When fifteen-year-old Jake accepts an invitation from his longtime friend Emily to spend a quiet afternoon at her house, he never anticipates the mysterious twist that awaits him. What begins as a simple get-together takes an unexpected turn when Em...
Jake and Paul had been careful—at least, they believed they had. Their improvised gestures and subtle glances had gone on for days as they collected hints about Emily's methods, clinging to the fragile hope of escaping her control. But despite their attempts at secrecy, Emily's perceptive eye soon noticed their budding camaraderie. Small gestures that once seemed innocent—like exchanged blocks or shared, determined stares—now told a story of two captives quietly plotting.
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Their plan to search the house that afternoon had been simple: Paul would distract Emily by feigning hunger while Jake tried to navigate the living room more freely. Yet just as Paul began his stumbling approach, Emily turned from the kitchen, a knowing look in her eyes. "What are you two up to?" she cooed, the edge in her voice sending a chill down Jake's spine.
Jake froze in his playpen, Paul mid-crawl on the rug. Neither could form proper words to lie or deflect her sudden scrutiny, so they remained silent, guilty. Emily's lips curved into a sweet, disarming smile, but her gaze hardened. Without another word, she reached for Paul first, scooping him into her arms. Jake squirmed, sensing the danger in her abrupt calm, but by the time he managed to stand in the playpen, Emily had Paul firmly in hand.
Emily settled into a rocking chair beside the couch, situating Paul on her lap. His diaper crinkled against her legs, and she steadied him with a gentle but unyielding grip. Producing a bottle of milk, she pressed the nipple to Paul's lips. He turned his head away, a soft whine escaping him—a plea of protest. But Emily's free hand guided his chin, ensuring the bottle found its mark.
Paul's muffled groan of refusal was no match for Emily's persistence. With one hand firmly on his back and the other angling the bottle, she waited until instinct—or perhaps the enchanted water's effect—forced him to swallow. Paul's eyes teared up, but eventually, the taste of warm milk slid down his throat. By the time he'd drained half the bottle, his resistance had faded to weak fluttering hands, each gulp robbing him of focus.
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Jake could only watch, horror mounting. His mind spun with the knowledge that he would be next. Sure enough, once Paul's eyelids fluttered and he slumped drowsily against Emily's chest, she cast Jake a measured glance.
