As I move through the dense bushes, each step feels calculated. I tread as quietly as possible, aware that the explosion earlier must have attracted significant attention. The air is thick, filled with the scent of earth and vegetation, and I make every effort to avoid leaving footprints or other traceable signs of my presence. In my hand is the phone I stole from one of the men. Thankfully, I also managed to grab a charger and a power bank—it's the little things that keep me ahead.
I pause for a moment, leaning against a tree, and power on the phone. The screen flickers to life, and I immediately begin searching for clues about my location. Using the phone's settings, I check time zones and coordinates. After a few moments, the realization hits me: I'm in Brazil. My heart sinks a little. Brazil is vast, and as a lone child, blending in here will require every ounce of skill I've honed over the years.
Hunger gnaws at me as I continue through the forest. My stomach growls, a painful reminder of how long it's been since I last ate. Then, I hear a faint sound—a car speeding by. I carefully navigate toward the noise, eventually breaking through the dense trees. Relief washes over me as I see a highway in the distance. Where there's a road, there are shops, and where there are shops, there's food.
The sky begins to dim as I follow the road until I spot a small supermarket closing for the night. Luck, it seems, is still on my side. I crouch low, using the laptop I stole from Stuart to access the supermarket's network. It doesn't take long to find the security system. I disable the cameras and alarms with a few clicks, watching as the feed goes dark. With the workers gone and the coast clear, I approach the shop.
The lock at the backdoor is sturdy, but my stolen gun makes quick work of it. The echo of the shot is muffled in the night, and I quickly slip inside. The cool air of the shop greets me as I make my way through the aisles. I begin transferring groceries into my space—a convenient ability I've relied on many times before. Pasta, rice, canned food, snacks—it all vanishes into my hidden storage.
Near the counter, I find a stash of cash in the register. It's not much, but I take it anyway. My stomach rumbles again as I notice a section with fast food—burgers, fried chicken, and fries. Grateful for a microwave in the shop's corner, I heat up some food and eat quickly. The taste is comforting, but I know I can't linger.
Once I'm done, I wipe down every surface I touched, meticulously removing fingerprints and footprints. I've made the workers' lives harder by stealing from them, but I have no choice. Survival comes first.
Outside, the night air is cool. I walk a short distance away from the shop, pulling out a child-sized backpack I'd grabbed earlier. To blend in as an ordinary kid, I pack the bag with a few essentials: coloring books, pencils, snacks, and a small purse filled with banknotes.
During my years in the human trafficking system, I was forced to adapt to survive. Learning the languages of the men who bought me became essential. Today, I can fluently speak English, Spanish, Italian, French, Russian, German, Mandarin, Japanese, Arabic, and Korean. It's a skill that has saved my life countless times and will undoubtedly help me now.
I find a bridge where a group of homeless people has gathered. They barely notice me as I settle down among them, using a piece of cardboard as bedding and a fleece for warmth. No one here questions a child on the streets; it's just another sad reality in a world full of them.
At dawn, the city begins to stir. I head to a nearby gas station and clean up in the bathroom. The facilities are filthy, but I make do. After washing my face and brushing my hair, I change into a cute outfit—a dress with bright colors and cartoon prints. It's the kind of look that draws attention away from the tired, calculating eyes of the girl wearing it.
I decide to head to an internet café. As I step inside, a waitress notices me. Her face softens, and she approaches with a kind smile.
"Hello, how are you?" she asks, her voice gentle, the way adults speak to toddlers.
I brighten my expression, forcing a wide smile. "Hello!" I reply, my tone filled with excitement as I glance around the café, pretending it's a magical new place. Her smile deepens, and I see her guard lower.
"Where are your parents?" she asks, her eyes darting to the door and parking lot, searching for an adult.
Thinking quickly, I point toward the office building next door. "I'm here on a secret mission!" I whisper conspiratorially. "Mommy is working next door, and Daddy said I could buy her something special online." I beam, looking proud of myself.
The people nearby chuckle at my performance, and though the attention grates on my nerves, I keep smiling. Playing the part of a sweet, innocent child is a skill I've perfected, but it's exhausting.
The waitress leads me to a table, and I pull out my laptop. To sell the illusion further, I've set the wallpaper to display photos of me with my parents—happy moments from before my world fell apart. The waitress glances at the screen and smiles before leaving me alone.
Once I'm sure no one is watching, I get to work. I access Stuart's accounts, transferring his family's and company's funds into a new Swiss bank account under my name. Then, I apply for a fresh bank card, which will be delivered within a week. My preparations are meticulous—I'll need to stay hidden for at least five to ten years.
After finishing at the café, I head to a mall. The walking has drained me, and I stop at a restaurant to order a large, family-sized meal. Pretending to be on an errand for my parents, I charm the staff into helping me carry the food to a table. As soon as I'm alone, I transfer the food into my space bit by bit. I repeat this trick at several restaurants, gathering enough to last me weeks.
Next, I visit children's clothing stores. I browse the racks, discreetly transferring clothes and shoes into my space. I select items that will fit me now and in the years to come. By the time I leave, I've prepared for the long road ahead.
Finally, I visit a café to print a letter. Armed with this, I head to a high-end hotel I know was connected to Stuart. Smaller establishments might question a child checking in alone, but this place? They'll know better than to interfere.