Chapter 13 – The Hidden Files
The orphanage slept under the cloak of midnight.
Thomas moved like a shadow, barefoot and careful, his breath measured, ears tuned to every creak in the old wooden floors. He had memorized the rotation of the hallway lights, the groaning pipes near the boiler room, and most importantly—the exact moment when Catherine's door would stay shut for the night.
He had one goal tonight: the archive room.
It was a small, dusty office wedged between the laundry storage and a sealed-off stairwell. Most assumed it was locked for good. But Thomas had seen Catherine enter it twice this week with a brass key on a separate chain from her regular set.
It had to be important.
He blinked into the narrow hallway just outside the room—his body reappearing in silence—and crouched low by the door. He pressed an eye to the keyhole.
Darkness.
His fingers twitched. A deep breath. Focus.
The space behind the door was one he had seen before. That was enough. With the image clear in his mind, he blinked again—straight into the archive.
Dust filled his lungs instantly. The air smelled of old papers and mildew.
Shelves lined the walls, crammed with manila folders, sealed boxes, and thick black binders. A tall, locked filing cabinet stood in the corner. No windows. One single yellow lightbulb hummed above.
He reached toward the nearest drawer. Locked.
But Reach didn't care about locks.
He focused, picturing the inside of the drawer, the folder marked in faint pencil: "Batch C."
The file blinked into his hand.
He flipped it open.
Transfer Schedule – Batch C – Escort: Private Vehicle – Contact: M.H. (non-staff)
Child ID: L45-090
Age: 7
Hair: Blonde – Eyes: Hazel
Facial Symmetry: Excellent
Market Code: East – Tier: Golden
No names. No adoption agency. No legal documents.
Just specs. Like livestock.
He kept reading.
More folders. More codes. Some marked "Withdrawn – Damage Noted." Others stamped "Paid in Full."
His hands trembled as he reached for a thick envelope marked "Tier Evaluation – Autumn Intake." Inside were photos—children from the orphanage, candid shots. Notes scrawled in blue ink. "Ideal. Fair skin, low trauma history, cooperative."
His own picture was in the last slot.
Thomas Space – ID: T-6
Assessment: High Demand
Features: Golden Tier – In Process
His vision blurred for a moment.
This wasn't adoption.
It was a market.
He wanted to burn everything, to scream—but he knew better. Rage could come later. Now, he needed proof.
He pulled out a small, tattered notebook from inside his jacket—a secret diary he'd begun months ago. Quickly, he copied codes, schedules, the structure of the documents. He couldn't risk taking the originals. If anyone noticed they were gone, everything would be moved.
When he was done, he returned each file exactly where it belonged, even the dust-smudged envelope with his own face on it.
He blinked out of the room and reappeared in the dark, forgotten storage shed behind the orphanage. No one came here. The roof leaked. The door stuck. It was perfect.
He lifted a loose floorboard near the back wall and slid the notebook beneath it, wrapped in plastic. His heart still pounded, but his hands were steady now.
He had the truth.
Not just suspicion.
Evidence.
And now he knew what he was up against.