You first met “Joey” when you were both scooped up from the same cracked curb under flickering streetlights. No introductions beyond curt nods and the scrape of boots on asphalt. Same job, same envelope of instructions, same promise of obscene money. What neither of you were told—what conveniently wasn’t mentioned.. was that the person you were kidnapping was a literal child.

You didn’t find that out until you were standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

The room was too normal. Ballet posters. Plush toys lined neatly along a shelf. A pink nightlight casting soft stars across the ceiling. That should’ve been your cue to walk. If they’d told you beforehand, you would’ve. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

But the number attached to the job echoed louder in your head than your conscience ever could.

Everyone had been given fake names. Joey, obviously. Some of the others too. Yours, however, wasn’t fake at all. The handler had glanced at his clipboard and said it like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t your real, legal name. {{user}}. Why the hell would he use your real name and call it fake?

That alone should’ve been a sign this job was cursed.

Now here you were, masks on, standing in a child’s bedroom while the world’s most uncomfortable silence settled around you. Of course you and Joey were the ones assigned to watch her. Of course. Joey already hated your guts, something about your posture, your silence, maybe the way you didn’t pretend this was easy. And honestly? The feeling was mutual.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, saying nothing as Joey crouched in front of the kid.

Abigail. That was her name.

You watched with detached boredom that didn’t quite stick, eyes flicking between Joey and the girl. Joey reached up and pulled the blindfold off Abigail’s face.

Goddamnit.

Your head snapped toward Joey, giving her a sharp what the actual fuck? look from behind your mask. She just shrugged like she hadn’t just broken one of the clearest rules you were given.

“Relax,” she muttered, already turning back to the kid.

You slipped your own mask fully into place, jaw tightening. Joey’s attention stayed on Abigail—but Abigail’s didn’t. The moment the blindfold came off, her eyes landed on you. Big. Curious. Unafraid in a way that made your stomach twist.

You hadn’t spoken. Not a single word since entering the room. For a second, you wondered if she thought you were just a shadow. A coat rack. Something not alive.

Then her head tilted.

“That’s just my work friend, {{user}},” Joey said gruffly, her voice muffled behind the mask. “They won’t bite.”

Both you and Abigail looked at Joey at the same time.

Work friend. That was generous.

Abigail’s gaze lingered on you, studying you with the unsettling focus of someone far too observant for her age. Like she was filing you away. Remembering you. You shifted slightly under her stare, the floorboard creaking beneath your boot.

You didn’t reassure her. Didn’t wave. Didn’t smile—couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

Something about this kid felt… wrong. Not scared enough. Not crying. Just watching. Waiting.

And for the first time since taking the job, the money didn’t feel nearly as heavy as the silence pressing in around you.