Chapter Ten - Early Hours At Camp Redemption

The trees thinned, and suddenly, there it was.

Camp Redemption.

Harper froze at the edge of the woods, half-concealed by the dense underbrush, her breath catching in her throat like a fist had closed around it. 

The camp sat at the bottom of a shallow slope, its perimeter lined with tall metal fencing—razor-wire coiled across the top like a sneer. Floodlights rotated slowly from mounted poles, bathing the landscape in artificial white. A watchtower loomed in the far corner, unmanned this time of night, but its shadow stretched long across the clearing, like it was reaching for her.

She didn't move.

Her shoes sank slightly into the mossy forest floor, earth softened by recent rain. Mud clung to her soles, the smell of wet pine and decay curling into her nose. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until her chest started to ache.

It looked smaller than she remembered. But only in the way nightmares do when you wake up—blurry around the edges, but still able to gut you if you're not careful.

Her fingers twitched inside the sleeves of her jacket. Her hands had gone clammy.

She had pictured this moment a thousand different ways: running toward the building like a storm, screaming Riley's name, or striding in with the fury of someone who knew what they were doing. Instead, she stood paralyzed.

Like prey.

She tasted metal at the back of her mouth. Fear. Pure, instinctive fear.

The last time she'd seen this place, she was half-starved and shaking. Her wrists had bruised. Her voice had cracked. Her memories were a mess of white hallways, broken sleep, forced silence, and the sound of girls crying and screaming through walls.

And Riley. Always Riley.

Harper took a step back. Then another.

The trees beckoned. The dark promised safety. She could go now, disappear into the brush before the cameras noticed. Just walk away. No one would blame her. She had already lived through hell once—was it fair to ask herself to crawl back inside it?

Then the rain started.

It began with a soft patter—barely there. A suggestion. Then it thickened, became steady, heavy, cold. It soaked into the shoulders of her jacket, dripped into her hair, slid down the back of her neck. Her boots squelched as she shifted her weight.

She took another step away.

But something held her in place.

A memory surfaced. Uninvited but sharp.

Riley—grinning in the dining hall, nudging her tray toward Harper when she thought no one was looking. Riley—pressing a crumpled note into Harper's hand during morning line-up: Don't let them win. Stay weird. Riley—sitting in the dark after lights out, whispering across the bunk room, "When we get out of here, I'm gonna dye my hair blue and live in a van. You in?"

A bolt of grief cut through Harper's chest.

What if Riley was still inside? Still waiting? Still stuck in that in-between space of punishment and silence and forgotten names?

Harper exhaled a shaky breath. The rain thickened, a steady drumbeat now. She pulled her hood over her head with fingers that trembled, but she didn't turn around again.

She looked back at the camp. Not with the same horror. Not with the same panic.

Now she looked with purpose.

It didn't matter if her heart was racing or her lungs were tight. It didn't matter if she didn't have a fully-formed plan or if she was scared down to her bones.

Harper moved cautiously through the shadows, the rain still pattering softly around her, masking the sound of her boots pressing into the wet earth. The cold seeped through her jacket, but adrenaline tightened her senses, sharpening every noise—the distant hum of a generator, the faint murmur of voices far inside the compound, and the crunch of gravel underfoot.

She kept low, sticking close to the tree line. The fencing stretched out ahead, tall and unforgiving, topped with coils of razor wire that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. The perimeter was heavily guarded, but tonight, like Sam said, the patrols were sparse and tired.

She reached the corner where the old supply hallway was supposed to be—the boiler room just beyond it. The stench hit her before she saw the entrance: damp, moldy, and thick with the sour bite of mildew mixed with rust. The metal maintenance hatch Sam mentioned was tucked behind a pile of discarded carts, streaked with grime and nearly invisible against the shadows.

Harper's heart slammed as she crouched down, fingertips brushing the cold metal. It was loose, just as Sam said—barely hanging on its hinges, rusted and worn from years of neglect.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to crawl through the narrow space, the air growing colder and heavier the further she went. Rats scattered at her approach, squeaking and disappearing into cracks, their droppings slick beneath her palms. The tunnel smelled of decay and old water, and she swallowed back the urge to gag.

Twenty feet later, she emerged into a dimly lit sub-basement, the hum of old machinery vibrating beneath her feet. She paused, pressing her back against the concrete wall, listening for any sign she'd been detected. Silence.

Moving quickly but quietly, she scanned the room for the corridor Sam had mentioned. There—beyond a cracked tile floor and flickering fluorescent lights, a narrow hall stretched ahead. Harper's pulse hammered as she slipped inside.

She slipped through the dim corridor, every step muffled against the cold concrete floor. The damp chill of the night seeped through her jacket as she approached the chapel—its silhouette a dark fortress against the pale moonlight. 

The faint glow spilling from its stained-glass windows beckoned her like a beacon and a warning all at once.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door with slow caution. Inside, the chapel was hushed and still, the scent of old wood and cold stone hanging thick in the air. Rows of chipped pews stretched out beneath the fractured light filtering through cracked stained glass. At the front, kneeling on the worn floorboards, was a lone girl.

 Her head was bowed in prayer, shoulders trembling ever so slightly, a quiet figure wrapped in solitude.

Harper's heart tightened at the sight — so fragile and so lost.

Suddenly, the girl's head snapped up. Her sharp blue eyes locked onto Harper like a hawk spotting prey. The suddenness of the gaze made Harper freeze — her pulse hammered in her ears.

Without thinking, Harper stepped forward, hands raised with urgent desperation, her voice low and trembling. "Please... don't—don't do anything."

The girl's eyes narrowed suspiciously. In one swift movement, her hand flew to the side of her mouth, pulling out a small panic whistle. Harper's breath hitched — she could not be caught now.

Instinctively, Harper lunged forward, grabbing the girl's wrist in a firm but gentle grip. Her other hand covered the girl's mouth in a silent plea as she shoved her against the wall.

"Shhh.." Harper whispered fiercely, eyes wide. "Please. I'm not here to get anyone in trouble, okay? Just... listen to me."

The girl's breath came fast beneath Harper's hand, eyes flickering with alarm, but she stayed still.

Harper lowered her voice to a tense whisper. "Is Riley still here? I need to know. Please. Riley- She's.. She's tall and got a lip piercing. You know her, right?"

The girl hesitated, biting her lip. After a long pause, she finally shook her head as Harper moved her hand gently. "No... Riley isn't here. She was discharged months ago."

Harper's chest tightened as the fragile hope she carried shattered like glass. The girl's eyes softened just a little with a trace of sympathy.