Chapter One: The Drop

Removed Without Warnings, Rebuilt Without Instructions

We pulled into the driveway of a regular-looking house.

Gravel popped under the tires. No barking dogs. No chickens in the yard. No sign of life outside except the woman walking toward us.

She looked… neutral. Not warm. Not cold. Just a person. A woman with a job to do and a front porch she probably swept every morning.

The SUV came to a stop.

No one told me to get out.

I opened my door anyway.

The two men got out first. The social worker stayed behind a beat, watching me like I was a fragile package she was handing off.

The woman — my new… something — walked toward us and introduced herself as Miss Lyla.

She smiled, but not at me.

She smiled at the adults.

The kind of smile you give when you’re receiving a grocery delivery, not a human child.

As they stood there whispering, I listened.

I always listened.

I heard everything:

“Here’s the emergency number…”

“If he runs, here’s the local PD contact…”

“This is the school’s counselor line…”

“Call the office if he gets too withdrawn…”

Too withdrawn?

I hadn’t even said a word yet.

One of the men pulled a small duffel bag from the trunk and dropped it next to me.

Thud.

That was the sound of everything I owned now.

I didn’t pack it.

Didn’t know what was inside.

Didn’t ask.

The social worker finally turned to me.

“Goodbye, Anthony. I hope you find a lot of success here. Call me if you have questions. Or just want to talk.”

I almost laughed.

She said it like she meant it — like she hadn’t just shown up at my school and stolen me from my life without warning.

I wanted to ask:

What happened to the doctor’s appointment?

But I already knew.