Bella’s POV

A full week had passed since my arrival, and I’d been operating primarily from the confines of my temporary home. The three men who’d dragged me here remained mostly absent from my daily routine. Derek seemed to materialize everywhere I turned, like some persistent shadow I couldn’t shake. When Parker appeared alongside Hugo, it was always Hugo who met me with the harshest resistance.

The hostility from Hugo cut deeper than the others because our connection had always been distinct. While my relationships with Derek and Parker centered around work and surface-level interactions, Hugo and I had shared genuine emotional intimacy. We’d spent hours talking through our deepest concerns, finding comfort in each other’s understanding. Those meaningful exchanges had formed the foundation of what I’d believed was real friendship. Now, watching him attack me with such venom, the truth became crystal clear. They’d all been manipulating me from the beginning, using kindness as a weapon to exploit my abilities.

"What kind of symptoms are you experiencing right now?" Derek’s voice interrupted my bitter thoughts as he addressed the small child before us. I couldn’t suppress an eye roll at his clinical approach.

His irritated glare found me immediately, but I didn’t care.

We’d finally reached the point where direct interviews with the affected children were necessary. Our mission required gathering detailed information about their experiences, and this represented our first real attempt at meaningful data collection.

"I understand you’ve been having some unusual dreams. Think of them like watching a movie where you’re suddenly transported to a completely different world," I offered, forcing warmth into my voice for the child’s benefit.

The boy couldn’t have been older than three, his tiny frame showing clear signs of severe malnutrition. His mother had explained that these terrifying nightmares had been plaguing him for weeks.

"They’re really scary," he whispered, pressing his face against his mother’s sleeve and refusing to meet my eyes.

Frustration built in my chest. This wasn’t our inaugural interview attempt. Derek and his colleagues had already conducted numerous sessions with local children, but the results remained consistently disappointing. The kids struggled to articulate their experiences in any meaningful way, which made sense considering their young ages. Even the older children, those around seven years old, couldn’t form coherent descriptions of their nightmares. Whether this communication barrier stemmed from their illness or something more supernatural remained unclear.

I exhaled heavily, offering the exhausted mother a sympathetic expression.

Obsidian circles under her eyes told the story of countless sleepless nights spent comforting her tormented child.

"Do you recognize this?" Derek asked, retrieving something from his jacket pocket. Six small pills glowed with an eerie red luminescence as he displayed them to the family.

"These will provide relief. They’ll help you sleep more peacefully and replace the bad dreams with better ones, at least temporarily," he explained, lowering his voice for the final comment directed at the mother.

"Administer one pill every few days over the coming weeks. We’ll monitor his response and adjust accordingly." Derek’s tone carried professional authority. I recognized those pills immediately—they were the very medication that had brought me to this forsaken place. The treatment would slow the progression of whatever was consuming these innocent children.

"We can’t thank you enough," the woman breathed, looking at Derek with desperate hope shining in her eyes.

"Don’t mention it. I only wish our capabilities extended further," he replied gently, genuine sadness coloring his expression.

The heartbreak was unavoidable. These children deserved normal, happy childhoods instead of this nightmare existence.

We finally departed the modest home, leaving the family with their fragile hope. Only Derek and I had entered the residence while Parker waited by our vehicle. Upon seeing our exit, he immediately approached with evident anticipation.

"What did you learn? Did the child provide any useful details about his experiences?" Parker directed his questions exclusively toward Derek, completely ignoring my presence.

"The children lack the vocabulary to describe their experiences accurately. Most cases we encounter have already progressed to advanced stages—" Derek’s explanation faltered, his expression growing increasingly troubled.

"Perhaps we should focus on interviewing subjects in the earliest phases of this condition. Understanding the initial symptoms and origins might prove more valuable," I suggested.

Both men turned toward me with sudden attention, as if remembering I existed.

"Children in the beginning stages have never managed to communicate anything meaningful about their experiences. The condition seems to prevent them from expressing themselves clearly. Only when symptoms worsen significantly do they become capable of sharing details," Derek clarified, and I felt my shoulders slump with disappointment.

"Hold on. What about your own children? What stage of progression are they experiencing?" Parker’s unexpected question sent ice through my veins.

My body went rigid as I struggled to formulate a response, too busy glaring at them to speak coherently. Derek added his own observation: "Leah mentioned having her first experience wandering through woods in her dreams, didn’t she? That suggests she’s just beginning to show symptoms."

His calm analysis made my hands clench into fists because his logic was sound.

The symptoms other families described differed noticeably from what my children experienced. Leah appeared to be in early stages, but Zack’s case seemed more severe. Unlike other children who couldn’t articulate their suffering during initial phases, Zack had been describing his nightmares to his younger sisters, Tara and Leah, who then reported everything to me.

What made my children different? Why could they communicate so clearly when others couldn’t?

While I wrestled with these questions, Derek made an announcement that shattered my concentration.

"The decision is made. We’ll interview Bella’s children." His declaration jolted me from my paralyzed state.

"Absolutely not. That’s completely out of the question. I refuse to involve my children in this investigation," I protested, immediately regretting how selfish my words sounded even though my protective instincts demanded nothing less.

The disgust that filled both men’s faces was unmistakable. I understood how my refusal appeared, but I couldn’t explain my real concerns. The thought of these two men anywhere near my vulnerable children filled me with dread. When their expressions hardened further, I chose my usual escape strategy.

Running away had always been my preferred solution to uncomfortable confrontations.

"Please excuse me," I mumbled, then practically fled to our vehicle before they could respond or follow.

Surprisingly, they didn’t pursue me or demand explanations. Their uncharacteristic restraint seemed suspicious, but I felt grateful for the temporary reprieve.

Upon reaching home, I discovered my three precious children constructing elaborate structures with colorful building blocks in our living room.

"What amazing creation are you working on?" I asked. Zack immediately abandoned his project to wrap his arms around my legs, while Tara and Leah maintained their characteristic independence, requiring me to approach them for hugs. I planted gentle kisses on Tara’s forehead and Leah’s soft cheek.

"Should we prepare lunch here?" Derek’s voice behind me made my blood freeze.

My entire body tensed as I realized both Derek and Parker had entered my home without permission, invitation, or even basic courtesy. They’d simply decided to proceed with their plan regardless of my explicit refusal. I rose slowly from my crouched position, staring at them with a mixture of shock and fury.