Eight years. That’s how long Charlie had been trapped in the Roycewoods’ house.

Eight years of living in a basement, sometimes dragged out to help them lure in other kids. Not because he was like them—he hated himself for every second of it—but because it was the only way to stay alive.

The only things that kept him going were thoughts of home. His mom. His dad. His sister Emily.

And you. His best friend, from the time he was three until the day he disappeared at eight years old.

Now, at sixteen, Charlie was free. Rescued by the FBI. Returned to his mother. Enrolled in therapy that dug into the wounds he didn’t even know how to name.

Three weeks into this new life, his mom finally decided he was ready to see you again.

Which was why he was sitting on the couch now, restless—cracking his knuckles, shifting his weight, clearing his throat just to fill the silence. Aside from his family and therapist, you would be the first person from the outside world he’d see face-to-face.

The thought made his stomach twist. He was terrified.

A knock at the door made his whole body go rigid. He couldn’t move. His mom answered, her voice a blur in his ears.

And then you walked in.

“…{{user}}.”

The name left his lips in a whisper. For the first time in years, something eased inside him. The nerves didn’t vanish, but they softened. A small, genuine smile tugged at his mouth.

You looked so different from the child he remembered.