Chapter 20 – The Seventh Night
Seven days. Seven nights. Each second had become a thread in the web Thomas wove with relentless precision.
He had turned his room into a command center of the mind. Lying on his small bed each night, eyes closed but never sleeping, he extended his consciousness outward. Echo—his newest ability—had become sharper, deeper, and terrifyingly efficient. Like a web of invisible strings pulsing in every direction, it let him "hear" the room shapes, the movements, the presence of life. Not through sound, but through the subtle ripples in space itself.
Echo worked like an instinct. When fully focused, he could map the layout of walls, feel the presence of a moving figure through the disturbance they caused—shifts in pressure, in absence, in subtle dissonance. At first, he could only sense up to ten meters. But that had changed quickly. Each night, he pushed the boundary. First twenty. Then fifty. A hundred. By the third night of this operation, Thomas could reach 500 meters—though only for a few seconds of intense concentration.
It was enough.
Catherine's office was 410 meters away in a different wing of the orphanage—an area reserved for senior staff. She often stayed late. Sometimes she took phone calls, sometimes she filed paperwork. But she always left the room at least once before midnight. That was when Thomas moved.
He didn't physically go. He didn't need to.
Echo let him map the room in his mind, and Reach allowed him to snatch files one by one through the void. His secret notebook, carefully hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the far corner of the children's sleeping area, was quickly filling with copied names, codes, schedules.
He didn't know who the next target would be. But everything pointed toward one conclusion: he was the likely candidate. The signs were all there—his age, his appearance, his status in the "assessment program."
He wouldn't wait for confirmation.
During the day, he hid behind a tired smile. Catherine continued her daily assessments—always noting his academic excellence, his quiet maturity. She complimented him for "fitting in so quickly" with the older group. But he never revealed the full extent of his abilities. He could do calculus in his head. He could teleport across the entire field blindfolded. But all she saw was a slightly gifted boy.
And that was how he wanted it.
On the sixth night, the strain began to show. He hadn't slept properly in a week. His eyes were darker. His attention wavered at breakfast. Daisy and Johnny noticed.
"Are you okay, Thomas?" Daisy whispered while they were brushing their teeth. "You look like a ghost," Johnny added, frowning. "You're not sick, right?"
Thomas paused. His fingers gripped the edge of the sink. The concern in their eyes—real, pure—struck him like a blade to the chest. He managed a small smile. "Just tired. I guess I'm not used to this new schedule yet."
But deep inside, he felt the weight of it all pressing into his bones.
They were the reason he kept going. Daisy. Johnny. Erin. All the children in this section of the orphanage who looked up to him with hope in their eyes—who trusted him.
They were the reason he could not fail.
That night, when the lights dimmed and the staff's footsteps faded down the hallway, Thomas knelt by his bed. He didn't pray. He didn't believe in that. But he did promise.
"Let me finish this. Just one more day. Let me protect them."
Day Seven
The sun rose, cold and pale through the London sky. Thomas didn't go to breakfast. Instead, he sat by the small desk near the corner of the room. In front of him: a single sheet of paper, folded twice. No signature. No name. Just a warning.
To Sister Mary, Tonight, something dangerous is planned. One of the children will be taken—not adopted. I cannot explain how I know, but the proof is in the red folder inside Catherine's office. Please do not go to the office before midnight. I will place the documents directly on your desk once it's safe. Once you read them, act quickly. Lives are at stake. Do not hesitate to inform the authorities. —A Friend
He folded it, sealed it in an envelope, and slipped it under Sister Mary's office door during morning chores.
She wouldn't know it was from him. That was important. If anything happened, he needed her to stay safe.
Evening came fast.
Dinner was quiet. Catherine seemed unusually upbeat. She talked more than usual. She smiled. A little too often. She even brought out pudding. That's when Thomas knew: tonight was the night.
He counted every second after lights-out.
At 10:11 p.m., her office lights were still on. Echo confirmed her presence—soft steps, moving paper, a drawer shutting.
10:34 p.m. She picked up the phone. Spoke briefly. Her voice calm. Measured.
10:52 p.m. Silence. She stepped out.
And then—at 11:08 p.m.—Echo detected something new. A man. An adult. Not staff. He entered the wing for children aged six to ten. He did not belong.
And Catherine wasn't in her office.
It was now or never.
Thomas took a breath. Echo fully expanded. Reach activated.
Snap. Red folder, retrieved from the locked drawer in Catherine's desk. Snap. Second file, labeled "Batch B Transfer Notes." Snap. A third—transaction logs. All of them arrived one after the other in his hand. He skimmed each, confirmed the contents, and moved.
Using Echo as his guide, he watched Sister Mary pacing anxiously among the children's dormitories. Her steps were erratic, her movements sharp—like a person who knew something terrible might be happening but didn't yet have the words.
Room by room, Thomas moved. Not physically. But file by file, folder by folder—he placed each of the documents on her empty desk.
It took fifteen minutes.
When the last file landed in place, Thomas exhaled. He had done it.
He sat back on his bed, eyes on the ceiling. Echo still humming in the back of his mind.
Tonight, someone would be taken.
And he was ready.
He whispered to himself: "If it's me, so be it. But it ends tonight."