Get The Girl [h.s] AU

Chapter 1- get the girl

The view from my balcony wasn't a view—it was a surveillance grid.

Below, the stone courtyard of the only home I'd ever known was drowned in shadows and the low, idling rumble of three identical black Suburbans.

Men in dark tactical gear moved through the gloom with quiet, practiced efficiency, hauling heavy equipment cases and rifle bags into open trunks. No headlights were on. At nine o'clock, everything I grew up with was being gutted as if we had never lived here at all.

A heavy sigh sounded from the doorway behind me, followed by the soft click of heels stepping onto the hardwood.

"You're not moving very fast,"

I turned around. Mom was standing in the middle of my bedroom, her hands resting on her hips, looking at the mess covering my bed.

Clothes were strewn across the duvet—jackets thrown over the footboard, an open leather duffle sitting empty in the center of the mattress.

She looked immaculate, as she always did whenever dad gave the order: dark trousers, a silk blouse, her hair pulled back into a tight knot. But the faint tension around her mouth gave her away.

"This is so stupid. Couldn't this wait until morning?"

Mom pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out another long, weary breath as she stepped farther into the room.

"You know your dad likes to do things a certain way, there's no use in questioning him." She picked up a stack of folded sweaters off the chair and stuffed them into my duffle bag with tight, frantic movements.

"Can you just tell me where we're going?" I asked, looking at the back of her head as she adjusted the strap on my bag.

Mom stayed silent for a second, her hands lingering on the leather strap. She didn't turn around.

"Get your shoes on," she whispered, her voice barely carrying across the room. She reached out, cupping my cheek for a fleeting second. Her palm was cool, but her fingers trembled against my skin. "Please. Just do what he says."

She didn't wait for me to reply. She turned and walked out, her heels clicking rapidly down the hall.

Ten minutes later, I dragged my duffle down the main staircase. The house was already dead—sheets thrown over the furniture, art stripped from the walls, the air smelling of dust and industrial cleaner.

Dad was standing by the open front doors, flanked by two guards. He wore a heavy coat, his face cut from granite, his eyes sweeping the darkness beyond the threshold as if checking off a mental checklist.

He didn't look at me as I approached. "Is that everything?"

"It's what fit," I muttered, slinging the strap over my shoulder.

Across the gravel, mom was guiding Mila into the lead SUV. My chest tightened, and I instinctively started taking quick, eager steps toward them, wanting nothing more than to grab my sister's hand.

A heavy, calloused hand clamped down on my collarbone, yanking me back so hard my teeth clicked together.

"That's enough," Dad said, his voice completely flat.

I whipped around, glaring up at him. "I'm not even allowed to say goodbye?"

"Get in the truck, Valentina." He didn't raise his voice, but the absolute firmness in his tone made my throat tight. He shoved my shoulder toward the middle SUV, his eyes already flicking back toward the driveway. "You know how this works. Keep your mouth shut, do what Clyde tells you, and move."