Chapter 13 - The Girl Who Was Supposed to Be DeadAnna Bell did not look afraid of Luka.
That was the first thing I noticed.
She stood in the apartment entryway wearing jeans, combat boots, and a green jacket too thin for the weather. Her dark hair was chopped unevenly at her shoulders. Her eyes moved over everything—cameras, guards, doors, me—with sharp intelligence.
Then she saw Mila’s bassinet.
Her face changed.
Not soft exactly.
Haunted.
“So it’s true,” she said.
Luka’s voice was low. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Anna laughed. “Great opening. Really warm.”
“How did you find me?”
She looked at me. “I followed the news. Then I followed his men. They’re scary, but not subtle if you know what to look for.”
One guard looked offended.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Anna turned back to Luka.
“You were going to hide her like you hid me.”
“No,” Luka said.
“Don’t lie. You’re bad at it with people who know you.”
His jaw tightened.
Anna stepped closer to me.
“I’m M-13.”
I nodded slowly.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
The challenge in her voice was not cruel. It was protective.
Of me.
Of Mila.
Of every stolen child who had become a number in someone else’s file.
“I know your mother was told you died,” I said.
Anna’s face flickered.
“Did he tell you he never told her I was alive?”
“Yes.”
That surprised her.
She looked back at Luka.
“You actually admitted it?”
“He did,” I said.
“Wow.” She folded her arms. “Growth.”
Luka looked like he deserved every bit of it.
Anna reached into her jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag.
Inside was a hospital bracelet.
Faded.
Tiny.
ANNA RUIZ.
Not Bell.
Ruiz.
“My real name,” she said. “I found it last year.”
My heart ached.
“Have you found your mother?”
Anna’s confidence cracked.
“I know where she is.”
“Have you met her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
She looked at Luka.
Because even after all her anger, some part of her still wanted him to tell her what was safe.
He did not.
Good.
Anna swallowed.
“Because what if she hates me for being alive?”
That broke something in me.
I crossed the room and took her hand.
“She won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m a mother.”
Her eyes filled, but no tears fell.
“Then don’t let them take your baby,” she whispered. “Not the Ashfords. Not Luka. Not anyone.”
“I won’t.”
Anna looked toward the bassinet again.
“The others are waking up.”
Luka went still.
“What does that mean?”
Anna pulled out her phone and opened a private chat.
Names filled the screen.
M-04.
M-07.
M-09.
M-11.
M-15.
Messages.
Photos.
Birthmarks.
Hospital records.
“They found each other,” Anna said. “Or I found them. Depends who’s telling the story.”
Luka stared.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
Anna gave him a look. “You hid my entire identity, Luka.”
Fair.
Very fair.
She tapped one message and turned the phone toward me.
It was from M-09.
The adopted son of Senator Ashford.
The message read:
If M-17 is real, Arthur will move tonight. He won’t wait for court.
A second message arrived as we watched.
Unknown sender.
Three words.
May you like
Give her back.
Then the power went out.
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