Darn Stupid Brother You Are

(Cylan's POV)

The moment I saw the name on the clipboard, my heart skipped a beat. Emily. Room 403. My hands trembled as I scanned the rest of the report. My eyes impatiently darted across lines of clinical jargon and coded instructions. Emily wasn't gone. She wasn't dead. She was here-alive and locked away in the restricted wing.

I shouldn't have been anywhere near the nurse's station. But after weeks of sneaking around, pretending to be terribly sick, and eavesdropping on staff conversations, I finally had a lead. The clipboard had been left unattended, just long enough for me to snap a photo with my phone. My heart pounded as I slipped back into the common area, trying to act like nothing was amiss.

•

Later that night, in the dim light of my room, I studied the photo. Room 403. "Restricted Wing-High Risk" was scrawled in bold red letters at the top. I didn't need to know what "high risk" meant to understand one thing: Emily needed help. But I couldn't go to Angel. She'd never agree to this. She'd tell me it was too dangerous and reckless. And she'd probably be right. But I couldn't let that stop me.

The plan came together in pieces.

I started by recruiting a few of the newer patients-people who had no loyalty to our group, people desperate enough to take a risk for the promise of freedom. There was Lena, an unhealthily slim girl who claimed she used to be a gymnast before the center got their claws into her. Her agility would be useful. Then there was Marcus, quiet and cold but strong as hell. I'd seen him lift a broken bedframe like it weighed nothing.

I met with them in secret and told them plans in the shadows of the storage closet where no one would overhear.

"The restricted wing is guarded 24/7," I explained as I traced the map I'd stolen from the staff break room. "But the guards rotate every three hours. That gives us a small window when they're distracted, switching shifts." Lena frowned. "What about the security cameras?"

I hesitated. "I...I don't have an answer for that yet."

Marcus crossed his arms. "If we don't figure it out, we're walking into a death trap.

"I know," I admitted. "But Emily's in there. She helped me when no one else did. I'm not leaving her behind."

•

Over the next few days, I watched the guards, memorized their patterns and noted when they seemed most distracted. I stole a staff badge from an unattended locker, praying it would work on the restricted wing's doors.

The night before the mission, I barely slept. My mind raced with every possible outcome. What if the badge didn't work? What if we got caught? What if Emily wasn't even there?

By morning, I had my answer. I didn't care.

•

We gathered in the hallway just before the shift change. Lena was pale, and her hands were trembling. Marcus looked calm, but his jaw was clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. "This is it," I whispered. "No turning back."

As we moved toward the restricted wing, my heart pounded so loudly I was sure the guards would hear it.

(Dilara's POV)

I patiently waited in the alley even though the cold was mercilessly biting through my jacket. Ethan's voice played in my head in a smug echo of his earlier taunts. "I don't remember you," he'd said with fake innocence. "Are you sure we've met?"

Liar.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. For weeks, I'd played the long game, pretending to believe him, pretending to forgive him. I needed him to trust me, to let his guard down. And he had. He'd let me into his world and handed me the keys to his secrets.

Tonight, it all came crashing down.noveldrama

•

The trap was simple. A fake deal.

I'd lured Ethan to the abandoned storage unit under the guise of discussing a lucrative "investment opportunity." I'd made sure he'd come alone by planting seeds of paranoia, about betrayal among his associates.

He arrived, punctual as always, his cocky swagger making me sick. "Dilara," he said with a grin. "You've been full of surprises lately."

I forced a smile. "And I've saved the best for last."

As he stepped inside, the heavy door slammed shut behind him. He turned, already looking confused, but it was too late.

"Do you know what's funny, Ethan?" My voice was trembling with barely contained anger. "You pretended not to remember me. But I remember everything."

His smirk faltered. "Dilara, what is this?"

"This," I spat, "is justice."

I reached into my bag and pulled out the stack of photos and documents I'd been gathering for weeks-evidence of his crimes.

"You think I didn't notice the drugs?" I said and threw the photos at his feet. "The pills you take every morning? The ones that make you 'forget'? The center's been dosing you, Ethan. Tampering with your memory. Did you even know?" He stared at the photos, his face pale.

"They've been using you," I continued. "You're nothing but meat to them. Just like the rest of us."

With Angel's help, I'd pieced it all together. She'd been distant lately, but when I told her about Ethan, she dropped everything to help. We'd snuck into the center's archives, sifting through files and videos until we found what we needed- footage of Ethan assaulting some female patients, reports linking him to other victims, and, most damning of all, records of the center's experiments on him.

I watched as realization dawned on his face and his cocky façade slowly crumbled.

"You're lying,” he whispered, but his voice lacked conviction.

"No, Ethan," I said and stepped closer. "For once, I'm telling the truth."