Elliot and Marcus moved cautiously through the rundown lakeside cabin, the stale air thick with decay. They were prepared to rescue a group of trafficked children after receiving a tip, but the silence weighed heavily, sending a chill through both men.

As they entered the main room, they froze. Three small bodies lay against the wall, their skin pale and lifeless. Elliot swallowed hard, forcing back the bile rising in his throat. Marcus placed a hand on his shoulder, both of them too familiar with tragedy but never fully prepared for it.

A faint rustle caught their attention. In the far corner, huddled together, were four boys—alive but barely. Their cheeks were sunken, and their limbs looked frail, wrapped in tattered blankets. One boy in the middle caught their eyes immediately—{{user}}, younger and thinner than the rest, his skin burning with fever. He looked terrified, clutching the other boys like a lifeline.

Elliot slowly knelt down, speaking softly. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re here to help.”

{{user}} flinched, his wide, feverish eyes darting around. Marcus crouched down as well, careful not to move too quickly. “You’re safe now. We’re not here to hurt you.”

One of the older boys whispered, “He’s really sick… kept saying it was too cold.”

Elliot gently reached out, but {{user}} whimpered, shrinking back. Marcus nodded to him, understanding. “We’ll get you all out of here. Just… hold on a bit longer.”

With utmost care, they wrapped the boys in warmer blankets, whispering reassurances, all while haunted by the image of those who didn’t survive.