Aria’s wrists burned against the plastic zip ties as the van jolted over rough border roads. The metal floor was cold beneath her, Emma’s unconscious form pressed against her side for what little warmth and comfort they could share in the cramped cargo space. Two armed guards sat on a bench across from them, rifles trained lazily in their direction. The DA’s voice drifted from the front cabin, calm and calculating as he coordinated with unseen allies.
“Delivery in forty minutes,” he said into a phone. “The queen and her sister. The sharing protocol is active. Rogue is en route — make sure he has a front-row seat.”
Aria’s mind raced. The core struggle clawed at her: the father who had sold her like property, the system that was supposed to protect witnesses but had profited from her silen
