They took me to a small apartment in the city, one of the safe places my father had set up years ago “in case of emergencies.” I had laughed when he showed it to me, never imagining I would one day lie on the narrow bed inside it, listening to the city hum outside while the world believed I had taken my last breath out of pure sorrow.

When Frank unzipped the black transport bag, I sat up, gasping.

A moment later, Chloe rushed forward from the corner where she had been waiting, her eyes wide and wet. We held on to each other as if the floor might open up beneath us.

This time, our embrace was not about relief. It was about resolve.

We had made it to phase two.

Setting the Stage

With the samples of tea and tablets Frank had collected from the house, a friendly lab technician quietly confirmed what we had suspected: the blend of herbs and medication I had been given for weeks would leave anyone exhausted, confused, and physically weak if taken in those doses over time.

It was enough to raise serious questions.