I looked back once, staring at the dark corner where my children were hidden.

The metal panel remained perfectly shut.

There was no sound from within.

*Keep quiet, babies,* I thought. *Just keep quiet.*

The guard dragged me down the narrow hallway, past broken pipes and peeling paint.

The air grew colder as we neared the loading dock.

Overturned wooden crates and shattered glass littered the floor.

On the ground near the double doors, a spent brass shell casing glinted under the flickering fluorescent light.

“Get her into the van,” Camille said, walking ahead of us.

Her high heels clicked sharply against the concrete, a steady, mocking rhythm.

We emerged into the freezing Chicago night.

Rain drizzle stung my face, mixing with the sweat on my forehead.

A black SUV sat idling in the alley, its exhaust rising in white plumes against the brick walls.

The guard shoved me into the backseat.

I fell onto the leather, my tied hands pinning my weight awkwardly against the side door.

Camille climbed into the front passenger seat, slamming her door shut.