Chapter 4

The inside of the Hamiltons' car smelled of leather and money.

It was a world away from Brenda' s stench and the traffickers' filth.

But it felt just as dangerous.

Mrs. Hamilton kept glancing at me, a strange mix of hope and suspicion in her eyes. Mr. Hamilton was silent, his jaw tight.

"Clara is very ill," Mrs. Hamilton said finally, her voice thin. "She needs you, Ava."

I just nodded, looking out the window.

We arrived at a private hospital wing, gleaming and sterile. It screamed of Hamilton money.

They rushed me through corridors, past hushed nurses.

I was put in a luxurious room, but it felt like a cage.

Later, I heard them talking outside my door. Their voices were low, urgent.

Mr. Hamilton: "...no anesthesia. The doctors said it' s best for the purity of the marrow. For Clara."

Mrs. Hamilton: "But the pain... she' s just a child, Richard. Or, well, she was."

Mr. Hamilton: "She' s strong. She' ll endure it. We' ll put a sedative in her water tonight. She won' t feel a thing, won' t remember."

A sedative. So they wouldn't have to deal with my screams.

My blood ran cold, but my face remained passive.

A nurse came in later with a tray. Food, and a glass of water. She smiled, a little too brightly.

"You must be thirsty, dear."

I looked at the water. Then at her.

I picked up the glass.

"Thank you," I said.

When she left, I walked to the bathroom, the glass still in my hand.

I poured the water down the sink. Every drop.

I filled the glass with tap water.

I returned to the bed, sat down, and took a slow sip, just as another nurse peeked in.

She smiled, satisfied, and closed the door.

I waited. My mind was a whirl of calculations. Ava' s face, her last whisper, flashed before me.

This was for her.

The anger was a cold, hard stone in my gut.

They thought they had their miracle, their compliant donor.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.