Garden does. They always have.”

Colton stepped forward. “If you’re so important, why aren’t you down there with them instead of in the woods talking to us?”

Her smile turned sharp.

“Because I’m not the only one who came looking.”

A second figure emerged from the trees.
Taller.
Broader.
Moving slowly, limping slightly.

Benji tensed. “Who the hell—”

Wren went pale.

“Oh god. I know him.”

Sassy turned and her blood froze.

The man stepped into the moonlight.

Hard eyes.
Weathered face.
A small scar on his left jaw.

The same jawline as Jimmy.

“Hello, Sassy,” he said. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

Benji’s rifle tip drooped in disbelief. “No. Hell no.”

Colton muttered, “This can’t be real—”

But Sassy already knew. The resemblance was unmistakable.

“Jimmy’s father,” she said, the words barely leaving her mouth in disbelief.

He nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

Benji’s voice cracked with rage. “You’re Garden.”

Jimmy’s father inhaled deeply, sorrow flickering through his expression.

“I was,” he said quietly. “And I am. And I tried to keep Jimmy out of this. I tried my whole damn life.”

Sassy stepped back, trembling. “Where is he?”

Jimmy’s father’s jaw tightened.

“That’s why I’m here.”

He looked directly at her, eyes heavy with a truth she wasn’t ready for.

“Sassy… Jimmy survived. But he won’t survive long.”

Her stomach dropped. “Where is he?!”

Jimmy’s father exhaled.

“They’ve taken him to the Crucible.”

Wren gasped while the others looked on in disbelief.

Sassy’s mother smiled with chilling satisfaction.

“And that, my darling girl,” she said, “is where your choices finally begin.”

49

The woods held stillness like a breath sucked tight. Sassy stood between the two people she feared most—the woman who raised her and the man whose son she loved.

Her mother’s smile was delicate, predatory.
Jimmy’s father’s face was carved in grief.

Benji moved in front of Sassy, weapon raised, fury vibrating through every muscle. “Start talking. NOW.”

Jimmy’s father held up both hands, palms outward. “I didn’t come to fight.”

Benji’s voice was a growl. “That’s GOOD, because I’m a hair away from putting a bullet between your eyes.”

“No,” Sassy yelled, reaching forward instinctively. “Benji—wait.”

Benji’s jaw clenched. “Sass—”

“Let him speak.”

Benji lowered the rifle by inches, not conviction—just restraint.

Sassy’s mother stepped gracefully toward them. “Oh, darling, we don’t have time for this. The Crucible is already open.”

Sassy turned sharply. “What IS the Crucible?”

Her mother’s eyes glinted. “It’s where Protectors are either broken… or remade.”

Jimmy’s father shut his eyes, jaw tightening. “It’s a place they take boys they fear are slipping from indoctrination. A reconditioning chamber. A nightmare.”

Sassy felt herself sway.

“You mean they’re hurting him.”

Jimmy’s father swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Benji stepped forward again, rifle rising. “Then take us there.”

Jimmy’s father didn’t move. “I can’t.”

Benji exploded. “LIKE HELL YOU CAN’T—”

“Because if I take you straight to it, you’ll all die.”

The words hit the group like a shockwave.

Levi swore under his breath. Colton checked their perimeter again, nerves firing on all cylinders. Wren stepped forward, voice trembling.

“Why now? Why reveal yourself now?”

Jimmy’s father turned to her, eyes hollow.

“Because they think Jimmy is lost. And if the Garden decides that? They’ll finish the job.”

Sassy’s stomach knotted.

“No,” she said. “They can’t. He fought for me. He broke through something.”

Jimmy’s father nodded slowly. “Which is why they’re terrified.”

Sassy’s mother added, “He did something no Protector has managed in three generations—he chose emotion over duty.”

Her voice sharpened.

“And they will crush that out of him unless you intervene.”

Sassy’s breath caught fire.

“And you’re just TELLING me this?” she demanded. “Why help now?”

Her mother stepped closer, gaze soft and poisonous. “Because you are mine, Sassy. And you are Garden. You deserve the truth. And your Protector deserves your hand.”

Benji snarled. “She owes NONE of you anything.”

Jimmy’s father tilted his head, studying Benji with quiet contempt. “You’ve always been the problem. You and your family. Meddling in bloodlines that weren’t yours.”

Benji stiffened, stepping between Sassy and the man. “Say one more word about my family.”

Sassy’s mother laughed lightly. “Oh, Benjamin. You have no idea how deep your father’s debt to us runs.”

Benji’s face drained of color.

“What did you say?”

Sassy, breathless, pushed out the words. “Mom, STOP.”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” her mother cooed. “Your precious protector here—yes, this one—comes from a line that tried to steal from the Garden long before Jimmy ever did.”

Wren whispered, horrified, “Sassy, she’s goading him—don’t listen—”

Benji’s voice cracked as he turned to Sassy. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t—”

“I’m not,” Sassy said, reaching for his sleeve. “Benji—I trust you.”

Her mother’s lips twists into a devious smirk. “Do you? How lovely. But trust won’t save Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s father stepped forward, urgency tightening his voice. “We’re wasting time. Sassy—the Crucible is a labyrinth. The Garden changes the walls. You can’t reach him without someone who knows the path.”

“Someone like you,” Sassy said.

He nodded once.

“And her,” he added, gesturing toward Sassy’s mother.

Benji barked a mirthless laugh. “Absolutely not. We’re not walking into a torture maze with two cult leaders.”

Jimmy’s father snapped. “We don’t have the luxury of principles. Every minute Jimmy spends in there; they’re TRYING to tear you out of him.”

Sassy’s heart stopped. Tear her out of him.

Erase Jimmy’s love.
Erase his memory.
Erase the part of him that was hers.

“No,” she yelled. “No—they can’t—he saved me—he—he CHOSE me—”

Jimmy’s father stepped closer, expression breaking. “And that’s why he’s suffering.”

Sassy’s legs gave out. Benji caught her under the arms before she hit the ground.

Then Jimmy’s father did something no one expected.

He dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Sassy,” he said quietly, “I failed my son. I couldn’t keep him out of the Garden. I couldn’t protect him from what he was destined for. But you—”

His voice cracked.

“You are the only one he ever loved. The only one he ever fought for. And now the Garden knows that too.”

Her mother added, voice soft as silk, “And THAT is why you’re the only one who can reach him in time.”

Sassy clutched Jimmy’s bracelet so tightly her knuckles turned white.

A choice loomed over her—massive, impossible, urgent.

Go with her mother.
Go with Jimmy’s father.
Or walk away and lose Jimmy forever.

Benji knelt beside her, taking her free hand.

“Sass,” he said, voice breaking, “whatever you choose… I’m with you.”

Her mother smirked again.
Jimmy’s father watched her like a man starving for redemption.
Wren looked terrified for all of them.
Levi and Colton braced for battle.

Sassy closed her eyes and made her decision. She lifted her chin.

“Take me to the Crucible.”

The forest seemed to inhale.

Jimmy’s mother—
Jimmy’s father—
both reacted at once.

But only one reached for her hand.

The other reached for a weapon.

50

The forest held its breath.

Sassy’s words— “Take me to the Crucible.” —hung in the air like a trigger half-pulled.

Jimmy’s father exhaled shakily and reached for her hand, his expression raw—pleading, terrified, almost reverent. As though touching her might bring him one step closer to saving the boy he once failed.

But her mother… Her mother’s smile sharpened into something serpent-thin.

She moved faster than anyone expected.

A flick of her wrist.
A flash of metal.
A slender ceremonial blade—blackened steel, sigils carved along the spine—slid into her hand like a lover returning home.

Benji reacted first, grabbing Sassy and pulling her behind him.

“DROP IT!” he roared, rifle locked on Sassy’s mother.

But she only laughed, tilting her head with eerie calm.

“Oh, Benji. You still don’t understand what’s at stake.”

Jimmy’s father surged to his feet, stepping between the blade and Sassy.

“Naomi—STOP.”

Sassy blinked.
Naomi.
Her mother’s real name.
Stripped of softness.
Hard as bone.

Naomi sneered. “Move, Elias. This isn’t your place.”

“It is when you’re threatening my son’s Bloom.” Elias’s voice cracked with decades of buried fury. “You want power, not salvation. You always did.”

“Power?” Naomi scoffed. “I WAS the Garden. Until you undermined me. Until he was born. Until she was chosen.”

She pointed the blade at Sassy, though her eyes remained fixed on Elias.

“You’d throw away our entire legacy for her? For a girl who doesn’t even know what she IS?”

Benji steadied his rifle. “You come another inch toward her, and I swear to God—”

“Oh, hush.” Naomi waved the blade dismissively. “The grown-ups are speaking.”

Benji stepped forward, teeth bared. “Try me.”

Colton and Levi raised their weapons behind him. Wren pressed herself against the nearest tree, eyes locked on the sigils etched into the blade with a tremor of recognition.

“That’s not a ceremonial knife,” Wren said locking eyes with Colton. “That’s a severance blade.”

Sassy’s skin prickled. “What does that mean?” she breathed.

Wren swallowed. “It’s used to cut the bond between a Bloom and her Protector.”

Sassy’s breath caught. “Cut it? As in—break it?”

Elias shook his head violently. “No. Severance means death. It kills the Protector.”

Sassy’s vision blurred.

Her mother—
this woman who raised her—
this woman who lied—
this woman who abandoned her—
was holding a weapon forged specifically to kill Jimmy.

“No,” Sassy stammered. “No, you wouldn’t—”

Naomi smiled sweetly.
Monstrously.

“Darling, you don’t understand what Jimmy is anymore.”

Sassy trembled. “He’s someone I love.”

“And THAT,” Naomi hissed, “is precisely the problem.”

With a sudden blur of motion, Naomi lunged.

Elias moved faster than Sassy had ever imagined he could.

He slammed into Naomi, knocking her sideways before the blade could reach its mark. Both crashed to the forest floor, rolling through leaves and dirt in a violent struggle.

Benji sprinted forward to drag Sassy back, but Wren grabbed his arm.

“NO!” Wren screamed. “Don’t interfere—she’ll kill you too!”

Naomi kicked Elias off her, rising with terrifying grace. She swung the blade in a sharp arc—aimed not at Elias now, but at Sassy—

“GET DOWN!” Benji roared.

Levi fired.
The gunshot echoed through the trees.
Birds exploded from the canopy.

Naomi staggered backward, the blade slipping from her fingers.

Jimmy’s father lunged, catching Naomi before she hit the ground. Blood seeped between Elias’s fingers as he lowered her gently, almost tenderly. Naomi laughed—a soft, rattling sound.

“Still loyal to the end,” she weakly snarled. “Always weak for me.”

Elias’s voice broke. “Why, Naomi? Why Jimmy? Why her?”

Naomi smiled faintly. “Because the Garden was never meant to be saved. It was meant to be reborn.”

Her gaze flicked to Sassy, sharp even through fading consciousness.

“And she—my beautiful girl—was meant to lead it.”

Sassy shook her head violently. “I don’t want it. I never wanted ANY of this.”

Naomi’s final whisper slipped out on a cold breath.

“Wanting doesn’t matter. Blood does.”

Her eyes dimmed. She was gone.

Sassy collapsed to her knees, shaking so violently she could barely breathe.

Levi holstered his gun with trembling hands. “Jesus… Jesus Christ…”

Colton muttered, “What the hell have we stepped into…”

Benji sank beside Sassy, pulling her against his chest. She didn’t resist—didn’t move—just clung to him, blind with grief and shock.

Elias stared at Naomi’s still form before lifting his gaze to Sassy.

And in that moment, he looked older than the woods.

“Tears later,” he rasped. “Jimmy doesn’t have that kind of time.”

Sassy wiped her face with shaking hands. “What now?”

Elias stood, picking up the severance blade and wrapping it in cloth.

“Now,” he said, turning toward the dark mouth of the valley where the Crucible tunnels waited beneath the earth, “we go into the Garden’s heart.”

Benji tightened his grip around Sassy’s shoulders. “Together.”

Sassy rose slowly, staring into the black.

“Jimmy,” she said, voice fierce through the tremor. “I’m coming.”

For years, unscripted television was the entry point.

It was where ideas could move fast. Where producers could build careers without massive infrastructure. Where a strong concept, a sharp deck, and the right access could turn into a series. It was never easy. But it was possible.

That model is disappearing.

There’s a misconception that unscripted television is still booming. On paper, it looks that way. The global reality TV market continues to grow, fueled by streaming platforms and international formats. But inside the industry, the story feels very different. Production is shrinking.

Between 2022 and 2024, U.S. unscripted production dropped by nearly 25%, driven by consolidation, cost-cutting, and a shift toward globalized production. In Los Angeles, reality TV filming has seen steep declines, with some quarters dropping more than 50% year-over-year.

And for the people who built this space—the independent producers—the pipeline is tightening fast. Because the real shift isn’t just about volume. It’s about control.

Unscripted television used to rely heavily on independent production companies. Producers developed ideas, packaged them, and brought them to networks. That ecosystem created a middle class of television. Producers who weren’t studios but weren’t freelancers either.

That middle is collapsing.

Studios and streamers are increasingly moving production in-house. Formats are being developed internally or acquired globally. Budgets are tightening. Orders are shrinking. And the shows that do get made? They’re often shorter runs, smaller teams, fewer episodes. Less room for independence.

At the same time, the economics have shifted. After years of aggressive spending during the streaming boom, platforms are now being pushed to show profitability. That has changed what gets greenlit, and who gets to make it.

Risk has been reduced. Experimentation has narrowed. And unscripted, once seen as a cost-effective volume play, is no longer insulated. Industry insiders describe the current moment as “brutal,” “unsettled,” and “nearly impossible” to sell into. Even experienced, award-winning producers are finding themselves out of work.

But the pressure isn’t just coming from inside television. It’s coming from outside of it.

Audiences are shifting. Time spent on traditional TV is fragmenting across streaming, social media, gaming, and creator platforms. And those platforms are doing something television used to own. They’re building unscripted content at scale.

Faster. Cheaper.

Closer to the audience.

The language of unscripted—real people, repeatable formats, personality-driven storytelling—has been absorbed by creators, influencers, and algorithms. And they don’t need a network to distribute it.

So, what happens to the independent producer in that environment?

They get squeezed from both sides. From above by studios consolidating power.

From below by creators producing unscripted content without gatekeepers.

What’s left is a narrowing lane where only certain types of projects break through: large-scale formats with global potential, premium docuseries with clear IP value, or hybrid formats that blur the line between scripted and unscripted.

Everything else—the middle-tier reality shows, the travel formats, the observational series that once filled networks—are disappearing. And with them, the producers who built their careers making them.

This isn’t just a production slowdown. It’s a structural shift.

Unscripted television isn’t dying but the way it’s made, and who gets to make it, is changing. The independent producer was once the engine of the format. Now, they’re becoming optional. And that may be the most important change of all.

Because when independence disappears from the system, so does something harder to measure. Originality and voice.

The industry will continue. Formats will still travel. Franchises will still scale. Content will still be made.

The question isn’t whether unscripted survives. It’s whether the people who built it will.

For nearly 15 years, I measured time in hotel ballrooms. Conference rooms with bad air circulation. And tiny hotel hallway corners cluttered with signage and merch.

January wasn’t January. It was Realscreen.

Deals weren’t just made there. Careers were.

You didn’t just attend—you arrived. Badge swinging, coffee in hand, moving between suites and side meetings, chasing that one conversation that could change everything. And sometimes it did.

Announcements of new series were made. Mandates were revealed. Promotions were signaled with new badges and toasts at sponsored parties.

So, when the news came down that Realscreen Summit and NATPE Global are shutting down under Brunico Communications, it didn’t feel like a business decision. It felt like a closing scene.

The Official Reason, and the Real One

The explanation is clean, almost clinical: shrinking production budgets, market consolidation, structural shifts in the business. And it’s true. Content budgets are tighter. Buyers are fewer. Streamers are recalibrating.

But that’s not the full story.

Because these markets didn’t die from one blow. They eroded. Quietly. Over time.

There was a rhythm to Realscreen. Morning panels where you half-listened to while texting buyers. Pitch meetings packed in between 20-minute sprints to tweak your materials before they take it to a greenlight meeting that was happening ON-SITE. Late-night drinks where the real decisions got made and new job offers flowed as companies tried to poach talent from across the country.

You could walk into a suite with an idea and walk out with a partner. Not a follow up meeting. Not the promise of a greenlight meeting in 3 months. An actual yes.

Because the industry of Realscreen was built on proximity. And then… the shift. The first crack wasn’t the pandemic. It was the platform shift.

Streamers didn’t need hotel rooms. They didn’t need the floor. They didn’t need the middle.

Then came consolidation.

Fewer buyers. Fewer mandates. Bigger bets, fewer swings.

And suddenly, the very thing that made NATPE and Realscreen powerful—the density of opportunity—started thinning out. Until eventually, it wasn’t density anymore. It was nostalgia.

You could feel it before the announcement.

Fewer suites. Shorter meetings. More “we’ll circle back.”

The conversations changed too. There were no series sold in the room. Now, you rarely walked away with a development deal. These meetings shifted. They weren’t about ideas and creative opportunity anymore. They were about survival.

And when an industry stops using one of its biggest open marketplaces to buy, those marketplaces don’t just shrink. They become symbolic.

Let’s be clear: These weren’t just events. NATPE ran for over 60 years and Realscreen shaped the global unscripted business for decades. The people who ran them helped to bring producers and buyers to make shows come to life. They were infrastructure. And infrastructure doesn’t disappear unless the system it supports has already changed.

What replaces this? Not another conference. Not another market.

Because the shift is structural: development is internalized, relationships are fewer, deeper, more closed. Access is no longer democratized by a badge. The industry didn’t just lose events. It lost the room where everyone had a shot.

What It Means for Creators (and Why It Matters)

For a generation of producers, NATPE and Realscreen were entry points. You didn’t need an agent. You needed a meeting. People didn’t need to know you. They were about to meet you. And if you were a solo producer, they were a sea of production companies ready to be your partner (if the ideas were good…).

Now?

Access is gated. And if you’re not already inside, the path in just got narrower. That’s not just an industry shift. That’s a pipeline problem.

At the exact moment the industry needs more voices, more ideas, and more risk, it has eliminated one of the last places where all three could collide organically.

So, what comes next? The future isn’t in a ballroom.

It’s fragmented.

· Digital-first pipelines

· Creator-driven distribution

· Direct-to-audience storytelling

· Smaller, targeted dealmaking

In many ways, it’s more efficient. In almost every way, it’s less human.

My Final Take

There’s a specific feeling I keep coming back to. That last day with suitcases rolling, booths half-packed, and people saying, “Let’s stay in touch.”

You always knew something was ending. You just didn’t think it was this.

The closure of NATPE and Realscreen isn’t just about budgets or consolidation. It’s a signal. The old system—open, chaotic, relationship-driven—is giving way to something tighter, quieter, and harder to break into.

And if you’ve been in those rooms for 20+ years, you don’t just see it. You feel it. Because this isn’t just the end of two conferences.

It’s the end of how the industry used to work.

41

The third horn’s wail still echoed through the trees when the first window shattered. A board split clean in half, sending debris flying as Levi ducked behind an overturned table.

“They’re coming in!” he shouted. “We need to move—NOW!”

Benji yanked Sassy behind him, pressing her back to the crumbling fireplace. “Stay down. Don’t look at the door.”

But she couldn’t help it. Because the silhouette outside was unmistakable.

Broad shoulders.
Steady stance.
Head tilted, listening.

Jimmy.

Her heart buckled.

“Jimmy…” she said, hope rising like a sob.

Benji growled deep in his chest. “Stop saying his name.”

“He’s HURT,” she insisted. “Can’t you see? He’s leaning—he’s—”

“Sassy.” Benji caught her chin, forcing her eyes to his. “That is NOT the boy you knew. That’s someone wearing his voice.”

But at that moment Jimmy stepped forward into the thin beam of light. And her breath stopped. He LOOKED like Jimmy.

Bruised. Pale. Exhausted.
But Jimmy.

Except his eyes.

Jimmy’s eyes were warm, expressive, emotional.

These were flat.
Still.
Cultic.
Devotional.

Benji saw it instantly. “Jesus Christ…”

Sassy felt herself sway, knees weakening.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.
But not the same.
Not pulled.
Not coerced.

Aligned.

Another window burst open behind them. Colton and Levi fired warning shots, shouting over the chaos.

Wren screamed, “They’re flanking the east wall!”

Benji threw his body in front of Sassy as debris rained down. The lodge was collapsing in on itself.

“Sassy…”

Jimmy’s voice filled the room. Not shouted, but whispered gently through the cracks in the boards, through the broken panes, through the breath between heartbeats.

“Sassy, come outside.”

A command wrapped in comfort. A lure carved from memory.

Her fingers loosened around Jimmy’s bracelet. It slid from her grasp, hitting the floor softly.

Benji saw it fall.

His voice broke. “Sass… no. Don’t go to him.”

But the words curled around her heart like vines reclaiming a decaying house.

“You found my bracelet,” Jimmy said softly through the broken door. “That means you came for me.”

Her tears spilled. “I did. I DID come for you.”

A beam splintered overhead as another group of Garden followers rammed the back door. Levi dragged a dresser in front of it, shouting, “We’re losing ground!”

Benji grabbed Sassy, tried to drag her toward the rear exit. “We’re leaving—NOW.”

She didn’t budge. “Benji. He’s hurt. He needs me.”

Wren watched her with widening horror.

“No,” Wren said. “No, Sassy, listen to me. He’s not hurt. They don’t mark the Protector. They prize him. They elevate him. They—”

A loud crack cut her off as the front door’s hinges tore free.

Jimmy stepped into the lodge.

Sassy sobbed his name. “JIMMY!”

But Benji shoved her behind him, rifle raised. “You take ONE more step toward her, and—”

Jimmy didn’t even look at Benji. His gaze was fixed entirely on Sassy.

Calm.
Reverent.
Possessive.

“Sassy,” he said, “you’re not supposed to hide from me.”

His voice was so gentle it broke something inside her.

But Wren saw something different. Something chilling. Her voice trembled.

“He’s gone,” she tried explaining. “They’ve taken him. Or he’s given himself. Either way—what you loved in him, it’s not what’s standing there.”

Sassy shook her head violently. “No. No, I know him. He’s in there—Jimmy, please—tell me you’re still in there—”

A flicker crossed Jimmy’s expression. Not pain. Annoyance.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he said softly. “I’ve never been more myself.”

Benji stared at him but Jimmy never looked away from Sassy. “He’s indoctrinated.”

Jimmy finally snapped his gaze towards Benji.

His eyes hardened. “She wasn’t talking to you.”

Benji aimed the rifle. “Step back.”

Jimmy’s lips twitched into a small, chilling echo of a smile.

“You can’t keep her from me.”

The lodge walls buckled as Garden members slammed the structure from all sides.

Colton yelled, “We’re outnumbered! Benji—call it—now!”

Benji backed Sassy away slowly. “We retreat on my mark.”

But Sassy couldn’t stop staring at Jimmy. His voice caressed her name again.

“Sassy. Come home.”

Her hands shook. “Jimmy… I want you back.”

“You will have me,” he said. “All of me.”

Benji snapped, “Not happening.”

Jimmy turned to him with eerie calm. “You don’t get to decide that.”

He lifted a hand and the Garden followers struck the lodge in unison, collapsing the east wall in a roar of splintered wood and dust. Smoke. Debris. Screams.

Benji grabbed Sassy’s hand. “RUN!”

Levi and Colton opened fire into the collapsing wall. Wren dashed toward the rear exit, turning back once. Only once. Her eyes locked on Sassy’s. And she made a choice. She sprinted into a side passage, waving frantically. “Sassy, THIS WAY! I can get you out!”

But Sassy hesitated.
Just half a second.

Too long.

Because Jimmy stepped fully into the room, pushing aside falling debris as if it weighed nothing. He reached into his jacket. Pulled out a gun. Raised it at Sassy with unsettling calm.

Benji roared, “NO—!”

The world slowed.

Sassy froze.

Jimmy’s eyes—flat, unwavering—met hers.

“Sassy,” he whispered, voice tender, chilling, final.

“You’re coming with me.”

He set his finger on the trigger.

42

Jimmy’s gun was steady. Too steady.

The barrel pointed directly at Sassy’s heart.
His finger curled around the trigger like it belonged there.
His expression was serenity carved into skin.

Behind him, the Garden poured into the ruined lodge, shadowed figures slipping through smoke and shattered beams. Benji shielded Sassy with his body while Levi and Colton fired warning shots, their guns echoing through the collapsing structure.

Wren screamed as a board cracked above her head, the roof sagging inward.

“Sassy,” Jimmy called softly, as if they were alone in the world, “don’t be afraid.”

Benji snarled, “You move one inch closer to her, and I swear—”

Jimmy didn’t even look at him.
His gaze stayed on Sassy.
Only on her.

“You’re not listening,” he said. “You never listen to danger. You only listen to me.”

Sassy trembled. “Jimmy… I’m right here. Put the gun down.”

His head tilted, almost tender.

“I can’t do that,” he said. “Not yet.”

Benji shifted, preparing to lunge.

Jimmy raised the gun a hair higher.

Benji froze.

Colton cursed under his breath and steadied his rifle across the collapsed windowsill. Sweat dripped down his temple as he lined up his shot. One bullet to the shoulder—he could disarm Jimmy without killing him.

He exhaled, finger tightening on the trigger.

But Jimmy saw him.

Without moving the gun off Sassy, he spoke calmly:

“Colton? Don’t.”

The fact that he remembered Colton’s name—
that he used it like a familiar friend—
made Sassy’s blood run cold.

Garden chanting swelled outside. Figures pressed at every broken window. The lodge heaved in the siege. Smoke stung her eyes. The world was collapsing, and Jimmy was the eye of the storm.

“Jimmy,” she said, tears streaking down her cheeks, “come with us. Please. We can help you—”

“I am with you,” Jimmy whispered. “This is me helping you.”

A crack ricocheted through the lodge as Levi’s board finally gave way. Garden members surged through the gap.

Benji fired.
Colton fired.
Chaos exploded.

And in the middle of it, Jimmy lowered the gun a single inch, stepped closer, and mouthed silently:

I love you.
Now run.

Sassy’s mind shattered.

“What—?” she gasped.

Then Jimmy turned.

In one fluid, terrifying motion, he pivoted away from her, leveled the gun toward the Garden and opened fire.

Bullets crashed into the hunters entering the doorway. Three fell instantly. A fourth staggered into the wall, clutching his chest. The chanting turned to alarm, Garden members scrambling for cover.

Benji froze, stunned. “What the—JIMMY?!”

“NOW!” Jimmy roared. “GET HER OUT!”

Colton shouted, “MOVE MOVE MOVE!”

Levi dove for Wren, dragging her toward the rear exit.

Benji grabbed Sassy’s hand so hard it hurt. “Let’s GO!”

Sassy stared at Jimmy, heart cracking in all directions.

He kept shooting—
toward the Garden.
Against them.
Protecting her.
Buying them seconds.

But his eyes—
God, his eyes—
were still flat.
Still hollow.
Still not Jimmy.
Not fully.

A soldier executing orders from a voice deeper than his own.

“RUN!” Jimmy bellowed again, voice raw.

Benji pulled her, and Sassy stumbled after him, heart lodged in her throat. As she was dragged out the back of the collapsing lodge she saw Jimmy drop into a crouch, firing again, taking out another Garden member before ducking behind a splintered beam. Gun smoke curled around him like ritual incense.

He wasn’t defecting. He wasn’t rebelling. He was directing the fight. Giving her exactly what she needed to escape. Because the Garden wanted her to reach a certain place. A certain path. A certain destiny.

He wasn’t saving her from them. He was delivering her to them. And still he had mouthed those words.

I love you.
Now run.

Sassy’s scream caught in her chest as Benji dragged her into the trees. Behind them the lodge fully collapsed, flames spitting out the windows, the ground shaking with the impact.

The last thing she saw before the smoke swallowed him was Jimmy standing absolutely still in the doorway, like the burning building bowed to him.

And then the forest closed around them.

43

The forest erupted with horns, three blasts that shook the night and vibrated through Sassy’s ribs.

Benji pulled her behind him, weaving through the trees. Levi and Colton split off, shouting to draw the Garden’s hunters away. But Sassy could hardly hear them. Jimmy’s voice still echoed through her skull.

I love you.
Now run.

Her legs wobbled; She stumbled, catching herself on a low branch.

Benji steadied her, desperation sharp in his voice. “Sassy, stay with me!”

“He… he turned the gun,” she cried. “He didn’t shoot me. He shot them.”

Benji’s jaw clenched. “I know. And that scares the hell out of me.”

“Why?”

“Because it means he wasn’t fighting us.” Benji swallowed hard. “He was fighting for you.”

Wind tore through the branches. The moon dipped behind clouds, casting the woods into deeper shadow. Behind them, voices rose. The Garden fanning outward, tightening a perimeter.

Wren sprinted up beside them, breath ragged. “They’re closing in! We have to move faster!”

Sassy spun toward her. “Did Jimmy… did he know what he was doing?”

Wren flinched at the question. “I don’t know. Protector states aren’t predictable. They can act out of instinct, devotion, fear—”

“He was protecting me,” Sassy insisted.

Wren nodded slowly, painfully. “Yes. I think he was.”

Benji cursed under his breath but didn’t argue. Not after what they’d all seen.

Branches snapped on both sides of them. The Garden’s torches flickered through the trees, moving as one in a sweeping formation.

Levi’s voice crackled through Benji’s radio. “Benj—they’re forming a crescent. Pushing toward the ridge.”

Benji hissed, “They’re herding us.”

Wren tugged Sassy forward. “There’s a drainage cut up ahead. An old maintenance tunnel. It might give us a place to hide.”

Benji nodded. “Lead the way.”

Sassy followed, but her mind drifted again to Jimmy.

The look in his eyes.
The desperation.
The way he threw himself between her and the Garden’s guns.

He wasn’t trying to take her.

He was trying to buy her seconds.
Buy her space.
Buy her freedom.

But had he survived that chaos? A cold shiver crawled up her spine.

“Jimmy…” she said.

Benji squeezed her hand. “Don’t look back. He wanted you to run.”

A sharp whistle sliced through the air.

Wren gasped. “Arrow!”

Benji yanked Sassy down as a barbed bolt shredded through the branches overhead.

Levi fired from the left flank. “They’ve got archers?!? Two, maybe three!”

Torches swarmed behind them. Commanders shouted.

“FAN OUT. DON’T LET THE BLOOM ESCAPE!”
“CHECK THE SOUTH RIDGE!”
“THE PROTECTOR IS DOWN. LOCATE HIM!”

Sassy froze mid-step. Protector is down. Her heart stopped. Jimmy.

Benji grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t. DON’T stop.”

“Benji. They said—”

“I know what they said,” he cut in, voice breaking. “But we don’t know anything yet.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. She forced herself forward.

Wren slid down a slope of loose dirt and gravel toward a narrow concrete cut nearly hidden under years of moss. Sassy followed, stumbling into Benji’s arms as he steadied her and hurried her deeper inside.

The space was cramped, dark, smelling of rust and wet stone. But it was shelter. Colton and Levi regrouped behind them, panting, dirt-streaked, weapons half-spent.

“We can hold them off here for a minute,” Levi relayed to the group.

Benji shook his head. “No. We keep moving.”

Wren pointed toward the far end of the drainage tunnel. “It opens into the quarry ruins. We can hide and regroup. Maybe even lose them.”

Sassy leaned against the cold wall, breath shaking. “I—he was protecting me. Jimmy was protecting me.”

Benji crouched in front of her, his face torn open with fear, anger, and compassion. “I know he was.”

She looked up sharply. “You do?”

Benji nodded, voice rough. “Yeah. I saw it. But that doesn’t tell us if he made it out.”

Sassy stilled. The forest rang with distant shouts.

Someone cried, “WE FOUND BLOOD!”

Benji’s face paled.

Colton asked, “Whose?”

The hunters didn’t answer.

Sassy’s heart hammered so hard she felt faint.

Jimmy.
Jimmy bleeding.
Jimmy surrounded.
Jimmy shouting for her to run— And now… Silence.

The ache was unbearable.

Benji reached out and took her hand, voice trembling despite his attempt at calm. “We don’t know whose blood. We don’t know if he’s alive or—”

He couldn’t finish.

Sassy’s chest caved inward. She pressed Jimmy’s bracelet to her forehead, shaking with grief she didn’t yet have permission to feel.

Wren stepped forward, voice soft. “Sassy… whatever Jimmy did? He wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’ve seen Protectors turned cruel. Violent. Lost.”
She swallowed. “But not him. Not tonight.”

Sassy nodded weakly. She closed her eyes. Behind her lids, she saw Jimmy stepping into the doorway of the burning lodge.

I love you.
Now run.

She said into the dark, “Thank you, Jimmy.”

Benji helped her to her feet. “Come on. We’re moving.”

Sassy glanced one last time toward the forest behind them—the smoke rising above the treetops, the torches weaving like fireflies, the echoes of a hunt still unfolding.

A hunt Jimmy had thrown himself into the middle of. To save her. To protect her. Whether he survived that sacrifice… No one knew. Not yet.

Sassy whispered into the cold night, “Please be alive.”

Then she turned and followed Benji, Wren, Levi, and Colton deeper into the ruins
toward whatever waited next.

And behind them, unseen—a single drop of blood slid down a leaf and fell silently into the earth.

44

The quarry ruins spread out before them like the skeleton of some ancient beast. Rusted metal scaffolding, crumbling stone platforms, and black pools of stagnant water reflecting moonlight like shards of broken mirrors. The place was abandoned decades ago, long before any of them were born.

It was quiet here.
Almost too quiet.

Benji led the way down a gravel incline, still gripping his rifle as though it were an extension of his own heartbeat. Sassy trailed close behind, her hand wrapped around Jimmy’s bracelet, holding it so tightly the leather creaked.

Colton and Levi took the rear, checking every shadow. Wren moved beside Sassy, visibly shaken but trying to keep pace. When they reached the rusted shell of a maintenance shed built into the rock wall, Benji signaled for them to duck inside.

Levi checked the doorframe. “No tracks. No fresh prints. We might’ve lost them.”

“No,” Wren said decoding for the group. “You don’t lose the Garden. You just delay them.”

Benji shot her a look. “Not helping.”

Inside, the shed was barely more than a hollow of broken tools and dust. The roof had caved partly inward, letting in a slice of moonlight that painted the floor silver. It was enough to see the fear on everyone’s faces.

Benji guided Sassy toward an overturned spool they could use as a seat. “Sit.”

She obeyed without protest. Her legs had stopped fully listening to her an hour ago.

Her voice cracked when she finally spoke. “We have to go back.”

Benji crouched in front of her, shaking his head. “No.”

“We can’t leave him,” she said. “Not like this. Not—”

“Sassy.” His voice softened. “We don’t even know if he’s—if he—”

She flinched before he could finish.

Benji shut his mouth, throat working.

Wren knelt beside Sassy. “We will find him. But not tonight. If we go back now, we die.”

Sassy closed her eyes, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. The bracelet hung from her fingers like a broken promise.

Levi paced near the door. “We can’t stay here long. This is a funnel point—they could trap us from both sides.”

Colton leaned against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re running low on ammo. And Jimmy’s… situation complicates things.”

Benji straightened sharply. “Don’t say his name like that.”

Colton held up both hands. “Hey, I’m not blaming him. I’m just saying, Sassy’s right. We need a plan. And we don’t have one.”

Benji turned away, jaw clenched, shoulders coiled tight.

Wren took a shaky breath. “The Garden has methods of… resetting a Protector. If he fought them, if he defied instructions—”

Sassy snapped her gaze up. “He didn’t defy them. He saved me.”

Wren hesitated. “Yes. And that might be why he’s—”

She stopped herself.

Benji grabbed her arm. “WHY he’s WHAT?”

Wren swallowed hard. “Why he’s suffering. The Garden doesn’t tolerate deviation. If Jimmy acted on his own. If he chose her safety over the ritual—”

Sassy’s breath stilled.

Benji’s voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. “Finish it.”

Wren’s eyes filled with tears. “They might have punished him for it.”

Sassy doubled forward, a broken sound escaping her. Benji wrapped his arms around her before she could collapse fully, pulling her to his chest.

He pressed his cheek to her hair, voice cracking. “I’m sorry. Sass, I’m so sorry.”

Her fingers curled into his shirt. “He can’t be gone. He can’t. He—he told me to run. He—he wanted me safe.”

“I know.” Benji’s voice wavered. “I know he did.”

The room fell silent except for her sobs.

Levi froze at the door. Hand lifted. Everyone stilled.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered.

Benji released Sassy gently, grabbing his rifle and moving to Levi’s side.

Another sound followed—

A crack.
A shift of gravel.
A soft shuffle.

Not close.
Not far.
Somewhere in the maze of ruins outside.

Colton raised his gun. “Tell me that’s an animal.”

Wren shook her head, trembling. “No animal walks like that.”

Benji scanned the darkness. “Sassy, stay behind me.”

She moved closer automatically, though her heart felt like it had fallen out of her body and onto the ground behind them somewhere.

The sound came again.

Not approaching.
Just lingering.

Watching.

A shadow shifted where no shadow should.

Levi hissed, “Lights off.”

They killed the lantern. Moonlight became their only guide.

Wren stepped toward the door, peering into the dark with an expression that was not fear, but recognition.

“It’s not a hunter,” she said. “Hunters move fast. They don’t… lurk.”

Benji tightened his grip on the rifle. “Then what is it?”

Wren’s voice trembled.

“A Reclaimer.”

Sassy’s breathing slowed, trying to calm herself and focus. “What’s that?”

Wren swallowed so hard it clicked. “They’re sent when the Garden isn’t trying to capture someone. They’re sent when the Garden is… cleaning up.”

Colton flinched. “Cleaning up what?”

Wren whispered the answer like a curse.

“Bodies.”

Sassy felt her knees give.

“No,” she said. “Jimmy’s alive. He has to be.”

A shape moved in the brush—
tall
upright
slow
deliberate.

Benji raised his rifle. “Everyone, stay behind me.”

The figure stepped forward into a sliver of moonlight—

Cloaked.
Maskless.
Hands empty.

A Garden Reclaimer. Sent for one purpose.

Sassy pressed a shaking hand to her mouth.
Her lungs refused to fill.

Benji took aim at the figure’s chest.

The Reclaimer raised one arm and in its hand dangled something small. Leather. Frayed.

Jimmy’s bracelet.

Sassy’s scream ripped the air.

45

The Reclaimer stepped deeper into the moonlight, unmoving, its silhouette carved in cold angles. It held out the bracelet—Jimmy’s bracelet—dangling between two fingers as if it weighed nothing. As if it meant nothing.

But to Sassy, it was the last piece of him she’d held onto. And now it was in the hand of a Garden operative trained to erase the past.

Benji kept the rifle raised, voice sharp as a blade. “DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!”

The Reclaimer didn’t obey, but it didn’t advance either. It simply stood there, watching them with an unnerving, almost patient stillness.

Sassy staggered forward before Benji could stop her.

“Where is he?” she choked out. “Where’s Jimmy?”

The Reclaimer tilted its head, as if studying her. Then, in a voice rough from disuse, it spoke:

“He resisted.”

Sassy’s heart shattered.

“You say one more thing to her, and I drop you,” Benji said menacingly.

The Reclaimer ignored him, stepping closer—not aggressive, not timid. Just inevitable.

“He resisted,” it repeated, “and the Garden responded.”

Sassy fell to her knees, the world dimming. “No. No—he wouldn’t let you take him. He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—”

Benji caught her, held her upright against his chest as she shook. His voice vibrated with rage. “Where is he? Alive or dead? You tell us right now.”

The Reclaimer did not answer immediately. Instead, it loosened its fingers.

The bracelet fell. It hit the gravel with a tiny, heartbreakingly soft sound.

Sassy lunged for it, but Benji held her back until he confirmed the Reclaimer wasn’t drawing a weapon. Only then did he let her scramble forward and seize the bracelet, clutching it to her chest as she sobbed.

Wren stepped toward the Reclaimer, hands trembling. “You’re not supposed to reveal outcomes. Reclaimers collect evidence, they don’t communicate with targets.”

The Reclaimer turned its empty gaze toward her. “She is not a target. She is an asset.”

Benji stiffened. “The hell she is.”

Wren pressed a hand to her mouth, horrified. “Oh God… they’ve escalated.”

Levi hissed from the shadows, “What does that mean?”

Wren backed away like the realization physically rattled her. “Reclaimers only approach the Bloom if the High Mother has changed the directive. If they want her alive for a new purpose.”

Benji’s rifle twitched higher. “Which purpose?”

The Reclaimer stepped forward once. Everyone tensed. Even the night seemed to hold its breath.mThen the Reclaimer said something that chilled Sassy’s blood so deeply she felt it in her bones:

“The Protector chose her safety over obedience. This makes him… unstable.”

Sassy’s breath hitched. “He saved me.”

“Yes,” the Reclaimer said.

“And you punished him for that?” she snarled.

The Reclaimer tilted its head. “Correction: He was given a choice.”

Benji spat, “You monsters call that a choice?”

The Reclaimer seemed almost confused by the outrage. “Protection of the Bloom is a sacred role. He was offered clarity. His acceptance was… incomplete.”

Sassy’s hands shook violently. “Just tell me. Is he alive?”

The Reclaimer’s answer was neither immediate nor gentle.

“He was alive when we left him.”

Sassy’s heart twisted in both relief and agony. “Then he’s—he’s okay? He—”

The Reclaimer cut her off.

“He was alive,” it repeated with clinical finality. “His status is now unknown.”

Sassy felt the world tilt.

Benji surged forward, rage boiling over. “UNKNOWN? UNKNOWN?! If he’s hurt—if he’s dying out there alone—you tell us RIGHT NOW—”

Colton and Levi caught him by the arms, barely keeping him from charging.

Wren stepped forward, voice thin with fear. “Why approach us? Why bring the bracelet?”

The Reclaimer simply pointed—its arm rising slowly, deliberately—toward Sassy.

“The Bloom must come.”

Sassy froze.

Benji tore free from Levi’s grip and stepped in front of her. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

The Reclaimer lowered its arm. “She is not being asked.”

Sassy’s voice trembled. “If I go with you… will you take me to Jimmy?”

The Reclaimer paused. And for the first time since stepping into the quarry, it hesitated. That small hesitation was more terrifying than any threat.

Wren stepped beside Sassy. “Don’t ask that. Don’t—don’t even think it. That’s how they get inside your head.”

But Sassy’s eyes remained locked on the figure.

“Please,” she pleaded. “Tell me if he’s suffering.”

The Reclaimer tilted its head again. Then said something too soft for anyone but her to hear.

“His faith wavered. His fate is… fluid.”

Sassy’s heart cracked wide open.

Benji’s hand trembled around his rifle. “Get away from her.”

The Reclaimer didn’t move.

“Why bring me this?” She held up the bracelet, shaking. “Why give me something of his?”

The Reclaimer answered simply.

“To guide you.”

Sassy stiffened.

Benji’s eyes burned. “Don’t listen. Don’t you listen to a word—”

But Sassy wasn’t listening anymore because something else caught her attention. A smear of dark, rust-colored blood on the bracelet. Fresh. Jimmy’s blood. She staggered backward into Benji, nearly collapsing.

Benji caught her, arms wrapping around her protectively. “Sass—Sass, I’ve got you—”

But her gaze stayed fixed on the bracelet.

On the blood.

On the Reclaimer.

Who finally spoke with chilling simplicity:

“He watches for you.”

The words punched the air out of Sassy’s lungs.

Benji snarled, “You’ve said enough.”

“No,” the Reclaimer said, “not yet.”

It raised a hand and the entire shed shuddered.

Levi shouted, “MOVE—EVERYBODY MOVE!”

Benji grabbed Sassy, hauling her backward.

The Reclaimer took one step forward—

36

Sassy stood alone in the fractured corridor, the lamp flickering wildly in her trembling hand. Dust floated in the air like ash. The crack in the ground where Wren had vanished hissed faintly with rising heat and moisture.

Silence pressed in around her. Not peaceful silence. Instead the charged, breathless quiet of a predator holding still.

Sassy wiped stone grit from her face and forced her lungs to steady. “I can do this,” she said. “I have to.”

The only path left was forward. Toward the deeper chambers. Toward the center of the Garden’s labyrinth, toward the answers she feared more than the dark. She raised the lamp higher and continued.

The corridor narrowed into a stone walkway carved with hundreds of hand-etched words. At first, Sassy thought they were prayers or chants. But as she passed, the truth chilled her spine.

They were names.

Soria
Iris
Delara
Maeve
Etta

Some carved carefully. Some scraped in jagged desperation.

Discarded Blooms.
Or successful ones.
Or ones who never made it to any ritual at all.

Sassy’s fingers brushed the wall as she walked. Each name a ghost brushing her skin.

She swallowed hard. “I won’t be one of you. I refuse.”

But the walls didn’t answer. Only the sound of water dripping somewhere deeper. As she turned a corner, she froze. A voice echoed faintly through the stone.

Low.
Rough.
Broken.

A voice she knew better than her own.

“—Sassy…”

Her heart slammed into her ribs.

“JIMMY!” she shouted, the sound ripping from her chest.

The voice didn’t answer.

Instead, a rhythmic chant rose from below, swallowing the echo:

“The Protector prepares.
The Protector awakens.
The Protector aligns.”

Sassy’s blood turned to ice.

“No,” she said. “No, Jimmy, don’t listen to them. Don’t let them take you.”

But another sound drifted up.
Softer.
More intimate.

Her name.

Not panicked.
Not pleading.

Calm.

Sassy backed against the wall, gripping the lamp so hard her knuckles whitened.

It wasn’t Jimmy calling for help. It was Jimmy calling to her. As if he wanted her to find him. As if he expected her to. As if he were waiting.

Her chest tightened painfully. “This is a trick. They’re mimicking him.”

But deep down in the marrow of her bones, she knew that wasn’t entirely true. There had been something in the tone.

A familiar cadence.
A softened edge.
An intimacy only Jimmy had ever held her with.

Her voice trembled. “Jimmy… what are they doing to you?”

A crackling sound broke through the quiet—a faint, static murmur. She froze. It came again. A low, distant shout.

“Sassy!”

Benji.

She turned toward the noise coming from an air duct far above her head. She climbed onto a stone outcropping, gripping the sharp edges, hoisting the lamp as close as she dared.

“BENJI!” she shouted. “I’m here!”

His voice echoed back, muffled but fierce. “Sassy, keep talking! I’m trying to get to you!”

Relief shattered her composure. Tears burned her eyes. “I fell into the lower levels! I don’t know where Wren is!”

Benji swore a string of curses thrown like weapons. “I’m coming down. Stay where you are.”

“No!” she yelled. “You can’t. There are guards everywhere!”

“I don’t give a damn,” he barked. “You sound scared.”

“I am, Benji!”

Silence on his end. Then softer words that hit her chest like a blow.

“Don’t you dare disappear on me. I’m not losing you too.”

Sassy pressed her forehead to the cold stone. “I’m not trying to.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’ll rip this whole place apart if I have to.”

The air duct rattled as something heavy shifted. He was trying to reach her through brute force alone.

“Benji—don’t hurt yourself!” she called.

A dry laugh. “Too late.”

But then something clattered loudly beside her—small, metallic, skidding across the floor. A flashlight. Dropped from the vent. She snatched it up instantly.

Benji exhaled sharply. “Now go. Find cover. I’m close.”

The static faded. His voice was gone.

Sassy stood taller. She wasn’t alone. Armed with the flashlight and the lamp, she pressed onward. The corridor sloped steeply downward, ending in a set of carved stone doors. They’re massive, etched with the hourglass symbol in thick, deep grooves.

A plaque above them read:

CHAMBER OF REFLECTION

She felt it before she touched it—
the temperature dropping,
the air thickening,
the walls holding their breath.

Wren’s voice echoed in her mind:

It’s where they break Blooms.
Where they reshape Protectors.
Where they strip you of your past.

Sassy pressed her palm to the door.

It swung inward with a heavy groan.

Inside—

Darkness.
Rows of stone benches.
Ritual circles drawn in chalk.
The faint smell of incense and sweat.

And on the far wall— a mural. Two figures painted in sweeping strokes of ash and ochre:

A girl with long dark hair.
A boy with broad shoulders.

Hands intertwined.

Underneath the figures were words:

THE BLOOM RETURNS TO THE PROTECTOR
THE PROTECTOR PREPARES THE BLOOM

Sassy staggered backward.

“No,” she said. “This isn’t real. This is doctrine. This is madness.”

But her heart betrayed her. A single, painful throb of something like recognition. A whisper rose from the darkness behind her:

“Do you see now, Bloom?”

Sassy spun, lamp trembling.

A hooded figure stood just inside the door.
Calm.
Still.
Hands clasped.

The figure took one step forward.

“His heart is awakening. He calls for you.”

Sassy backed away. “Where is he? What have you done to him?”

The figure tilted its head.

“Nothing you did not begin.”

Sassy’s stomach twisted. “You’re lying.”

The figure pointed at the mural.

“At the end of the circle, he will guide you home.”

Sassy shook violently. “Jimmy would never—”

The figure interrupted softly:

“He already has.”

Before Sassy could react, footsteps thundered through the corridor behind the hooded figure.

Benji’s voice roared:

“SASSY—MOVE!”

The figure darted away into the dark.

Sassy turned toward the entrance just as the chamber doors were slammed shut behind her.

Locked.

Benji’s muffled shouting echoed from the other side.

Sassy stumbled backward, trapped in the ceremonial dark.

Alone.
Enclosed.
And for the first time, terrified

Not of losing Jimmy. But of finding him.

37

The doors slammed shut with a force that reverberated through the entire chamber. Dust rained from the ceiling in thin, trembling lines. Sassy lunged toward the stone slabs, slamming her palms against them.

“BENJI!” she shouted. “BENJI, I’m in here!”

His voice tore through the other side. Muffled, furious, frantic.

“Sassy, step back! I’m breaking this damn door down!”

“No,” she cried, pressing her forehead against the cold stone. “No, don’t—you’ll get yourself—”

But the impact shook the door before she could finish. A deep, violent THUD followed by Benji’s strangled curse. He was throwing himself against it. Over and over.

Her chest constricted.

“Benji, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Sassy—answer me!”
“I’m here!”
“Talk to me so I know you’re—”
Another slam.
A gasp.
“—so I know you’re alive.”

Her throat tightened. “I’m alive. I’m okay. Just… don’t kill yourself trying to get through.”

His breathing eased only slightly. “I’ll find another way. Just hold on.”

Footsteps retreated. Benji pulling back, regrouping.

Silence pressed in.

Sassy turned slowly, lifting the lamp and flashlight making parts of the chamber glow.

The darkness swallowed most of the light.

The room stretched farther than she realized: cavernous, circular, its far edges hidden in shadow. As the light crawled across the stone, carvings emerged hundreds of faintly etched silhouettes.

Girls.
Boys.
Figures kneeling, reaching, entwined.

A circle of them surrounding a central emblem: the hourglass cracked down the middle.

Sassy’s stomach twisted.

Sounds drifted across the room, too faint to place. Like voices layered on top of one another. She spun, flashlight trembling. There was no one. But the faint chanting grew louder.

”…return…”
”…chosen…”
”…Protector prepares…”

She backed away, heart pounding in her throat. The words weren’t spoken aloud—they were embedded in the air itself, woven into the stone.

A ritual echo. A memory of a thousand indoctrinations. Her lamp flickered.

“No,” she said defiantly. “No, I won’t listen. You don’t get to define me.”

But a soft voice slid through the dark:

“You already let him define you.”

Sassy froze.

Her skin crawled.

She turned toward the voice slowly, dread sinking like iron in her gut.

A figure stood at the edge of the mural, hooded. Cloaked in the Garden’s ash-stained robes. The same voice as before. The one who’d told her: He already has. The figure stepped forward, lamp light catching the edge of their mask.

“You came farther than expected, Bloom.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sassy snarled.

The figure tilted their head. “Names have power. And you are not Sassy in here. Not to him.”

Her blood ran cold. “Jimmy doesn’t want this.”

“You think you know what he wants.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

The figure raised a gentle hand. Not aggressive, but pitying.

“When he spoke your name, he didn’t speak it in fear.”

Her voice stuttered. “You’re lying. You use people—twist them—”

“Yes,” the figure said softly. “We do.”

The admission stunned her.

“But not him,” the figure added. “He came to us open. Searching. Wanting.”

Sassy shook her head fiercely. “Jimmy would never willingly—”

“He asked questions.”
A step closer.
“He accepted answers.”
Another step.
“He listened.”

“No…” Sassy said, backing away until she felt the wall press into her spine. “You’re manipulating him. Drugging him. Breaking him.”

The figure paused.

“Breaking him? No.”
Voice almost tender.
“We are rebuilding him.”

The room seemed to tilt.

Her breath came in thin, ragged gasps.

“Where is he?” she demanded, voice cracking. “Where is Jimmy?”

The figure didn’t answer.

Instead, they gestured toward the far side of the chamber toward a smaller door she hadn’t noticed, half concealed by shadow.

“He left something for you,” the figure said.

Sassy’s heart lurched. “What?”

But the figure stepped backward, vanishing into the darkness as though consumed by it.

“Find it,” they whispered.
“And you’ll understand.”

The door clicked softly.

Unlocked.

Sassy grabbed her lamp and approached, legs shaking. She pushed the door open. It was small. Barely a closet. A single candle flickered on a low altar. The walls were carved with spirals and hourglasses, each symbol traced in ash. And on the altar… Sassy’s mind stopped and became perfectly still as soon as she saw it. It was a bracelet.

Worn leather.
Frayed edges.
A tiny crack in the clasp.

Jimmy’s bracelet.
The one he’d had since they were kids.

She staggered forward, snatching it up with shaking hands.

“No,” she said panicked. “No, no, no—Jimmy wouldn’t give this away. He never takes it off.”

Her vision blurred.

This was his anchor.
His identity.
His memory of childhood.
His promise to protect her.

He would never surrender it. Unless— Unless he didn’t see it as surrender. Her lungs constricted painfully. Benji’s words flickered in her memory: I’ll rip this place apart if I have to.

But Jimmy… Jimmy might not want to leave.

Her voice broke apart in the candlelit dark.

“Jimmy… what are you doing?”

Behind her—
the chamber door rattled violently.

Benji’s voice:

“SASSY! MOVE AWAY FROM THE DOOR!”

Relief crashed over her—but before she could answer, she heard something else.

Another voice.
Soft.
Male.
So faint she almost thought it was in her head.

“Sassy…”

She spun. The small room was empty. The candle flame danced. The faint call came again—gentle, coaxing, familiar:

“Come find me.”

Her heart stopped.

“Jimmy?”

No answer.

Only the echo.

Benji slammed the outer door again, shouting her name. Sassy clutched the bracelet to her chest, shaking violently. Torn between the boy she loved and the boy the Garden was shaping.

Between escape
and descent.

Between truth
and faith.

She faced the inner door again. The whisper repeated—

“Come find me.”

Sassy swallowed her sob and stepped deeper into the dark.

38

The whisper lingered in the stone like a breath held too long. A never ending ripple from a rock skipping across the placid water of a pond.

Come find me.

Sassy’s pulse hammered as she stepped through the narrow doorway, clutching Jimmy’s bracelet so tightly the leather dug into her palm. The air grew colder, the dark thicker, swallowing the lamp’s light in greedy gulps. The corridor beyond the threshold tilted downward, uneven, carved by hands that no longer remembered sunlight.

She paused once, glancing back at the Chamber of Reflection.

Benji’s roar was still faintly audible:

“SASSY! ANSWER ME!”

She opened her mouth to call back and the whisper came again, too close to ignore.

“Sassy…”

She gasped and stopped.

It sounded like Jimmy.
But softer.
Lower.
Almost… coaxing.

She turned away from Benji’s distant voice and stepped deeper into the dark.

The corridor twisted sharply. Water trickled along the floor, running downhill. The walls glistened with a faint mineral sheen that reflected her lamplight in fractured, ghostly patterns.

As she rounded a corner, she found a series of carved alcoves lining the passage—each filled with objects.

Offerings.

A cracked toy horse.
A rosary.
A girl’s ribbon, tied into a bow.
A boy’s belt buckle.
Buttons.
Shells.
Fragments of childhood.

Sassy recoiled as she realized—

These weren’t offerings. They were remnants.

She passed each alcove like she was walking through a mausoleum of stolen pasts. The bracelet in her hand felt like it was burning.

“Jimmy,” she said shakily. “What did they take from you?”

Another faint call drifted through the air. Warmer this time.

“Sass…”

She froze.

This time the voice didn’t come from down the hall.

It came from everywhere. Like the stone itself was speaking.

Her heart stuttered. “Jimmy?”

Only silence answered.

Far above her, in the Chamber of Reflection, Benji slammed his entire body weight against the stone door one more time. The impact rattled the hinges but didn’t break them. He staggered back, chest heaving.

Levi placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Benj, stop. You’ll mess yourself up.”

“I don’t care!” Benji snapped, shoving him off. “She’s in there. Alone. They did this to her. They want to break her like they broke those other girls!”

Colton stepped between them. “We need strategy, not stupidity.”

Benji’s eyes blazed. “If anything happens to her—if they touch one hair on her head—I swear to God I’ll burn this place to the ground with my bare hands.”

Wren, still pale and trembling, approached the mural on the far wall—the depiction of the Bloom and Protector.

Her voice was thin. “They’re accelerating the ritual.”

Benji spun toward her. “What does that mean?”

Wren swallowed hard. “It means Sassy is running out of time.”

Benji grabbed his rifle. “Then we move. Now.”

Sassy pressed forward.

The tunnel widened unexpectedly into a broader, bowl-shaped chamber glistening with condensation. Channels of water traced patterns overhead, glowing faintly with some mineral luminescence.

For a moment, she forgot to breathe. The beauty of it was haunting, surreal—almost sacred. Until she noticed what stood at the center of the room. A stone pedestal. And atop it a folded cloth the color of deep wine.

Her stomach tightened as she approached. She reached out, hesitated, then lifted the cloth.

A robe. Thick, soft, ceremonial. Her size. A garment meant for ritual.

Her knees nearly gave out. “No,” she said. “Not for me. Not for me.”

The whisper slid through the chamber like a hand along her spine.

“You’re almost here.”

Sassy dropped the robe and staggered back.

“STOP!” she shouted to the ceiling. “Stop using his voice! Stop pretending you’re him!”

Her voice cracked into a sob.

“I know him. You can’t fake Jimmy. You can’t.”

But the stone didn’t care. The whisper came again. Not loud, not dramatic, just quiet enough to sound real.

“Please… don’t be afraid.”

Her heart twisted violently. It sounded exactly like him. Exactly. The way he used to speak to her when they were little and she woke from nightmares. The tone he used the night they almost confessed feelings in the motel.

Soft.
Tender.
Honest.

Too honest.

She pressed both hands over her ears. “NO! He wouldn’t want this! He wouldn’t want whatever this is—he wouldn’t want these rites or these tunnels or these—”

Another whisper.

Not a command.

A plea.

“Sassy… let me show you.”

Her mind froze but her body kept moving. Because despite her terror—a part of her wanted to follow the voice. Wanted to believe he was alive and calling for her out of love.

Not devotion.
Not indoctrination.
Not transformation.

Love.

She turned away from the pedestal, shaking, and ran.

The tunnels spilled her out into a long, arched hallway lined with hanging fabric—silver cloth shimmering softly in the lamplight. Each sheet bore a symbol: a rising sun over a cracked circle.

The Garden’s sigil.

She passed them slowly, one hand brushing the fabric as if trying to tear through it. At the end of the hall, another door waited—wooden, reinforced with iron, slightly ajar. A draft of warm air drifted through it.

A breath.
A pulse.
Life.

Sassy pushed the door open. It was a small chamber. Round, low ceiling, a single ring of candles burning along the perimeter. A pool of water sat at the center, still as glass.

Sassy approached gingerly, raising her lamp over the surface. Her reflection stared back, wide-eyed, trembling, ash-streaked. And behind her reflection—a silhouette.

Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Male.

“Jimmy?” She spun around—

Nothing. Just darkness.

The whisper came again. Gentle, full of longing that stabbed her like a blade.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m waiting.”

She clutched the bracelet so tightly the leather cut into her skin.

“Where are you?” she called into the void. “Where are you, Jimmy?”

The answer flowed through the chamber like a breeze:

“Closer than you think.”

Benji and Levi broke through a secondary door, splintering wood, forcing themselves deeper. Colton covered the rear, gun raised.

Wren pressed a hand against one of the carved walls, horrified.

“They’re guiding her,” she said. “They’re pulling her toward the sanctum.”

Benji’s blood ran cold. “Why her?”

Wren looked at him with trembling certainty.

“Because Jimmy won’t complete the ritual until she arrives.”

Benji froze.

Then—

“…Jimmy?”

Wren nodded once.

Benji’s face twisted with fury, and something like fear.

“Move,” he yelled. “We’re not losing her. Or him. Not to them.”

Sassy stepped back from the pool, shaking uncontrollably. Her lamp flickered as though struggling to stay alive.

Every instinct screamed to turn back. Every memory of Jimmy begged her to move forward. She stood in the threshold between two versions of reality— the boy she loved and the boy he might be becoming.

Her voice cracked into the silence: “I’m coming… but not because of them. Because of you.”

The whisper answered immediately—

warm
relieved
devoted

“I knew you would.”

Sassy stepped into the next passage.

The door closed behind her on its own.

39

The corridor narrowed into a stone throat, swallowing Sassy with every step. Her lamp flickered, fighting against a suffocating darkness that felt almost alive - flickering, waiting, listening.

She clutched Jimmy’s bracelet in her fist, the leather digging into her palm.
Her heartbeat in frantic, uneven pulses.

Ahead, a faint glow brightened the next chamber—a soft amber light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

The sanctum.

She knew that word without ever being told. It vibrated in her bones, in the stale air, in the whisper that had guided her.

“I’m waiting.”

Her breath trembled. She took one step forward. The whisper came again—gentle, warm, coaxing:

“Sass…”

But this time another voice cut through the darkness.

Sharp.
Familiar.
Desperate.

“SASSY! MOVE!”

She spun just as a figure barreled into her—a blur of flannel, mud, and fury.

Benji.

He slammed into her with such force they tumbled back onto the hard stone. The lamp shattered beside them, plunging the corridor into near-total darkness.

Sassy gasped, disoriented. “Benji—?”

He grabbed her shoulders, eyes wild. “Are you insane?! You were walking straight into the heart of it!”

“I—I heard him,” she said. “Jimmy. He’s close. He needs—”

“No,” Benji snapped, pulling her to her feet. “They’re using him. Or using his voice. I don’t care which. You’re not going to them alone.”

She swayed, dizzy. “But I can’t leave him—”

“You’re not,” Benji snapped. “But you ARE leaving this place.”

Heavy footsteps thundered down the corridor behind him.

Levi.
Colton.
Wren.

“We have to go!” Levi shouted. “They’re sealing tunnels behind us—we’re nearly boxed in!”

Wren grabbed Sassy’s arm, eyes wide with terror and something else—something like guilt.

“They know you reached the lower sanctum,” she said breathlessly. “They’re mobilizing.”

“The High Mother is with them,” Colton added. “We saw her in the upper hall.”

Sassy’s stomach twisted. “But Jimmy—”

Benji cupped her face in both hands, forcing her eyes to his.

“We’ll get him,” he said, voice shaking with earnest fury. “But not here. Not when you’re alone. Not when they’re using him as bait.”

She blinked, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Benji… I heard him. He sounded—”

“I know,” he said, pulling her close. “That’s why we run.”

Another distant whisper slithered through the corridor, soft as silk:

“Sassy…”

Her knees buckled.

Benji lifted her immediately and shouted:

“MOVE!”

The group sprinted up a sloping passageway, Benji carrying Sassy like she weighed nothing. Wren ran ahead, guiding them through twisting paths and narrow crevices invisible to the untrained eye.

“Left!” she cried. “Then up the incline! Hurry!”

Ritual bells began ringing behind them a terrifying, metallic chorus that grew louder with every second.

Levi cursed under his breath. “They’re calling the guards.”

“They’re calling everyone,” Wren said. “The Protector chamber is active.”

Sassy flinched.

Jimmy.

Benji’s arms tightened around her. “Don’t think about it. Just hold on.”

They reached a rusted ladder embedded in the stone. Colton scrambled up first, pushing open a hatch that released a blast of cold night air.

Moonlight spilled in. Freedom.

“Go, go, GO!” he shouted.

Wren climbed next. Levi pushed Sassy into Benji’s arms as he climbed after her. Benji waited until the last possible second, then hauled himself up the ladder, muscles trembling with adrenaline.

Below them, chanting filled the tunnel.

Dozens of voices.
Echoing.
Rising.

Benji slammed the hatch shut and dragged a broken plank across it as a makeshift brace.

“Run,” he gasped.

And they did.

They emerged into a clearing deep in the woods. The night’s sky transformed each exhale into silver clouds as they stumbled forward.

Sassy collapsed onto her knees, gulping cold air. Wren crouched beside her, touching her shoulder gently.

“You’re out,” she said. “You made it out.”

But Sassy’s eyes drifted back toward the hatch.

“He’s still down there. He’s still calling me.”

Benji knelt in front of her, his face shadowed but unyielding.

“And we’ll go back for him,” he said. “But on OUR terms.”

“What terms?” she asked.

Levi answered grimly: “War.”

They trekked for nearly an hour through dense woods until they reached a decomposing structure tucked behind overgrown brush—a two-story hunting lodge, long since abandoned.

Windows broken.
Roof sagging.
Walls covered in moss and brambles.

Perfect.

Benji kicked open the door and ushered her inside.

It smelled like dust and old pine. Cobwebs hung in the corners. Broken furniture littered the floor. But it was shelter. It was theirs.

Colton started barricading windows with fallen boards. Levi searched for dry firewood. Wren found an old lantern and coaxed it to life.

Benji pulled Sassy aside, voice low.

“You were walking right into their trap,” he said. “I’m not letting that happen again.”

“I had to know,” she said. “I had to hear him.”

Benji’s jaw tightened. “I know. And that’s the problem.”

She flinched.

He stepped closer, his voice softer. “They’re using him. Or they’re changing him. I don’t know. But whatever’s happening—it’s not Jimmy calling you. Not the Jimmy you know.”

Her eyes stung. “But what if it is him?”

Benji’s voice broke.

“Then I’ll fight him too if I have to. To bring him back.”

Sassy stared at him, stunned.

Benji swallowed hard, gaze locked on hers.

“I’m not losing you,” he said fiercely. “Not to them. Not to him. Not to anything.”

Footsteps approached—Wren, voice trembling.

“They’re coming,” she said. “They know she escaped. They won’t stop.”

Benji rose to his feet, fire in his eyes.

“Good,” he said. “Let them come.”

He loaded his rifle, the click echoing through the ruined lodge.

“They want a Bloom and a Protector?” He stepped in front of Sassy. “Then they can choke on a Fallon instead.”

Sassy stared into the flames flickering from the newly lit lantern.

Jimmy was in the earth.

The Garden was coming.

And for the first time she wasn’t sure which one frightened her more.

40

The lodge creaked in the wind like an old animal snoring in its sleep. Moonlight filtered through broken slats in the roof, striping the dusty floor. The lantern Wren had lit flickered weakly, casting long, trembling shadows across the peeling walls.

Outside, the woods were alive. Too quiet, too still.

Sassy sat on the sagging couch, clutching Jimmy’s bracelet, trying to stop her hands from shaking. Benji paced the room in tight, agitated loops, checking and rechecking the rifle’s chamber. Levi stood at the boarded window, scanning the tree line. Wren crouched near the doorway, wrapping her arms around herself as if the cold were trying to climb inside her bones.

No one spoke at first.

But silence never stayed long when fear sat in the room.

In the distance, a horn sounded.

Low.
Resonant.
Foreign.

Sassy jolted upright. “What is that?”

Wren’s face drained of color. “The Calling Horn.”

Benji froze mid-step. “Explain.”

“It’s how the Garden organizes a pursuit.” Wren’s voice trembled. “They use three signals. One to summon. One to surround. One to close the net.”

Levi muttered. “Which was that one?”

“The first,” Wren explained.

Benji slammed his fist against the wall, splintering rotting wood. “They’re coming fast.”

“They know where you surfaced,” Wren said. “And they know she’s with you.”

Sassy hugged the bracelet to her chest. “Jimmy’s still down there. They won’t leave without him.”

Wren hesitated, then shook her head. “Jimmy is not their priority tonight.”

Sassy’s heart twisted. “I heard him. He was calling me.”

Benji stopped pacing. “Sassy, that wasn’t him.”

Wren inhaled sharply. “We can’t assume that.”

Benji spun on her. “Are you kidding me? You SAID they mimic voices—”

“I said they CAN,” Wren snapped, surprising everyone. “Not that they ALWAYS do.”

Levi stepped between them, but the damage was done. The tension was thick enough to choke on.

Benji’s voice dropped into a lethal, low tone. “If Jimmy is calling her, then they’ve already gotten into his head.”

Wren’s eyes flicked away. “We don’t know that.”

Sassy watched them argue around her, the room spinning. She felt the whisper again in her mind. Come find me…

She had never doubted Jimmy.
Never doubted his love.
Never doubted that he would die before he hurt her.

But doubt crept in like smoke.

A sudden thud hit the side of the lodge.

Everyone froze.

Another.

Then another.

Benji raised his rifle. “Positions.”

Colton, who had been guarding the back exit, burst into the room. “Movement in the trees. Lots.”

Wren’s voice trembled. “They’re surrounding us.”

A second horn blew.

Lower.
Deeper.
Hungrier.

Wren slapped a hand over her mouth. “That’s the second signal. They’re forming a perimeter.”

“Let them,” Benji snarled. “We’ll make them regret stepping foot on Fallon land.”

“This isn’t your land,” Wren hissed. “This is THEIR territory. Their tunnels run under half this county. You’re in THEIR web.”

Benji glared at her. “Then I’ll burn the web.”

Another crash hit the boarded window. Wood splintered. Levi shoved his shoulder into it, reinforcing the boards.

“They’re testing the walls,” he said. “Looking for weak points.”

Sassy stood, wobbling slightly. “Why are they coming here? Why are they risking a fight they don’t want?”

Wren looked at her with painful clarity.

“Because they need you.”

A crackling sound drifted under the door.

Soft.
Rhythmic.
Like static.

Sassy stepped toward it.

“Sass.”
A whisper.
Warm.
Familiar.

Her heart seized.

“That’s him,” she said panicked. “Benji—Benji, that’s Jimmy—”

Benji grabbed her arm. “No. Stay away from the door.”

But the whisper came again.

Closer.
Coaxing.
Pulling.

“I’m hurt… I need you…”

Her knees weakened. Tears stung her eyes. “Jimmy, where are you?”

Benji’s grip tightened painfully. “Sassy. He’s not out there.”

“Then how is he speaking to me? How does he know what to say? How does he know—”

Wren cut her off abruptly.
Not unkindly.
But with dread.

“They’re using him.”

Sassy’s could barely push out words. “What?”

Wren swallowed. “If he’s speaking directly to you. If he’s tracking your position then he may not be resisting them anymore.”

Benji stepped protectively in front of Sassy. “You think he switched sides?”

Wren’s voice broke. “I think he believes he hasn’t.”

A slow, deliberate knock echoed through the lodge walls.

Three taps.
Pause.
Three taps again.

Jimmy’s childhood knock.

Sassy’s chest collapsed inward. “He wouldn’t knock like that unless… Unless he was real. Unless he was close.”

Something brushed against the outside door.
A shadow passed across the cracks.
A silhouette.

Tall.
Broad-shouldered.

Benji shoved Sassy behind him so hard she nearly fell.

“DON’T TOUCH THAT DOOR!” he barked.

“Sass…”
The whisper again.
Soft.
Pleading.
Achingly familiar.

“Please. I need you.”

Her tears spilled. Her heart fractured. Everything she loved twisted against everything she feared.

“I have to go to him,” she said numbly. “He’s hurt—if he’s hurt—”

Benji grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently. “Sassy, look at me. LOOK at me.”

She did.

His eyes were fierce.
Terrified.
Bloody with loyalty.

“That’s not Jimmy,” he said. “That’s the Garden using him. Or worse—”

He swallowed hard.

“—that’s Jimmy letting them.”

The words shattered her.

Another crash hit the door. The boards made a wailing noise as if in pain.

Levi shouted, “They’re coming through the back too!”

Colton yelled, “They’re circling us!”

Wren screamed, “THE THIRD SIGNAL IS COMING! RUN NOW!”

Benji kicked over the beat-up couch, positioning it as cover.

He grabbed Sassy’s hand.

Not gently.
Not gently at all.

“Sassy, choose,” he said, voice shaking. “Stay with me. Or go to him.”

She froze.

The lodge trembled from another impact. Outside the third horn sounded. A long, piercing wail that cracked the night open like bone. The Garden had closed the net. And at the door, Jimmy’s silhouette stood motionless.

Waiting.

31

Benji carried Sassy into the living room as though she weighed nothing, lowering her gently onto the worn leather couch. The house was warm, smelling faintly of cedar and gun oil. A pair of work boots sat near the door. A kettle whistled faintly in the kitchen, forgotten.

Wren hovered near the threshold skeptical and skittish, ready to run if needed.

Benji straightened, eyes flicking between the two women. “Who’s hurt? Who’s after you?”

Sassy swallowed, her voice a thin thread. “Benji… it’s Jimmy.”

His expression sharpened instantly. A flash of something territorial, then grim resolve. “What happened to him?”

She squeezed her hands together, trying to steady herself. “They took him. The Garden. They…” Her voice cracked. “They took him because of me.”

Benji dropped to one knee in front of her so they were eye level. “Slow down. Tell me everything, Sass. All of it.”

So, she did.

The secret room beneath Ash Grove.
The journals.
Her mother’s notes.
The confession chamber.
Jimmy fighting until he couldn’t.
Wren.
The tunnels.
The prophecy.
The Protector role.
Jimmy’s bloodline.
Her own childhood memories ripping open.
The Garden wanting Jimmy more than they wanted her.

Wren spoke only once—to confirm details Sassy struggled to say aloud—especially about how “training” worked and what happened to the discarded girls.

Benji’s face went tight and unreadable the entire time, but his eyes…
His eyes burned.

When Sassy finished, tears threatening again, he rose abruptly and stalked to the far wall. He braced both hands against it, head bowed. His shoulders shook with a fury he couldn’t contain.

“Those sick bastards,” he said. “Those sick, twisted—”

He slammed his fist into the wall.
The wood cracked.

Sassy flinched.

Benji turned immediately, softening when he saw her shrink back. “Shit—Sass, I’m not mad at you. Not ever at you. I’m mad at what they did. Mad they touched you at all.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Sassy wiped her cheeks. “Benji… Jimmy’s still down there.”

Benji nodded, pacing now. “And we’re getting him back.”

Wren stepped forward tentatively. “You don’t understand. They have numbers. And rituals. And weapons. And tunnels. They know how to hunt.”

Benji’s mouth curled in a humorless smile. “So do I.”

Sassy sat up straighter. “Benji, this isn’t like feuding with a neighbor. They have a belief system. They’re willing to die for it.”

Benji crouched in front of her again, resting a hand over hers.

“I don’t give a damn what they believe.”
His voice was low, steady.
“What matters is what I believe. And I believe in you. Always have.”

Sassy looked away, unsure her heart could survive his intensity.

Benji’s voice softened further. “And I know you and Jimmy. You’re stupid for each other. You always were.” He swallowed hard. “So, if Jimmy’s alive, we’re bringing him back. No matter what it costs.”

Wren stared at him, stunned. “Why would you risk all that? For him?”

Benji didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on Sassy.

“Because she asked me to.”

Something inside Sassy trembled. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge. Something dangerous and warm and unsteady.

But she forced herself to stay focused. “We need a plan. They’re in tunnels under Ash Grove. And they have him for something… something they think he was born for.”

Benji nodded. “Then we’ll hit ’em where they live.”

He stood and grabbed his phone. “I’m calling my brothers.”

Sassy stiffened. “Benji—no, they’ll get hurt. I don’t want more people dragged into this.”

Benji paused at the doorway, gripping the frame. “Sassy… this is Fallon land. And the Garden doesn’t step on Fallon land without consequences. My brothers will want in.”

Wren shook her head nervously. “You don’t understand what they’re capable of—”

Benji cut her off. “No, you don’t understand. This family’s been fighting predators and poachers and cartel idiots for three generations. A bunch of indoctrinated psychos in matching coats won’t scare them off.”

Sassy stood, swaying slightly. Benji caught her elbow before she fell.

“I can’t lose Jimmy,” she said. “I can’t.”

Benji’s brows drew together, his voice softening. “You won’t. We’ll get him out.”

Sassy met his eyes. “Benji… you’re the only one I trust.”

He held her gaze, something like vulnerability flickering beneath the anger.

“I know.”

The moment stretched between them—unspoken, electric, complicated. Then Benji stepped back and rolled his shoulders, voice clipped and all business again.

“Wren, get some water in you. Sassy, sit. I’m gathering the boys.”

Sassy touched his arm lightly before he left. “Benji… thank you.”

He paused, jaw clenching. “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when Jimmy’s home.”

He walked out the door into the night, phone already ringing, purpose radiating off him like heat.

Sassy sank into the couch, Wren hovering nearby.

“You trust him a lot,” Wren said almost under her breath.

Sassy stared at the door Benji had disappeared through.

“He’s the last person the world would expect me to trust,” she said. “But right now… he’s all I’ve got.”

Wren hesitated. “And what if he wants something in return?”

Sassy closed her eyes.

“That’s what scares me.”

32

The Fallon barn was alive with low voices, heavy boots, and the metallic click of weapons being checked. Benji’s brothers, Levi and Colton, moved with practiced quiet, grim purpose etched across their features.

Sassy stood by the workbench, hands trembling as she pulled on one of Benji’s old flannels. It swallowed her, but it smelled like cedar and tobacco and something steady she desperately needed.

Wren hovered in the corner, watching every movement with wide, wary eyes. She flinched each time a gun chamber snapped closed.

Benji came over to Sassy, placing a hand lightly on her lower back. “You okay?”

She nodded, though the truth pulsed beneath her skin like electricity. “No. But I’m ready.”

He studied her for a heartbeat too long. Eyes soft, jaw tight, concern carved deep.

“What?” she said.

Benji shook his head. “Just… don’t leave my sight tonight.”

She opened her mouth, ready to argue—it wasn’t his job to watch her—but the words died when she saw the tension in him. Not control.

Fear. For her.

“I won’t,” she whispered.

Wren cleared her throat. “We should go before dawn. They don’t sleep down there, but the guards are foggier in the early hours. Ritual prep drains them.”

Colton looked up sharply. “Ritual prep?”

Wren nodded. “They don’t do anything without ceremony. Before they use someone—Protector or Bloom—they fast and chant. It makes them… unfocused. It’s your only advantage.”

The brothers exchanged a glance.

Benji stepped closer to Wren. “How long do we have?”

Wren sucked in a breath. “Not long. They’ll want Jimmy ready before sunrise.”

Sassy’s heart lurched. “Ready for what?”

Wren hesitated. “They cleanse the Protector first. Strip him of ‘earthly bonds.’ Then they… bind him. Not with chains. With a vow.”

Benji’s jaw tensed. “He won’t vow anything.”

“He might not have a choice,” Wren said.

Sassy felt the air thin. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Benji nodded, signaling to his brothers. Levi grabbed the trucks keys. Colton pulled two rifles from the rack and handed one to Benji.

Wren shrank back immediately. Sassy placed a calming hand on her arm.

“They’re not here to hurt you,” she said, trying to calm her knowing the trauma she has suffered.

“They’re armed,” Wren said through panicked heaves. “That’s always meant danger in my world.”

“You’re in our world now,” Sassy explained. “Different rules.”

Benji slung the rifle over his shoulder and turned to Sassy. “You ride with me.”

She hesitated. “What about Wren?”

Colton stepped forward. “She’ll go with Levi. He’s got extra space and knows the back roads better.”

Wren eyed them suspiciously but didn’t object. She was breathing too fast, the open barn already making her visibly dizzy. She clung to Sassy’s sleeve for one last moment.

“You can do this,” Sassy said. “We both can.”

Wren swallowed hard and nodded.

Benji pulled open the truck door. “Let’s move.”

Fog curled low over the fields as the two trucks cut through the back roads, engines rumbling softly. The moon hung low, smeared by clouds, casting the world in soft shadows.

Sassy stared out the window, memorizing every bend of the road—every fence line, every barn silhouette—like she was cataloging the world she might not see again if everything went wrong.

Benji glanced at her, one hand steady on the wheel. “Talk to me.”

She blinked. “About what?”

“Anything. You’re shaking.”

She hadn’t realized she was.

“I left him,” she said as if confessing. “Twice.”

Benji’s voice softened. “You didn’t leave him. You got out to come back for him.”

Sassy swallowed. “What if we’re too late?”

“We’re not.”

“You don’t know that.”

He reached across the seat and took her hand. “Sass. Look at me.”

She did, breath trembling.

His eyes were fierce. Unwavering. “We’re getting him out. I swear it.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She didn’t bother hiding it.

Benji squeezed her hand once before letting go, turning his attention to the road. Sassy wiped her face and focused on her breathing, grounding herself.

Ahead, Levi’s truck slowed as the woods thickened, then pulled off into a narrow clearing. The trucks parked under a canopy of pines, engines ticking in the cold.

They got out quietly.

Wren shivered in Levi’s borrowed jacket. “The entrance is half a mile west. Hidden in the brush. The vents above it connect to the tunnels.”

Benji nodded. “Good. We split into pairs.”

Levi looked to Sassy. “You with Benji. I’ll take Wren.”

Colton added, “I’ll take the perimeter. Anyone tries to circle around or come up top; I’ll see them first.”

Benji stepped close to Sassy. “Stay behind me. Don’t argue.”

She huffed a humorless laugh. “You know me better than that.”

His lips twitched. “Unfortunately.”

They started down the narrow path, pine needles muffling their footsteps. The forest felt both alive and eerily still, as if it were holding its breath alongside them.

Sassy inhaled deeply.

Jimmy’s face burned in her mind.

Hold on, she thought. Please hold on.

They reached the thick brush Wren pointed out—an overgrown patch hiding the slope into the underground structure.

Wren knelt, pushing brambles aside.

“There,” she said. “The old hatch.”

A rusted metal door lay half-buried beneath vines.

Benji motioned them back. “I’ll open it.”

He crouched, grabbing the handle, and heaved. The hinges creaked. A rush of cold, stale air burst upward like the breath of something long asleep.

Sassy’s pulse hammered.

Wren gripped Levi’s arm, shaking.

Benji looked at Sassy.

“You ready?”

“No,” she said. “But Jimmy needs me.”

Benji held her gaze—something unspoken passing between them.

“Then let’s go,” he said.

One by one, they descended into the darkness beneath Ash Grove.

Sassy’s heart pounded.

Benji’s boots hit stone beside her.

Wren inhaled sharply behind them.

And miles below, somewhere in the black—

Jimmy waited.

Or bled.
Or fought.
Or prayed she’d come.

Sassy clenched her jaw.

I’m coming, she whispered to him in her mind.

I’m coming, Jimmy.

33

The hatch clanged shut above them, sealing the four of them in a narrow stone corridor that breathed cold air and old secrets. Lanterns hung at intervals along the walls, their weak glow casting long, trembling shadows.

Sassy’s skin prickled the second her boots touched the stone floor.

The air felt wrong.
Electric.
Suffocating.

Benji stepped in front of her immediately, rifle raised, every muscle in his back coiled tight.

Wren motioned for them to stay close. “This isn’t one of the main tunnels. It’s a service route. If we’re lucky, the guards won’t be stationed here.”

“Lucky?” Colton muttered from behind. “That’s a first.”

Levi moved quietly ahead, checking corners with calm efficiency. Benji kept Sassy tucked behind his arm, his body always angled toward danger.

She wanted to tell him she didn’t need protection—
but the truth trembled inside her.

She did.

Not from monsters.
From men who believed they were holy.

They crept deeper, the tunnel sloping downward. Faint voices echoed somewhere in the distance. Chants carried by the stone.

Wren stiffened. “Stop. Listen.”

Everyone froze.

The voices grew louder. Not approaching. Reciting. A low cadence. A ritual rhythm. Sassy’s lungs seized as memories surged.

Benji touched her shoulder gently. “Hey. Stay with me.”

She nodded shakily.

The chanting stopped.

Followed by footsteps.

Multiple.

Wren’s eyes widened. “Guards.”

Benji tightened his grip on the rifle. “Positions.”

Levi signaled silently—two fingers up, three down, meaning five incoming.

Colton raised his own weapon.

But Wren shook her head violently. “Guns will echo. They’ll know we’re here.”

Benji moaned. “Then what do you suggest?”

“Get low,” she whispered urgently. “Hide in the drainage recesses. And whatever happens, don’t let them see your faces.”

There were narrow stone alcoves carved into the walls—cold, damp, barely big enough to crouch in.

Benji grabbed Sassy’s wrist and pulled her into one, his body shielding hers completely. She could feel his heartbeat hammering against her shoulder blade.

Colton and Levi melted into the shadows on opposite sides.

Wren flattened herself into a crevice farther down, trembling.

Footsteps approached.

Five figures rounded the corner. Hooded, faces painted in ritual ash, carrying staffs and rope-wrapped batons. Their boots struck the stone with aggressive precision.

One spoke—a woman with a voice like iron.

“Search the eastern corridors. The Bloom escaped. The Protector has not spoken. That means the ritual still requires purification.”

Sassy’s stomach twisted.

Benji’s breath went sharp behind her, anger radiating through him like heat.

Another guard responded, voice low. “Should we move the Protector?”

“No,” the woman replied. “Not until the High Mother gives the order.”

Benji’s hand clenched so tightly around his rifle that Sassy feared he’d snap it in half.

Jimmy… where are you?

The guards passed.

Their footsteps faded.

Silence settled thick and heavy.

Benji stepped out first, scanning both ends of the corridor before signaling them forward.

Wren exhaled shakily. “We need to move. Fast. They won’t stop until they find one of you.”

Sassy asked, “One of us? Why not you?”

Wren hesitated. Her eyes darted away. “Because I’m a discard. They don’t look for those.”

Benji turned to her sharply. “That’s not why. You’re hiding something.”

Wren’s mouth tightened. Fear danced at the edge of her expression.

Sassy stepped closer. “Wren… what aren’t you telling us?”

Wren wrung her hands. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Too late,” Benji said.

She swallowed hard. “The Garden doesn’t just want Jimmy. They want you too, Sassy.”

Sassy froze. “Why?”

“The Bloom isn’t complete without a return,” Wren explained. “They want to finish what your mother interrupted.”

Benji stepped between them immediately. “Over my dead body.”

Wren shook her head. “It’s worse. They don’t need you willing. They just need you present.”

Sassy’s chest constricted. “But I’m not there. I escaped.”

Wren looked away. “Escaped Blooms always come back. One way or another.”

Benji’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “She’s not going back anywhere.”

Levi stepped forward quietly. “We need a route. The guards will double back soon.”

Wren nodded. “There’s a lower corridor that leads to the core tunnels. It’s not on any of the visible maps. Only the Midwives and discards know it. But…” Her voice trembled. “It goes right past the Chamber of Reflection.”

Colton’s eyes narrowed. “And what the hell is that?”

Wren shivered. “The place where Blooms were broken. Where girls confessed until they couldn’t speak. You don’t want to go there.”

Benji raised his rifle. “If it gets us closer to Jimmy, we go there.”

“The guards cycle through that corridor. If they catch us—,” Wren said in a panic.

“They won’t,” Benji cut in. “Not with me here.”

His certainty was reckless.
Dangerous.
Terrifying.

But Sassy believed him.

Wren bit her lip. “There’s one more thing.”

Benji snapped, “Spit it out.”

“The Chamber of Reflection has another entrance,” she explained. “A deeper one. The one they use when they move Protectors.”

Sassy’s blood ran cold.

“Jimmy,” she said.

Wren nodded. “He might have passed through already. Or he might be there now.”

Benji stepped back to Sassy, placing a hand at the small of her back.

“We’re going,” he said. “End of discussion.”

She opened her mouth to respond—but a sudden crash echoed behind them. Stone crumbled. A deep moaning sound reverberated through the tunnel.

Colton spun around. “The hell was that?”

Wren’s face paled. “They’re sealing the upper entrances. They know someone came in from above.”

Benji grabbed Sassy’s hand. “Move. Now.”

They raced down the corridor toward the deeper passage.

But halfway through, a shadow appeared at the far end. A tall figure. Hooded. Silent. Another guard stepped into view beside him.

Benji pushed Sassy behind him, fury igniting in his voice. “Back. All of you. I’ll deal with them.”

“No,” Sassy said, gripping his jacket. “Benji—”

But the guards raised their staffs—

—and the wall beside Sassy exploded inward.

Dust choked the air. Stone shards sprayed in every direction. The blast separated them violently.

Sassy screamed as the floor beneath her collapsed, sending her tumbling into darkness.

Benji shouted her name, his voice raw.

Wren’s cry echoed.

And then—

Silence.

Sassy fell until cold water swallowed her whole.

The tunnel above her sealed with debris.

She was alone.

Separated.

Forced deeper.

And somewhere far below the earth—

Jimmy remained out of reach.

34

Cold water slammed around Sassy, swallowing her scream before it could leave her throat. She tumbled blindly through the dark, scraping against stone until her hands found the surface and she pushed upward, lungs burning.

Her head broke through the icy pool and she gasped—air, damp and stale, flooding her chest.

The chamber was enormous, cavernous, echoing with every frantic step. The water reflected faint, flickering light from somewhere high above—torches? Candles? A maintenance bulb?

It didn’t matter.

She was alone.

“Benji!” she shouted, voice cracking. “Wren!”

Only her own echoes answered, bouncing off the stone walls until they distorted into something that didn’t sound like her at all.

She dragged herself to the edge, fingers gripping slick rock until she managed to pull her shaking body onto the ledge. Her clothes clung to her, heavy with cold. Her teeth chattered as she crawled forward.

Above her, the collapse sealed the tunnel—a jagged scar of rock and dust.

No way back.

No chance the others could reach her quickly.

Sassy pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. “Okay. Okay. You’re not dead. You’re not lost. You can do this.”

But the truth gnawed at her:

She was alone in a labyrinth she barely understood.
The Garden knew these tunnels.
She didn’t.

A drip of water echoed somewhere behind her, rhythmic, steady. A sign there were deeper channels, maybe alternative exits. Or entrances for people who moved easily through the dark.

She forced herself onto her feet. Her muscles screamed. Her skin shook. But she moved.

The chamber narrowed into a long, sloping walkway carved from ancient stone. Moss clung to the walls, shining in sickly patches by faint light from above. The air was humid but cold, coated in the metallic tang of old water.

Sassy placed one hand on the wall to steady herself as she walked.

With each step, her mind spun through everything:

Benji’s roar as the collapse swallowed her.
Wren’s scream twisting into panic.
Jimmy—
Jimmy’s silence inside the tunnels.
His unknown fate.
His absence tearing into her like a wound.

Hold on, she whispered into the damp air.
Hold on until I get back to you.

A thought surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome:

What if he can’t?

She pushed it down violently. Halfway down the tunnel, she heard voices—faint, like a conversation carried through pipes. She froze. The words were too muffled to distinguish, but the tone was unmistakable:

Calm.
Focused.
Certain.

Garden voices.

Her skin prickled. She crouched low, creeping forward until she reached a junction of three branching tunnels. Water dripped steadily from above, masking her movements.

She pressed her ear to the left tunnel. Nothing. The right. A faint hum of chanting. The center. A voice—closer, clearer, and horrifyingly composed.

“…she will come, whether by choice or pressure.”

Sassy’s blood froze.

“…the Bloom always returns to the Protector. It is the way of the circle.”

Another voice responded, lower, thoughtful.

“We must prepare. The High Mother believes this is the final cycle. The Bloom is needed whole.”

Sassy’s heart hammered against her ribs.
They were preparing.
For her.
Because she escaped.
Because she was still alive.

She backed away slowly, pulse roaring in her ears—until her heel caught on something. A chain. Thin. Rusted. It clinked against the stone.

The voices fell silent.

Sassy clamped a hand over her mouth.

From the center tunnel came the soft sound of footsteps approaching.

Measured.
Unhurried.
Knowing.

She ran.

Her boots splashed through shallow water as she sprinted down the left passage—away from the voices, away from the approaching footsteps. The tunnel sloped downward again, twisting sharply until the sound of water grew louder, rushing beneath her feet.

A bridge—if it could be called that—appeared ahead. A narrow plank walkway spanning a black chasm of fast-moving underground currents.

She hesitated only a second.

Then crossed.

The bridge howled under her weight. A board snapped beneath her heel and she lurched forward, grabbing the rope rail just in time.

Behind her, footsteps echoed faintly.

They were following.

She forced herself across the last stretch of the bridge and stumbled onto solid ground. A sign of some kind had been carved into the rock ahead—an ancient symbol resembling an hourglass split in two.

She didn’t know what it meant.

But she knew the Garden did.

She kept going.

The tunnel opened into a smaller room—one with walls scratched by nails, marked by desperate words etched in stone:

I AM NOT BLOOM
LET ME OUT
HE DOESN’T WANT ME
THE LIGHT IS COLD

Sassy pressed her hand to her heart.

Wren had spoken of this place.

The discarded girls.
The broken ones.
The ones who didn’t fit the ritual.

Sassy whispered into the shadows, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry they did this to you.”

A sound behind her made her whirl—
but it wasn’t footsteps.

It was water.

A hidden opening at the back of the room spilled into a narrow drainage channel.

Escape.

Or at least distance.

She crouched, squeezing her body through the tight gap until her shoulders grated against the stone. The water was cold but shallow, trickling over her hands as she crawled through. She didn’t know where it led. But the voices behind her were getting louder. So, she followed the water. After several minutes of crawling, the stone opened up again into a lower corridor—torchlit, still, empty. She staggered to her feet, soaked, shaking, but alive.

She wasn’t caught.

She wasn’t dead.

She wasn’t done.

She put one hand on the wall to steady herself.

“Jimmy,” she said. “I’m coming. I swear I’m coming.”

Her voice echoed faintly, swallowed quickly by the dark.

But she didn’t hear the faint answering echo that slipped through the tunnels behind her—a voice too soft to place, too distant to trust, and too calm to belong to someone fighting for freedom.

35

The torch flickered along the stone walls, casting trembling shapes that made the corridor feel alive, as though the shadows themselves were alive. Sassy pressed forward, dripping, freezing, and half-dizzy, but refusing to stop.

Every step felt like her body was made of glass: fragile, rattling, ready to shatter.

But Jimmy’s face stayed in her mind like a pulse.

Hold on.
Hold on until I find you.

Her hands trailed along the wall as she moved, grounding herself, feeling the vibrations of distant footsteps and the faint thrum of chanting somewhere far below. The Garden’s rituals reverberated through the stone like a heartbeat.

She tried not to think about what, or who, those rituals were meant for.

The corridor forked again. This time, a faint warm draft drifted from the passage on the right, air that smelled faintly of smoke and something else. Something human.

Sassy turned that way.

The tunnel opened into a circular stone room no larger than a storage cellar. Shelves lined the walls, filled with folded linen garments, oil lamps, and binders labeled with dates.

Candles burned on a long altar table—freshly lit. Someone had been here minutes ago. Sassy froze as her eyes landed on a scrap of fabric lying atop the table.

A shirt.

A blue denim work shirt.

Jimmy’s.

The breath punched out of her.

She rushed forward, snatching it up in trembling hands, pressing it to her chest, inhaling deeply. It smelled like him. Warm skin and motor oil and the faint trace of cologne he pretended he didn’t wear.

She nearly collapsed under the wave of relief and grief.

“He was here,” she said, voice cracking. “Jimmy… you were right here.”

But the shirt wasn’t torn.
It wasn’t bloodied.
It wasn’t mishandled.

It had been folded.

Placed neatly, reverently, as though prepared for some ceremony.

Reverence was worse than violence.

Reverence meant purpose.

She scanned the room rapidly, hands shaking, eyes burning. On a nearby shelf, she found a leather-bound notebook—heavy, thick with pages marked by ribbon and tabs. She opened it to the most recent entry. Her stomach twisted.

PROTECTOR — CONFIRMATION PROCESS COMMENCED.
THE SUBJECT SHOWS SIGNS OF WILLINGNESS.
FURTHER STEPS UNDERWAY.

Sassy’s pulse roared in her ears.

Willingness?

No.

No.

He wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

They were twisting him.
Drugging him.
Forcing him.
Lying.

Her hand slammed the notebook shut.

“This is wrong,” she snapped fiercely. “This is not him.”

But a tiny voice inside her—the voice of past fear, past uncertainty—echoed Elara’s warnings, Wren’s trembling explanations:

Belief doesn’t require consent.
Attachment can become obedience.
Devotion is the easiest leash.

Sassy shoved the thoughts away and grabbed an oil lamp. She needed light. She needed clarity. She needed motion.

But before she could leave, she heard footsteps.

Close.

Coming fast.

She ducked behind the shelving, heart pounding so hard she feared it would echo off the walls.

Two Garden guards entered the room—hooded, masked, moving with quiet certainty. They did not search. They did not speak. They walked directly to the table. One lifted Jimmy’s shirt.

“How long until he is ready?” one guard asked.

The other replied, “The High Mother believes he has already begun accepting his purpose. The Bloom will follow.”

“I heard he was resisting.”

“At first. They always do.”

Sassy’s fingers curled painfully around the edge of the shelf.

“He asks for her,” the guard added. “For the Bloom.”

“But not with fear,” the guard continued. “With devotion. With longing. He wants her here.”

Sassy pressed a shaking hand over her mouth, fighting the scream building in her throat.

It wasn’t true.
It couldn’t be true.
Jimmy wouldn’t…
He couldn’t…

But the way they said it—
calm
certain
unshaken—
felt like a blow to her chest.

“He is aligning,” the guard finished. “Soon, he will not resist.”

“Then prepare the Chamber.”

Jimmy’s shirt was placed back on the table with reverent precision. The guards turned and left. Silence returned.

Sassy waited until her legs stopped threatening collapse before stepping out, the lamp glowing weakly in her hand. Her heart was a storm.

“This is manipulation,” she said holding back a flood of emotion. “This is lies. They’re twisting him. He’s scared. He’s alone.”

But the words didn’t comfort her the way they should have. Because the guards had spoken with the easy confidence of people who’d witnessed a hundred similar transformations. Because the room smelled like ritual, like supplication, like surrender. Because his shirt wasn’t tossed aside in violence—It was laid out like an offering.

Sassy staggered back into the corridor, gripping the lamp so tightly the metal bit into her palm.

She didn’t notice the faint smear of ash on the floor where her boot stepped. Nor did she notice the watching eyes in a shadowed alcove behind her.

Wren.

Sassy nearly collided with Wren when the girl stepped out into the light of the lamp, panting, terrified.

“You’re alive,” Sassy said. “How did you find me?”

Wren didn’t answer. Her face was pale, eyes too wide.

“What’s wrong?” Sassy asked.

Wren swallowed. Her voice was almost lost in the darkness.

“I heard the guards talking,” she said. “The ones searching for you.”

“And?” Sassy pressed.

Wren hesitated—then forced the words out:

“They said the Protector… isn’t fighting them anymore.”

Sassy felt her knees go weak.

Wren grabbed her arms. “Sassy. Listen to me. If the Protector accepts the Garden, even a little, they’ll use him to pull you back. He’s the key. You’re the lock.”

Sassy’s throat closed.

Wren’s voice cracked:

“And if he willingly walks toward them again…you won’t be able to stop him.”

Before Sassy could respond, a thunderous crack split the tunnel. The ground trembled. Stone dust rained from the ceiling. An alarm bell began to ring somewhere deep below.

Wren’s eyes widened. “They know someone entered from the upper levels. They’re sealing the passages.”

“We have to go!” Sassy shouted.

She grabbed Wren’s wrist, running blindly down the corridor— Only for the floor ahead of them to split with a deafening roar. Sassy stumbled backward as the stone collapsed into a deep ravine, separating her from Wren.

Wren’s scream echoed as she fell backward into another branching tunnel.

“WREN!” Sassy cried.

“I’m okay!” Wren shouted faintly. “But we’re separated! Find another way forward!”

Sassy sobbed uncontrollably. “I can’t lose you too!”

“You won’t!” Wren called. “But Sassy—listen!”

Sassy wiped her eyes, blinking away dust.

Wren’s voice echoed faintly:

“If Jimmy has crossed the threshold…you must be the one to break him out. No one else can.”

Then the echo faded.

Sassy stood alone.

Lamp shaking.

Heart breaking.

And somewhere in the labyrinth—Jimmy was moving.

Changing.

Aligning.

Whether he chose it
or whether the Garden chose it for him—

Sassy could no longer tell. But she knew one thing:

She still loved him.

And she would go as deep as the Garden dared to take him
to rip him back out.

26

Sassy followed the faint wails echoing through the narrow passage, each sound slicing into her like a blade. The tunnel sloped downward again, the air tightening and warming, as though she were moving closer to the core of something alive.

The ground vibrated softly beneath her palms.

Voices carried faintly hushed, ritualistic, rhythmic. Not supernatural but scripted, learned, repeated for generations.

“In devotion there is purpose.
In purpose there is clarity.
In clarity there is light.”

Sassy clenched her teeth as the words dredged up memories she didn’t want—women standing in circles, swaying, chanting, while she hid behind her mother’s skirt.

This is who they are, she told herself.
Not mystical.
Not divine.
Just broken people trying to force meaning onto children.

She moved faster.

The tunnel bent sharply, then opened into a small antechamber cut from raw stone. A lantern flickered weakly on the wall. On the floor—

Sassy’s heart stopped.

Jimmy lay on his side.

Hands bound.
Pulse visible in his neck.
A bruise blooming along his jaw.
Blood at his temple.

Still breathing.

“Jimmy—”

She dropped to her knees, dragging him gently into her lap. His eyelids fluttered.

“S-Sass?” His voice was low, slurred. He squinted up at her, disoriented. “Where—where are we?”

“The Garden took you,” she whispered, brushing hair from his forehead. “I’m getting you out.”

He tried pushing himself up but winced as pain shot through his ribs. “I heard them… talking. They think… they think I’m something I’m not.”

“I know,” she said, voice trembling. “They always have.”

His eyes focused on her, clearer now but full of fear he couldn’t mask. “Sassy… what if something inside me is—wrong? What if I’ve been pushed into you? Toward you? Since we were little? What if I’m the reason they found us here?”

Her throat tightened. “Jimmy—no. We choose each other. That’s real. You hear me?”

He swallowed hard. “But what if they can use me? What if I… help them somehow without meaning to?”

Sassy grabbed his face in both hands, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Then we break whatever they believe. Together. You’re not what they think you are.”

Jimmy’s breaths turned shallow. “But I felt something, Sass. In that room. When they called me Protector. It was like—like a memory that wasn’t mine.”

Sassy’s stomach twisted.

Before she could respond, footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Voices.
Multiple.
Growing closer.

Jimmy pulled himself into a sitting position, fighting through the pain. “Go. Run.”

“No,” she said fiercely. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“Sassy, you have to. If they take you—”

“They won’t,” she snapped. “I found something. From my mother. Answers. And we need them.”

Jimmy’s brows drew together, dizzy and confused. “Answers… about what?”

“About the Protector. About you,” she said.

His voice faltered. “Sass… what did she write?”

Sassy opened her mouth—

But it was too late.

The chamber on the far end of the tunnel lit up—torches sparking to life one by one. A semicircle of hooded figures stepped into view, moving in silent formation. Their faces were obscured, but their posture radiated control, certainty, belief.

Two held staffs.
Two held ropes.
One stepped forward, lowering her hood slightly.

A woman with dark hair streaked with silver, eyes sharp and cold.

She smiled gently.

Too gently.

“Bloom,” she said softly. “You came.”

Sassy stood, fists tight. “You’re not my mother.”

“No,” the woman agreed calmly. “I’m not. But I am what she could have been, had she not broken the chain.”

Sassy’s blood went ice-cold.

Jimmy tried to rise, but two followers stepped forward quickly, gripping his arms, holding him down.

“No!” Sassy yelled, lunging—

The silver-streaked woman lifted her hand.

Every follower froze at once.

Not magically—
Rigidly.
Obediently.
Conditioned.

Sassy stopped in her tracks.

“Let him go.”

The woman tilted her head. “He cannot be released. He is essential. You both are.”

Jimmy struggled. “I’m not part of your sick doctrine.”

“Not by choice,” the woman said gently. “But lineage is lineage.”

Sassy’s chest ached. “Why us? Why him? Why did you choose us?”

The woman sighed, almost sadly.

“Child… we didn’t choose. The framework was laid long before your birth. Decades of observation. Generations of prophecy-writing. Belief shapes destiny more tightly than blood.”

“We don’t believe in you,” Sassy spat.

“But belief doesn’t need consent,” the woman replied.

Jimmy’s face tightened in fear and shame.

Sassy stepped forward. “If you hurt him—”

“We won’t,” the woman interrupted calmly. “He is the Protector. He will fulfill his role. And you—Bloom—will fulfill yours.”

Jimmy’s words came out in a broken whisper. “Sassy… don’t listen to them.”

Sassy’s hands trembled—but she lifted her chin.

“You think you know us,” she said, voice shaking but loud. “But you don’t.”

The woman smiled like a teacher indulging a student. “Oh, child. It is you who doesn’t know yourself.”

Sassy’s jaw clenched. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” the woman snarled.

She snapped her fingers.

Two followers stepped aside revealing something etched into the far wall behind them, soaked in brightness by the flickering light of the torch.

A mural.
Old.
But unmistakable.

A girl with Sassy’s hair.
A boy with Jimmy’s profile.

Standing hand in hand.

Not fate.
Not prophecy.
Not mysticism.

Indoctrination.

Drawn decades ago.

Sassy’s heart cracked. Jimmy let out a low, gutted sound.

The woman stepped closer.

“You were never accidents,” she said. “You were raised toward each other. The Bloom must love the Protector for the ritual to work. You were always a pair.”

Jimmy broke.

“No. NO. Our love is ours. You don’t get to claim it!”

The woman smiled.

“Children… everything you are—your fears, your attachments, your strengths—was carefully tended long before you noticed each other.”

Jimmy’s face collapsed. Sassy’s breath tore out of her lungs.

“We didn’t choose the prophecy,” the woman said softly.
“The prophecy chose you.”

Sassy’s eyes filled with tears.

“No,” she said hoarsely. “You’re not prophecy. You’re manipulators. You’re architects of trauma.”

But the woman only smiled.

“Come. Both of you. Your roles are waiting.”

As the followers stepped forward to seize Jimmy fully, Sassy’s heart split in two:

Half screaming for him.
Half screaming in rebellion against the pattern drawn for them.

She inhaled sharply—
hands closing into fists—
and made a decision that would change everything.

She would rescue him.
Break their doctrine.
Shatter the pattern.

But first, she would escape again. And she would come back armed with the truth.

27

The chamber spun around Sassy. Jimmy’s strangled voice echoing through the stone, the followers’ hands gripping him, the mural that rewrote their lives in strokes of delusion.

Her heart shuddered in her chest.

You were always a pair, the woman had said.
The prophecy chose you.

Sassy’s mind fractured.

But she didn’t collapse.

She didn’t surrender.

She ran.

Not away from Jimmy but toward the only exit the followers hadn’t blocked.

The narrow corridor she’d noticed earlier, half-hidden behind a crumbled pillar.

“STOP HER!” the silver-streaked woman commanded.

Sassy didn’t look back.

She sprinted through the tunnel, feet slapping against stone, lungs burning. Behind her, footsteps thundered. Chaotic but determined.

Jimmy shouted her name, voice raw:

“SASSY—RUN!”

She did. She ran with every ounce of fear, fury, love, and defiance tightening her muscles and turning her breath into fire.

The tunnel tilted upward, then sharply left, leading her into a cramped stone passage barely wide enough to squeeze through. She shoved herself forward, scraping her elbows, ignoring the sting of blood.

Behind her the followers stumbled, slowed by the tunnel’s narrowness.

Sassy pushed on. The passage opened into a cavern lit by a single lantern that flickered weakly over years of dust and debris. She froze. Someone was already there. A figure huddled near the far wall; arms wrapped tightly around their knees.

A girl.
No—older than a girl. Early twenties, maybe.

Her hair hung in dark, tangled waves, her clothes thin and dirty, her skin paled by months, maybe years, underground.

But it was her eyes that stopped Sassy cold.

Wide.
Haunted.
And familiar.

The girl flinched when she saw Sassy, pressing herself tighter into the corner.

“No,” she said hoarsely. “No more tests. I said no more…”

Sassy raised both hands slowly. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m trying to escape.”

The girl blinked at her, disoriented. “Escape…?”

Sassy nodded. “The Garden is behind me. You have to move. If you stay—”

The girl scrambled backward, shaking her head violently. “Don’t let them take me to the Light Room again. Don’t let them make me confess. I’ve confessed everything. There’s nothing left.”

Her voice broke on the word left.

Sassy’s blood ran cold. She recognized the tone. The fear. The vocabulary.

“Are… are you one of them?” Sassy asked. “A Bloom? A chosen girl?”

The girl’s laugh was cracked and hollow. “Chosen? No. No, I failed. They said my devotion was weak. They punished me for it. They left me down here after the last ritual went wrong.”

Sassy’s stomach twisted. “How long have you been here?”

The girl looked down at her hands—thin, trembling, marked with ash-stained fingerprints.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I lost track of days.”

Footsteps thundered farther down the tunnel. Time was running out.

Sassy moved closer. “What’s your name?”

The girl stiffened. Then, after a long moment:

“Wren.”

Sassy’s sucked in the thick, night air. “Wren… will you come with me?”

Wren shook her head. “I don’t go up there. If I go up, they’ll find me. They always find me.”

Sassy crouched, lowering her voice. “They’re coming now. They’re coming for me—and you’re right in their path. If they find you, they won’t bring you back for tests. They’ll finish the ritual you escaped.”

Wren’s face drained of color. “No…”

Footsteps grew louder. Voices echoed.

“Find her!”
“She won’t get far.”
“Check the side passages!”

Sassy grabbed Wren’s wrist gently. “I can’t do this alone. Jimmy—my friend—they’ve taken him. I need help. You know these tunnels better than anyone. Please.”

Wren trembled. Her eyes darted toward the corridor the followers would soon reach. And something shifted in her expression.

Hope.

Fear.

A spark of rebellion buried under years of pain.

She stood—unsteady but determined.

“This way,” Wren whispered, pulling Sassy toward a nearly invisible crack in the cavern wall.

Sassy hesitated. “That’s solid rock.”

“No,” Wren trembled. “The Garden teaches what to see—and what to ignore.”

She pressed her palm against the crack.

A hidden latch clicked. The wall swung inward, revealing a narrow stone chute.

Sassy stared in shock. “How did you—?”

“They hid it from the Bloom girls,” Wren said, eyes glinting. “But not from the failures.”

More footsteps. Closer. Sassy could hear the silver-streaked woman now, voice sharp and commanding.

“Do not let the Bloom reach the surface!”

Wren grabbed Sassy’s hand. “If you want to escape—go.”

They slipped into the chute and pulled the stone door shut behind them. Darkness swallowed them whole. But Sassy felt something she hadn’t felt in hours. A small, fragile thread of possibility. An unlikely ally.

Wren exhaled shakily in the dark. “If we survive, you’ll owe me.”

Sassy squeezed her hand. “If we survive, I’ll save him. I promise.”

Together, they descended deeper into the hidden passage—
leaving the Garden’s voices behind,
leaving Jimmy in their grasp,
and stepping into a darkness that might finally hold a way out.

28

The hidden passage was so narrow Sassy had to turn sideways just to breathe. The stone scraped her shoulders, and every footfall sent echoes spiraling into the dark beneath them. Wren moved ahead without hesitation, though her steps were cautious, practiced. Sassy followed, relying on the faint glow of Wren’s small, stolen lantern.

Far behind them, the echo of the Garden’s voices slowly dissolved into stone.

Sassy exhaled shakily. “How did you know about this tunnel?”

Wren didn’t answer at first. Her breath rasped quietly, and Sassy sensed she was deciding whether she trusted her.

Finally, Wren spoke, her voice thin but steady. “This passage was built for girls who were… removed.”

“Removed?” Sassy repeated, heartbeat spiking.

Wren nodded, lantern trembling slightly in her hand. “Used-up Blooms. Failed Blooms. Girls who didn’t rise to what the Garden expected. They taught us how to walk this route when we were no longer of value.”

Sassy’s stomach twisted. “They taught you to escape?”

Wren shook her head sharply. “Not escape.” She glanced back, eyes shimmering in the dim light. “To go away quietly. To disappear. To die, if we needed to.”

Sassy stumbled over a loose stone. “Wren—what did they do to you?”

Wren turned forward again, her hair falling like a curtain around her face. Her voice was flat. Detached. The voice of someone recalling a nightmare so often it had lost its sharp edges but not its pain.

“I was chosen at eight,” she began. “They said my dreams were clear. That my blood was receptive. That I was ‘obedient and open.’” A bitter laugh escaped her. “I was neither.”

Sassy’s heart clenched. “What did they—train—you for?”

“Readiness,” Wren explained. “We spent hours in the Light Room. Kneeling. Confessing. They said the Bloom needed purity. Clarity. No doubt. No fear.”

Sassy shuddered. “What happened if you showed fear?”

“They wrote it down.” Wren’s hands tightened around the lantern. “And then punished it.”

“Punished how?” Sassy asked softly, dreading the answer.

Wren’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Isolation. Starvation. Shaming. Chanting for hours. Sometimes… sometimes they touched your face and told you disappointment was your fault. That your destiny was slipping.”

“Wren…” Sassy said locking in on her gaze.

“It got worse when I turned twelve,” Wren continued. “I couldn’t memorize the doctrines. My voice cracked during chants. I didn’t ‘bind well’ with the Protector candidate they paired me with.”

Sassy froze. “Protector candidate?”

Wren nodded grimly. “They always tested boys. Kind boys. Loyal ones. Ones they thought could be shaped. Trained to attach to us.”

Sassy’s heart skipped a beat.
Jimmy.
Jimmy, who was always kind.
Always loyal.

“They told me my Protector rejected me,” Wren said. “That I was failing him. Failing fate.”

“That’s insane,” Sassy said, voice trembling. “None of this is real.”

Wren stopped walking. Completely.

She turned to Sassy, jaw tight. “It doesn’t matter if it’s real. They believe it. And belief is more powerful than any ritual.”

“Is that when they punished you?” Sassy knew the answer before she asked.

Wren nodded once. Hard.

“And when they were done… they led me to this tunnel. Told me I could leave quietly. That I wasn’t part of the Garden anymore. That a Bloom who doesn’t rise is an infection.”

Sassy’s stomach dropped. “They cast you out.”

“They buried me alive,” Wren said hollowly. “Down here. With no food. No light. No voice.”

Sassy covered her mouth, tears burning her eyes. “How are you still alive?”

Wren resumed walking, shoulders rigid. “Not because they wanted me to be.”

The tunnel opened slightly wider, and Sassy could see Wren more clearly now—her hollow cheeks, her trembling fingers, her scarred wrists.

Wren raised the lantern to a stone archway up ahead. Carved into it was a symbol: an hourglass broken down the center.

Sassy frowned. “What does that mean?”

Wren swallowed. “It means this path leads out. To the old waterworks beneath the Grove. The discarded initiates used it to disappear so the Garden didn’t have to dirty their hands.”

“And you didn’t leave,” Sassy said quietly.

Wren’s shoulders trembled. “I was afraid to see the sky again. Afraid they’d drag me back. Afraid I’d go mad if I left the dark.”

Sassy stepped closer, touching Wren’s arm gently. “You didn’t go mad.”

Wren laughed—brittle and broken. “Don’t be so sure.”

They walked deeper until the tunnel widened into a sloping stone ramp. The air changed—moister, fresher.

Sassy inhaled. “We’re close to the surface.”

Wren nodded. “But we’re not safe yet. They know these tunnels exist. They just think girls like me don’t matter enough to use them.”

Sassy took Wren’s hand. “You matter to me.”

Wren’s throat tightened. She looked away.

After a moment, she whispered, “Why did they take your boy?”

Sassy blinked at her. “What?”

“Your Protector,” Wren clarified. “He’s the one they want. The ritual doesn’t begin with you. It begins with him.”

Sassy’s pulse spiked as a wave of panic consumed her body and mind. “Why? Why him?”

Wren met her eyes.

“There are many Blooms,” she said. “But only one Protector.”

Sassy staggered back. “No—no, Jimmy isn’t—”

Wren squeezed her hand. “Sassy… he is. Whether he chose it or not. Whether you choose it or not. The Garden’s entire belief system hinges on him.”

Sassy’s lungs burned. “But they can’t use him. They won’t.”

Wren nodded. “Then we have to get to the surface. And fast.”

Sassy swallowed the rising panic, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Behind them, somewhere deep in the labyrinth, she thought she heard Jimmy shout her name again.

She hardened.

“We’ll save him,” Sassy said, gripping Wren’s hand. “Together.”

Wren stared at her, eyes glistening.

Then, for the first time, she nodded with certainty.

“Together.”

They moved toward the light ahead—the secret exit of the discarded girls—ready to claw their way back into the world and rip the Garden’s doctrine apart, piece by poisoned piece.

29

The tunnel sloped upward at a sharper angle, the air growing damp and cold. Wren tightened her grip on the tiny lantern as they climbed, its flickering light barely carving through the suffocating dark.

“Almost there,” Wren said, breath uneven. “I can smell the outside.”

Sassy nodded, though her throat felt tight. Each step forward was a battle between hope and terror. Jimmy’s voice still echoed in her skull—calling her name, shouting at her to run, fighting as they dragged him away.

Hold on, Jimmy, she whispered to herself. I’m coming back for you.

The passage narrowed one last time, then abruptly widened into a circular stone chamber. Above them, a rusted grate let thin shafts of moonlight spill onto the floor.

Wren lowered the lantern and looked up. “This is it.”

Sassy examined the grate. It was bolted into the old stone, but corrosion had weakened the hinges. She reached up, grabbed the metal bars, and pulled.

Nothing.

She tried again, bracing her foot against the wall, using her entire body weight. The metal reverberated.

Wren stepped beside her. “Together.”

They pulled—shoulders shaking, muscles burning—until the hinges shrieked and snapped. The grate swung loose, falling outward with a heavy clang.

Fresh night air rushed in.

Sassy nearly cried from the cold sweetness of it.

Wren extinguished the lantern and shoved it into her pocket. “Go. Before anyone hears.”

Sassy hoisted herself up through the opening and rolled onto soft grass. She blinked into the moonlit night.

They were in the woods—dense, wild, familiar in a way that made her chest ache.

Wren climbed out after her, collapsing onto her back and inhaling deeply. “Sky,” she said, awestruck. “I forgot what real sky looked like.”

Sassy pushed herself to her knees. She could still hear faint echoes from underground—chanting, footsteps, the clatter of movement. The Garden was still searching. And Jimmy was still below. Trapped. Alone.

Her hands curled into fists.

“We need help,” she said, voice hoarse.

Wren looked at her, wary. “Help from who? Your mother? That’s who they used to lure you.”

Sassy shook her head fiercely. “Not her. Someone who has guns, land, and zero patience for cult bullshit.”

Wren blinked. “Who?”

“Benji Fallon.”

Wren stared as if Sassy had spoken another language. “The Fallon boy? The one you said bullied you?”

“He’s not gentle,” Sassy admitted. “And Jimmy hates him. But he’s loyal. Brutal when he needs to be. And he doesn’t answer to anyone.” Her voice wavered as she rose to her feet. “He’s the only person left who can help me get Jimmy back.”

Wren hesitated. “Will he help you? After everything?”

Sassy thought of the moment weeks ago—Benji lifting her off the shower floor, his arms steady, his rage at seeing her broken, his voice trembling as he promised, I won’t let anything happen to you.

And she nodded.

“Yes. He’ll help.”

Wren pushed herself upright. “Then we’d better move fast. The Garden will come aboveground now that they know you escaped.”

Sassy scanned the woods. She recognized the hill line. The slope of the trees. The faint glow of a distant farmhouse light.

“We’re a few miles from Fallon land,” she said quietly. “We can cut through the east ridge and follow the creek. It’ll take us right to his property.”

Wren frowned. “What if he’s not alone? What if his family is there?”

“Even better,” Sassy said. “I need guns. Trucks. Men who aren’t afraid to break the law if it means protecting their own.”

But beneath her determination sat a deeper truth:

She didn’t trust many people.
Her world had been manipulated, rewritten, stolen.

But Benji Fallon—
rough edges, bad temper, fierce loyalty—
was the one person who had never asked anything of her.
Never tried to own her.
Never believed in the Garden.

He was dangerous. But he was their kind of dangerous. And she needed dangerous right now.

Sassy started down the hill, Wren limping behind her. Branches snapped beneath their feet. The forest seemed to carry their urgency forward.

“Why him?” Wren asked quietly. “Why trust him?”

Sassy swallowed. “Because Jimmy would die before asking him. Because Benji hates violators more than he hates Jimmy. And because…”

She paused, her chest tightening.

“Because once, when I was falling apart, he held me like he’d been waiting his whole life for me to need him.”

Wren’s eyes softened. “Jealousy?”

“No,” Sassy said. “Protection. Real protection. Not the Garden’s.”

As the first pale hints of dawn crept over the horizon, she could see the top of the Fallon barn silhouetted against the sky. Relief washed over her so hard she stumbled.

Wren caught her arm. “You good?”

“No,” Sassy said. “But I’m not stopping.”

They moved through the tall grass, across the old fence line, up the gravel path. When they reached the porch of the Fallon farmhouse, Sassy didn’t knock. She pounded.

Hard.
Reckless.
Desperate.

A light flicked on inside. A shadow approached.

Wren tensed, stepping behind Sassy as the door swung open.

Benji stood there—shirtless, boots unlaced, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. But his eyes sharpened instantly when he saw her.

“Sassy?”

Her voice cracked.

“Benji… I need you.”

The hardness in his face melted into something fierce and immediate.

“As long as I’m standing,” he said, stepping aside, “you’ll have me.”

30

The moon was their compass. Sassy followed it like a lifeline, its silver glow threading through the treetops as she and Wren crossed fields, waded creek beds, and climbed ragged hills. Every muscle in her body screamed but stopping wasn’t an option. Not with Jimmy’s voice echoing behind her. Not with the Garden somewhere in the dark.

But the night—
despite the terror—
was beautiful.

The world breathed around her gently, as if unaware of the cruelty hiding beneath its soil.

Crickets hummed.
Wind rustled through tall grass.
Branches swayed to a rhythm older than the Garden’s doctrines.

The moon lit the dew on the leaves like scattered glass.

Wren stumbled beside her, thinner and more fragile under the open sky, the lantern extinguished and useless. But she kept moving, kept following Sassy’s determined stride.

“How far?” Wren said, breath ragged.

“Another ridge,” Sassy said while plotting their path. “Then the fields. Then Fallon land.”

“You’ve walked this before.”

Sassy nodded. “When Jimmy and I were kids. We’d cut across here to get to the creek. Pretend we were explorers. Warriors. Anything but… normal.”

Wren studied her. “Maybe that was the real you. Before the Garden tried to make you something else.”

Sassy didn’t answer.
The truth was too complicated.
Too painful.

Her childhood had been split—
half joy with Jimmy,
half terror she didn’t understand.

They reached the top of a hill and paused.

Below them stretched a valley of wildflowers—pale gold in the moonlight. Night air swept over the field, carrying the scent of soil and clover. Sassy inhaled deeply, letting the earth ground her.

“This is beautiful,” Wren said in awe. Taking in all her surroundings.

“It saved me once,” Sassy said softly. “When I was little, I used to run through this field when Mom got… strange. When she’d stare out the window muttering things I didn’t understand. I’d come out here because the world made sense.”

“And does it now?” Wren asked.

Sassy’s throat tightened. “No. But I know where I belong right now.”

She stepped into the field, letting the tall grass brush her palms. The moon turned her hair pale gold, her shadow long and steady ahead of her. Every step carried equal parts pain and purpose.

Wren followed slowly, marveling. “This place… it’s nothing like the tunnels.”

“Nothing is,” Sassy said. “This is what the Garden pretended to give people—light, nature, purpose. But all they were ever offering was darkness.”

Wren’s voice cracked. “You’re not going back alone, you know.”

Sassy turned to her. “I know. I don’t want you to.”

Wren looked stunned. “After everything I told you—after what they made me—why would you trust me?”

Sassy continued walking, answering without looking back.

“Because the Garden forgot something. They taught obedience, fear, ritual. But they never taught loyalty. Or love. Or choice.”

She paused. “And you chose to run with me.”

Silence. Then Wren whispered, “Thank you.”

They reached the far end of the field. The land rose again into a slope dotted with old trees. Sassy’s legs trembled as she climbed, using her hands to steady herself on roots and branches.

The woods thinned. At the crest of the hill, she stopped. Wren caught up beside her. And together, they looked down into the valley where Benji Fallon’s land stretched wide under the moon.

The barn—a familiar silhouette—stood tall and silent, its weathered wood gleaming silver. The farmhouse glowed faintly, lantern light flickering in a single window.

Sassy’s calmed down. She felt something she hadn’t felt in hours. Safety. And shamefully—hope. But also fear.

Because Jimmy wasn’t beside her.
Because she’d have to tell Benji what happened.
Because she’d have to ask him to risk his family, his land, his life for a man he’d always hated.

Wren touched her shoulder gently. “Ready?”

“No,” Sassy said. “But I’m going anyway.”

They descended the hill.

The grass turned to gravel beneath their shoes. The porch lights flickered on in response to the motion. Dogs began barking in the distance. A wind chime clanged softly.

The world felt so alive—
so painfully normal—
that Sassy nearly sobbed.

By the time they reached the porch, her legs were shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. Tears stung her eyes as she lifted her hand to knock.

But she didn’t have to.

The door opened before she touched it.

Benji stood there barefoot, shirt rumpled, hair messy, eyes sharp in a way that made Sassy’s knees go weak.

His gaze moved from her tear-stained face to her scraped arms to Wren trembling behind her.

“Sassy,” he said.

She opened her mouth.

No words came.

So, she simply said—

“I need help.”

Benji’s jaw tightened. Not in anger, but in unspoken loyalty. He stepped closer, lifting her chin gently with a single finger.

“You got it,” he said. “Whatever it is. You got me.”

Sassy exhaled a sob and collapsed into his arms. Wren stood awkwardly on the porch, wary, waiting. Benji looked up at her over Sassy’s shoulder, expression turning cold and calculating.

“You her friend?”

Wren swallowed. “No. But I’m helping her.”

Benji nodded once. “Then you’re safe here.”

He lifted Sassy effortlessly. One arm beneath her knees, one supporting her back—and carried her inside, the way you carry something precious.

Sassy buried her face against his chest as the door closed behind them. For the first time since Jimmy was taken she didn’t feel alone.

21

Ash Grove looked emptier than Sassy remembered—an expanse of old farmland reclaimed by weeds and silence. Moonlight washed everything in a sickly gray, catching the edges of broken fence posts and the skeletal remains of barns long collapsed.

Jimmy carried the flashlight. Sassy carried the notebook.

Their footsteps crunched over the dead leaves as they crossed the clearing toward the stand of trees at its center. The grove itself was a ring—thicker, darker, older than the surrounding woods. Sassy stopped at the threshold.

“I’ve been here,” she whispered. “Not physically. But in dreams. Or memories.”

Jimmy tightened his grip on her hand. “You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

She stepped forward anyway.

The air inside the grove felt different—not colder or darker, but heavier.

Sassy closed her eyes. “Something’s beneath us.”

Jimmy swept the flashlight across the ground. Roots knotted through the soil, tangled into shapes that almost resembled symbols.

After several minutes of searching, Jimmy spotted it: a corner of concrete half-swallowed by earth, covered in moss and leaves.

“Here,” he said, kneeling. “Looks like a foundation.”

Sassy helped him clear the debris. Under the moss was a trapdoor—wooden, reinforced with rusted hardware. A faint symbol was etched into the surface, carved by someone who believed they were immortalizing meaning.

The hourglass shape.

Sassy recoiled instinctively. Jimmy steadied her.

“It’s just a carving,” he whispered. “It has no power.”

But it did.

Not supernatural power—
the power of repetition.
Of indoctrination.
Of memory.

Jimmy pulled on the metal ring. The trapdoor open, releasing a wave of stale, earthy air.

He pointed the flashlight into the dark. A narrow set of stairs descended into what looked like a cellar—or something much older.

“You sure?” Jimmy asked.

“No,” Sassy said.

And she stepped down first.

At the bottom of the stairs was a long corridor lined with decayed wood paneling. Sassy’s breath was shallow and fast. Jimmy walked close behind her, the beam of light shaking ever so slightly in his hand.

At the end of the corridor stood a door.
It wasn’t locked.
It wasn’t even fully closed.

Sassy hesitated. “This is it.”

Jimmy touched her back. “Open it.”

Inside was a small room—no bigger than a bedroom. The walls were lined with shelves filled with journals, boxes of documents, lanterns long extinguished. In the center sat a table with wooden chairs arranged around it.

A meeting room.
A teaching room.
A place where beliefs took root.

Sassy circled slowly. The air felt thick with dust and echoes—of voices, of chanting, of fear disguised as devotion.

Jimmy stopped at a shelf and pulled a folder marked:

EARLY BLOOMS — RANKING & READINESS

Sassy’s stomach lurched. “They graded children.”

Jimmy opened the folder. Inside were records—profiles of little girls, photographs paper-clipped to handwritten notes.

“God…” Jimmy whispered. “They documented everything. Behavioral patterns. Anxiety responses. Nightmares. Dreams. Who they trusted. Who they feared.”

He turned a page and froze.

Sassy’s school photo—age six.

The wind knocked out of her.

“That’s why my mother made me switch schools,” she whispered. “She said it was because I wasn’t fitting in. But it was because they were watching.”

Jimmy reached for her, but she stepped back, eyes flooding.

“I wasn’t special, Jimmy. I was observed. Selected. Groomed.”

Jimmy swallowed hard. “Sassy—this doesn’t define you.”

“It does,” she whispered. “At least part of me. Part of my memories. Part of my childhood.”

Jimmy shook his head fiercely. “No. You define you.”

Sassy looked around the room again, pulse racing.

“How did we meet, Jimmy?”

He blinked. “What?”

“How did we really meet? Not the story we tell—the truth.”

Jimmy frowned. “We met in third grade. You dropped your books in the hallway. I helped you pick them up.”

“And why were you there?” she asked.

Jimmy stared at her, confused. “Because we went to the same school.”

She held the folder to her chest like a shield. “My mother switched me into that school mid-year. Out of nowhere. No warning.”

Jimmy’s face fell.

“You think that means something,” he whispered.

“I think it might,” she said. “I think the Garden watched the girls they marked. And maybe they watched the boys too. The ones from Protector families.”

Jimmy’s pulse hammered visibly at his throat. “Sassy… you’re saying my family wasn’t just involved a hundred years ago—”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I’m saying maybe the Garden never stopped watching.”

Jimmy stepped back as if the air had just gone thin. “No. No, I would’ve known. My dad never—my grandfather never—”

“They wouldn’t have told you,” she whispered. “The Protector lineage only matters to them. To their doctrine. Not to the men born into it.”

Jimmy shook his head hard, panic rising. “So, you think they pushed us together? That this wasn’t real?”

Her eyes shone with tears. “I’m asking if it’s possible. If our whole relationship is… contaminated. If it started because someone wanted us to be near each other.”

Jimmy braced himself against the table, knuckles whitening. “So, what—you think everything between us is fake?”

“No,” she said instantly. “No, Jimmy—not fake. But maybe it was nudged. Maybe it was influenced. Maybe the Garden believed this was our path long before we did.”

Jimmy’s voice cracked. “And what do you believe, Sassy?”

She stepped closer, tears spilling. “I believe I love you. I believe we found each other. But I also believe we have to face the possibility that nothing in our childhood happened by accident.”

Jimmy let out a broken exhale.

“Then tell me this,” he said quietly. “Are you with me because you choose me—or because they want you to?”

Sassy’s chest ached. “I’m with you because I choose you. Every minute. Every day.”

Jimmy nodded, voice trembling. “Then that’s real. More real than anything in this room.”

She took his hand. He held on.

But even as their fingers intertwined, the question hung between them:

Were they bound by love?
Or by a doctrine written long before they were born?

They didn’t have an answer yet.

And the secret room around them—full of journals, symbols, names—felt like it wasn’t done revealing the truth.

Not even close.

22

The secret room smelled of dust and forgotten intentions. Jimmy kept the flashlight steady as Sassy moved from shelf to shelf, scanning the labels on old journals and boxes with trembling hands.

BLOOM READINESS — 1960–1980
MIDWIFE COUNCIL TRANSCRIPTS
PURITY LOGS
OBEDIENCE TRIALS

Jimmy flinched. “They wrote down everything.”

“Of course they did,” Sassy whispered. “When you believe you’re chosen, you document your delusions like scripture.”

Her voice was steady, but her eyes were red.

Jimmy stepped closer. “Sass, we don’t have to read all this. We can leave. Burn it. Destroy it.”

She shook her head. “If I don’t understand where I came from, they’ll always own a part of me.”

Jimmy didn’t argue. Not when he knew how much of her life the Garden had already taken.

Sassy reached a smaller shelf in the far corner, half-hidden behind a toppled chair. Something about it felt different—less organized, more frantic. Journals shoved without care. Papers torn from their bindings. Notes scrawled hastily.

A red string tied several documents together in a bundle.

Sassy pulled it free.

Jimmy stepped beside her, angling the light.

The top page was dated 2005.

Sassy inhaled sharply.

“That’s the year I turned five,” she whispered.

She flipped the page.

And froze.

A familiar handwriting filled the page—tight loops, sharp edges.

Her mother’s handwriting.

Sassy’s knees nearly buckled. “No. No, she wouldn’t have written this.”

Jimmy steadied her. “Let me see it.”

Sassy held it to her chest for a moment—protectively, almost painfully—then slowly handed it to him.

He read aloud:

Midwife Notes — Child 11-B
The girl shows high sensitivity. Compliant. Observant. Dreams vivid. Fear responses stronger than average—positive marker.
Her attachment to the Hartwell boy is promising. Recommend proximity reinforced.
She is nearly ready.

Jimmy’s bearings left him in a rush.

Sassy’s hand flew to her mouth as the world tilted under her feet. “She wrote that,” she whispered. “My mother wrote that about me.”

Jimmy dropped the paper to his side. “Sassy—this doesn’t mean she believed it.”

“But she participated,” Sassy choked. “She observed me. Evaluated me. Rated me like they rated all the other girls.”

Jimmy wrapped his arm around her shoulders, but she didn’t collapse—she stiffened.

“She worked with them,” Sassy said hollowly. “Even before she left. She wasn’t trying to keep me safe. She was trying to make me… ready.”

Jimmy shook his head firmly. “No. We don’t know that.”

Sassy grabbed the page back, flipping it over, her hands shaking violently.

On the back were four words written in darker ink:

I must protect her.

Sassy froze.

Jimmy leaned closer. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “The tone changed. Like she was… doubting. Or breaking.”

Jimmy touched the final line with the edge of the flashlight.

Another phrase was scratched below it—frantic, nearly illegible, as if written moments before fleeing.

They will take her from me.

Sassy let out a sharp gasp and sank onto the small wooden chair at the table’s center.

“So, she tried,” Sassy whispered. “She tried to save me. She waited too long, but she tried.”

Jimmy crouched beside her, hand resting lightly on her knee. “Maybe she was trapped. Maybe she was terrified. Maybe leaving was her way of breaking away from everything she’d been forced to believe.”

Sassy nodded slowly, tears falling silently.
But her jaw tightened.

“She knew,” Sassy whispered. “She knew what they wanted from me. She knew what they planned.”

Jimmy took her hand. “And she saved you.”

“Or delayed them,” Sassy murmured.

Jimmy didn’t argue that one.

Not here.
Not surrounded by the ghosts of doctrine.

Sassy flipped another page from the bundle.

A map. Hand drawn. Detailed.

“What is that?”

“It’s the grove,” Sassy said. “But look.”

She pointed to a faint ‘X’ marked beneath the cellar room they stood in.

Jimmy angled the flashlight lower.

“There’s another level,” he whispered.

“A deeper room,” she said. “Something beneath this one.”

Sassy traced the outline of the map with her fingertip.

“This room… the one we’re in… it’s just the meeting space. The real secret is below it.”

Jimmy’s pulse quickened. “We should find the entrance.”

Sassy nodded.

But before they could move, a sound drifted down the stairs. A very soft, very deliberate sound. Footsteps.

Sassy’s blood ran cold.

Jimmy turned off the flashlight, plunging the room into darkness.

They held their breath.

More footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Not searching. Approaching.

Jimmy leaned close, whispering so faintly she felt the words more than heard them.

“They found us.”

Sassy reached for his hand, her grip iron tight.

The footsteps stopped directly outside the door.

A pause.

Then a woman’s voice—soft, calm, familiar in a way that made Sassy’s entire body go rigid.

“Bloom?”
The voice called gently.
“It’s time to come home.”

Jimmy squeezed her hand.

Sassy knew that voice. And she hadn’t heard it since the day her mother ran with her.

23

The voice outside the door froze Sassy’s blood.

“Bloom…? It’s time to come home.”

Jimmy’s hand closed around hers, grip unbreakable, grounding her in the one thing she still knew was real.

Sassy shook her head violently, whispering, “That’s not her. That can’t be her.”

Jimmy leaned close, his voice barely made a noise. “Even if it is—she’s not alone.”

The footsteps shifted outside the room—soft, careful, as if whoever stood there already knew exactly where they were.

Old wood creaked.

Sassy felt panic rising through her chest like something clawing upward. But beneath it, something else stirred—an instinct she didn’t understand.

“Jimmy,” she whispered, fingers trembling as she lifted the map drawn by her mother. “There’s a second room. Beneath this one.”

Jimmy nodded. “We’ll find the entrance. Quietly.”

They moved through the dark by muscle memory and adrenaline, skirting the walls of the secret room. Sassy’s fingers traced the floorboards behind the table, searching for seams. She remembered the map’s mark—near the back corner.

Outside, the voice cooed softly through the door crack:

“Bloom… I know you’re frightened. Let me in. You’ll understand everything.”

Jimmy clenched his jaw, whispering hot against Sassy’s ear, “She’s manipulating you. Don’t listen.”

“I’m not,” Sassy whispered back, though her pulse told another story.

Her hand found a groove in the floorboard. She pressed down. Something clicked.

Jimmy helped her pull up the square of rotted wood. Beneath it lay a metal handle connected to another trapdoor—this one smaller, narrow, almost coffin-like.

Sassy swallowed hard. “This is it.”

Jimmy nodded, lifting it slowly.

A wave of cold, stale air rolled upward, carrying the smell of wet stone and something metallic—like old blood.

“We go together,” Sassy said determined.

Jimmy squeezed her hand. “Always.”

He descended first, dropping silently into darkness. Sassy followed, lowering herself carefully onto a stone platform just as Jimmy steadied her waist, guiding her down.

The trapdoor closed above them with a muted thud.

Instant, suffocating darkness enveloped them.

Jimmy flicked on the flashlight—just briefly. A narrow tunnel stretched ahead, carved roughly into stone. The walls were damp, coated in a thin sheen that reflected the tiny light like veins.

Sassy shuddered. “This doesn’t feel like a meeting space. This feels like—”

“—a ritual space,” Jimmy finished quietly.

But neither said the word they were thinking.

A chamber.

Something sacred to the Garden—
or something forbidden.

Jimmy moved forward, keeping the light low. Sassy stayed close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm with every step. The tunnel sloped downward at a shallow angle, guiding them deeper beneath Ash Grove.

Above them, muffled through layers of earth and timber, the voice called again—still gentle, still impossibly familiar.

“Sassy… sweetheart… don’t run from me.”

Jimmy froze.

Sassy’s entire body went cold.

Her mother’s voice.

But softened. Warped.
Like someone remembering how she used to sound.

Jimmy sighed, “That isn’t real. They know how to imitate people. It’s psychological, not supernatural.”

Sassy nodded, though her throat had closed so tightly she couldn’t force out a word. The air in the tunnel thickened with every step, dense and stale, as if they were walking into a lung that hadn’t breathed in decades.

Their footsteps carried them downward until the tunnel widened abruptly into a small cavern. Jimmy swept the flashlight across the space, and the beam shuddered over details that made Sassy’s stomach twist.

Three stone benches waited in a half-circle formation, smoothed by age or use or both. At the center rose a platform carved from the same cold rock, its edges rounded from countless hands—small ones, frightened ones, faithful ones.

Symbols crawled across the walls, etched deep into the stone like the mountain itself had tried to remember. Some were neat loops and intersecting lines; others were frantic, gouged with desperation or devotion. Candles sat melted into the floor, long dead, their wax hardened into pale, lumpy puddles that clung to the rock like old scars. And the far wall… the far wall was drowned in charcoal markings. Layer after layer of frantic writing overlapped until they became a mass of blackened whispers, the residue of minds that had once believed something with unbearable intensity.

Sassy stepped toward the platform as if pulled by a thread. Her voice emerged in a trembling breath. “This is where they brought girls.”

Jimmy caught her shoulder, fingers tightening in quiet refusal. “Not you, Sass. You never came down here.”

“No,” she said, eyes fixed on the stone beneath her feet. “But I was meant to.”

Her words echoed off the cavern walls, soft and hollow—like a memory trying to surface.

Jimmy’s jaw flexed.

Sassy reached out to the wall, tracing the charcoal writing. Most of it was unreadable, but one phrase repeated like a mantra, growing darker and deeper with every iteration:

THE BLOOM WILL COME HOME
THE BLOOM WILL COME HOME
THE BLOOM WILL COME HOME

“It’s not prophecy. It’s obsession,” Sassy muttered barely able to push the words out.

Jimmy stepped behind her, resting a stabilizing hand on her back. “And we’re breaking it.”

Before she could respond, they heard movement from above.

Not the gentle coaxing voice this time.

Heavy footsteps.

Multiple.
Deliberate.
Descending into the secret room above them.

Jimmy turned off the flashlight instantly.

Darkness swallowed them whole.

Sassy grabbed his shirt, feeling his heartbeat thrumming against her palm.

Voices murmured above—low, indistinct, not meant to soothe. Footsteps creaked across the floorboards. Something metal clinked.

Jimmy’s lips brushed Sassy’s forehead. “We need a way out.”

But there was only the tunnel behind them—the long path back toward the trapdoor now sealed by the people above.

Sassy’s chest tightened. “We’re trapped.”

“No,” Jimmy whispered. “There has to be another way.”

He turned the flashlight back on, shielded under his arm to dim the beam, scanning the chamber. Sassy followed the light until it landed on something she hadn’t noticed.

A second tunnel.

Nearly hidden behind a curtain of roots at the far corner of the chamber.

Jimmy moved toward it, pushing the roots aside. “This leads deeper.”

Sassy’s voice trembled. “Deeper is dangerous.”

“Staying here is worse,” Jimmy said.

He took her hand again—and she squeezed back, hard.

From above, the footsteps grew louder.

Closer.
Purposeful.
Descending the first staircase.

Jimmy met Sassy’s gaze in the thin sliver of light.

“We go now,” he said in a low tone.

She nodded.

Together, they slipped into the second tunnel, roots brushing their clothes, the earth pressing close around them, the sound of their pursuers filtering downward.

Behind them, the chamber echoed with a new voice—calm, chanting, ritualistic.

Not her mother.

Not anyone they recognized.

“The Bloom is near.
The Protector is with her.
Return them to the light.”

Jimmy’s grip tightened.

Sassy felt tears sting her eyes.

Not from fear.

From fury.

And as they ran deeper into the dark, the truth settled cold and heavy in her chest:

The Garden didn’t want to hurt Jimmy.
They wanted to use him.

And that meant their relationship—whatever it truly was—had never been safe from their reach.

Not then.
Not now.
Not ever.

But Sassy wasn’t done fighting for it.

Not by a long shot.

24

The deeper tunnel pressed in around them; its walls slick with moisture and roots that brushed their shoulders like skeletal fingers. Jimmy kept the dimmed flashlight in his left hand, his right gripping Sassy’s tightly. Their breaths echoed in the narrow space—uneven, fast, desperate.

Behind them, voices filtered down from the chamber.

Not running.
Not rushing.
Just… following.
Intentionally.
Patiently.

As if they knew the tunnels better than Sassy and Jimmy ever could.

Sassy stumbled on uneven stone, and Jimmy steadied her. “Careful.”

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice shook. “We have to keep going.”

The tunnel sloped downward, curving sharply until the floor leveled out and widened into a circular cavern. Jimmy angled the light upward—

And froze.

The walls were carved with hundreds of handprints.

Some small.
Some large.
Some smeared, as if dragged down the stone.
All of them coated in ash.

Sassy’s knees buckled. “I remember this.”

Jimmy turned to her, alarmed. “How?”

She closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her forehead as a memory rushed in, sharp and cold:

She was six.
Her mother carried her into a cold stone room.
The walls were covered in handprints then too.
Women knelt in a circle.
A woman with silver hair lifted Sassy’s hand and pressed it to the wall, smearing ash across her palm.

“She is marked,” the woman said.
Her mother trembled.
Sassy cried.

The sound of her own childhood scream echoed through her skull.

Sassy gasped, stumbling backward into Jimmy’s chest. “I’ve been here. I’ve been here before. They brought me down here.”

Jimmy held her. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t choose any of this.”

But the walls revealed otherwise.

She is marked.

Jimmy swallowed hard. “We should keep moving—”

A sudden noise cut him off: shuffling footsteps coming from another tunnel entrance leading into the handprint chamber.

Jimmy angled the light—and a figure lurched forward from the darkness.

A man.

No—two men.

Dressed in dark coats, hoods pulled low, faces painted with charcoal symbols. Their eyes glinted like they weren’t seeing Sassy and Jimmy as people at all, but as pieces of a story they already believed in.

Jimmy pulled Sassy behind him instinctively.

The first man lunged.

Jimmy swung the flashlight like a weapon, smashing it against the attacker’s face. The man dropped, wailing, but the second convulsed forward, tackling Jimmy to the ground.

“JIMMY!” Sassy screamed.

The flashlight clattered away, plunging the chamber into semi-darkness broken only by the faint glow of Jimmy’s fallen beam.

Jimmy wrestled beneath the man, fists slamming into ribs, elbows finding soft targets. But the attacker was relentless, chanting:

“Protector—Protector—Protector—”

Jimmy’s blood ran cold.

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” he shouted, shoving the man off.

Sassy grabbed a loose stone from the chamber floor and hurled it at the attacker’s head. It connected with a sickening crack. The man slumped sideways, stunned.

Jimmy scrambled to his feet, chest heaving.

“We need to run,” he gasped.

But Sassy was staring at him—not with fear of the attackers, but fear of the words that had spilled from his mouth.

Jimmy saw her expression and froze. “Sassy… what?”

“You sounded angry,” she said. “But also… like you believed them.”

Jimmy flinched hard. “No. No, Sass—I don’t. I won’t.”

She stepped closer, voice trembling. “What if they’re right? What if something in you… what if something in both of us… was shaped by them? What if you take me back to them without meaning to?”

Jimmy shook his head violently. “I won’t. I swear it.”

But a flash of something crossed his eyes—
a fear deeper than hers.

“Sassy…” he said. “When he said ‘Protector,’ something inside me… reacted. Like a reflex.”

Sassy’s breath caught. “What kind of reflex?”

“A pull,” he admitted hoarsely. “Like a… direction. A path. Instinctive.”

Her stomach twisted.

“Jimmy—”

“I won’t follow it,” he said immediately, stepping closer, cupping her face with shaking hands. “I don’t care what they wrote. I don’t care about lineage. The only thing that matters is you.”

The flashlight dimmed, the battery fading fast.

Sassy turned toward the far side of the chamber, where another tunnel sloped downward—this one narrower, carved cleaner, lined with what looked like slate tiles instead of raw stone.

The deeper passage.

Jimmy followed her gaze. “That must be the confession chamber Elara mentioned.”

Sassy nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. “If this is where they brought girls… then the truth—real truth—might be there.”

Jimmy hesitated. “Sassy, deeper means more dangerous.”

“I know,” she said. “But they’re coming from behind us. We can’t go back.”

Jimmy grabbed the dying flashlight. “Then deeper it is.”

They hurried into the third tunnel, the light flickering over the smooth tile. The air changed—cooler, cleaner, less earthy. Almost sterile.

Sassy felt her pulse hammer in her throat. “This wasn’t carved in the 1800s. This was built later—recently.”

Jimmy nodded grimly. “Modern cults update their architecture, I guess.”

At the end of the tunnel, they reached a metal door.

Not old.
Not rusted.

Industrial.
Reinforced.
Like something in a laboratory.

Sassy’s whole body went still.

Jimmy whispered, “This is it.”

Sassy pushed the door—it creaked open, revealing a chamber carved from smooth stone with a single chair bolted to the floor. A spotlight hung from the ceiling. The walls were covered with writing—questions, statements, accusations.

WHO DO YOU TRUST?
WHAT DO YOU FEAR?
WHAT WILL YOU SACRIFICE?
WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE?

Sassy stepped inside, shaking.

Her childhood voice echoed through her head:

“Mommy, don’t make me sit in the chair…”

Jimmy grabbed her hand. “No. No, Sassy—you don’t have to remember this.”

But it was too late.

The memory flooded in:

Her mother holding her hand too tightly.
The women circling.
The spotlight burning hot.
Relentless chanting.
And a question she didn’t understand then—

“Who will protect the Bloom?”

Sassy gasped and stumbled.

Jimmy caught her—but she reeled away from him, panic in her eyes.

“Jimmy, don’t touch me,” she said sharply. “Not right now.”

He froze, shattered. “Sassy…”

She pressed her palms to her eyes, tears leaking through her fingers. “I don’t want to be afraid of you. I don’t want to question you.”

Jimmy’s voice cracked. “Then don’t. Please don’t.”

But she shook her head helplessly. “Jimmy… what if the Garden made us feel meant for each other? What if this—us—is part of their plan?”

Jimmy staggered back like she’d struck him. “No. Sass, no—what we have is real.”

“How do you know?” she yelled as she fought for her bearings. “How do we know anything was ever ours?”

Footsteps thundered from the corridor behind them.

Jimmy snapped around. “No more time.”

He grabbed her hand, gripping it with fierce determination.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Even if they shaped us—even if they nudged our lives together—they don’t own what we built. They don’t own what I feel for you. They don’t own me.”

Her voice trembled. “Promise me, Jimmy. Promise me they can’t turn you into whatever they believe you are.”

He swallowed hard—fear visible in every line of his face.

“I promise. I’m fighting it every second.”

The door slammed open behind them.

More Garden followers poured into the chamber, faces obscured, hands reaching.

Jimmy pulled Sassy toward a narrow ventilation shaft in the corner—barely large enough for one person.

“Sassy, go!”

She shook her head. “Not without you!”

“SASSY, GO!”

She climbed in—just as the flashlight died fully—and Jimmy slammed the grate behind her.

His last words before darkness swallowed him:

“Find the truth.
Then come back for me.”

25

The moment the grate clanged shut behind her, the world narrowed to tight metal walls, stale air, and the muffled sounds of chaos echoing from the confession chamber.

Jimmy’s voice—
shouting her name—
cut off by the sound of bodies colliding.

Sassy crawled forward on her elbows, chest scraping the cold metal. Her hands shook with every movement, but she forced herself deeper into the shaft, deeper into darkness.

Behind her, Jimmy roared:

“GET AWAY FROM ME—DON’T TOUCH HER—”

A sharp crack.
A thud.
Voices chanting.

Sassy stopped crawling, hands trembling violently.

She pressed her forehead to the metal floor, squeezing her eyes shut as tears slid down her cheeks.

I left him.
I left him.
I left him with them.

She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.

But Jimmy’s last words echoed in her head:

Find the truth.
Then come back for me.

She inhaled shakily and forced herself onward.

The shaft bent sharply downward, forcing Sassy to slide on her stomach. Rust flaked under her palms. The air grew colder, thinner. Her shoulders scraped the sides. Several times she had to exhale fully just to squeeze through.

Her heartbeat thundered so loudly she feared they’d hear it through the metal.

Her mind spiraled:

Why did they want Jimmy?
Why didn’t he fight harder?
What if they turn him?
What if the prophecy isn’t just doctrine?

“No,” She shook her head, crawling faster. “Jimmy is Jimmy. He won’t bend to them.”

But she wasn’t entirely sure anymore.

The Garden had been shaping her since birth—
but what if they’d been shaping Jimmy too?

The shaft split into two directions. The left was narrower, steep, coated in dust.

The right held faint light.
Barely visible.
A glow that pulsed irregularly.

Sassy moved toward it.

After ten feet, the metal gave way to stone. The vent opened into a small recess in the wall of another underground room. She pressed her face to the opening and peered out.

Her breath seized.

It was another chamber—
smaller, more intimate, candlelit—
a room for writing, planning, conspiring.

A desk sat against one wall, layered in yellowed papers. A lantern glowed weakly overhead, revealing a female silhouette painted onto the rock wall—stylized, symbolic.

The Bloom.

But beside it was another figure—
taller, broader—
standing at the Bloom’s side.

The Protector.

Their hands were touching.

Sassy felt her stomach twist painfully. “No… no, no.”

She pushed the grate silently and it loosened. She slipped out of the vent and landed lightly on the stone floor.

Her legs were shaky, but she stood.

And she walked to the desk.

On the desk was a leather-bound journal. Old but not ancient. Her fingers hovered above it in dread and curiosity. She flipped it open. The handwriting was unmistakable. Her mother’s. Sassy staggered back, gripping the edge of the desk.

The entry was dated the year Sassy turned six:

They asked me to bring her to the Confession Chamber today. I hesitated. For the first time, I hesitated. The doctrine says the Bloom must be cleansed of fear, but she cried when they touched her. They say attachment is weakness. They say I must sever it.
But she is my child.
Not theirs.
They say the Protector must be prepared too. That he is growing, that he watches her. They say together they will fulfill the final circle when the time comes.
I do not believe this. I will not believe it.

Sassy’s body shook violently.

Another entry—written days later:

The boy is kind. That terrifies me more than anything. They see meaning in it. They twist warmth into prophecy.
If I stay, they will twist me too.
I must leave. I must save her.
But they will come for her. And for him.

Sassy dropped the journal, pressing her fists to her mouth to suppress a cry.

Her mother didn’t just run.
She rebelled.
She fought.
She saw what Jimmy meant to the Garden and she fled before they could complete whatever sick design they’d imagined.

And Jimmy—

He’d been a part of the Garden’s story since childhood
without ever knowing it.

Sassy lifted the journal again, flipping to the last page.

A warning was scribbled in frantic handwriting:

If you are reading this, then they have found you.
Do not trust anyone who claims they know the Protector.
They will try to use him against you.
They will twist love into purpose.
Run.
Run before they turn him into something he never chose to be.

Sassy’s vision blurred.

“Jimmy…” she said, sinking to her knees. “They’re going to break him.”

Another voice echoed from somewhere deeper in the tunnels— a groan, pained and familiar.

Jimmy.

Alive.
Hurt.

Her heart surged painfully.

“No.” She wiped her face with her sleeve. “No. I’m not leaving you down here.”

She shoved the journal into her backpack, forcing herself to her feet. She scanned the chamber and spotted another exit—a narrow corridor leading downward.

Toward the sound.

Toward Jimmy.

Toward whatever the Garden had planned.

Her hands trembled—but her voice did not.

“Hold on, Jimmy,” she said. “I’m coming for you.”

And she stepped deeper into the tunnels—
toward the danger,
toward the truth,
and toward the boy the Garden wanted to rewrite.

Serial killers. Cult leaders. Survivors of unimaginable crimes. Investigators chasing answers that sometimes never came.

Those experiences shaped the way I tell stories. Both in television and now in fiction.

This video is the first episode in a short series I’m starting here on Substack. In it, I’ll revisit some of the real cases and interviews that stayed with me long after the cameras stopped rolling.

Moments that changed the way I think about human behavior, power, belief, and violence.

This episode focuses on Jeffrey Lundgren, the cult leader responsible for the murders of the Avery family.

In 2006, I covered his execution. Experiences like that don’t leave you.

They follow you into the stories you eventually write.

In many ways, the psychological landscapes inside The Last Bloom were shaped by years spent studying how people can be manipulated, controlled, and convinced of things that defy logic.

This video is a glimpse into one of those moments.

In the coming weeks, I’ll share more stories from behind the camera, including prison interviews, active investigations, and cases that never quite left me.

Because sometimes the most powerful stories begin long before the book is written.

Coming in this series:

• Sitting across from convicted killers in prison

• Conversations with cult members who still believed

• Investigating active missing persons cases

• Evidence: what it’s really like coming face-to-face with the clues of murder

• The moments that changed how I see human behavior