Chapter 3 Arriving at the Destination

Sarah and Claire didn't have a penny on them.

They'd emptied every pocket and searched every corner of the house. All their savings combined came to a pitiful seven dollars and fifty cents.

That amount wouldn't even cover two bus tickets to the neighboring town, let alone get them to the Westen Rust Foundry—a place so remote it was hard to find even on a map.

"We'll figure it out as we go, Sarah," Claire said, stuffing a few faded old clothes into a worn canvas bag, her tone firm. "We have to leave now. Once that old bastard gambles away all his money and comes home, we'll never get another chance to escape."

In that moment, Sarah's fear of Percy far outweighed her anxiety about the unknown road ahead.

They shouldered their simple bags and left without looking back at the home that had imprisoned them for years.

This place held all their nightmares. They didn't want to stay a moment longer.

The two walked quickly, not even daring to stop for breath. Before they knew it, they'd reached the desolate beach at the edge of town.

Sea wind heavy with salt and fish hit them in the face—damp and pungent, making them deeply uncomfortable.

Just as they stared at the vast ocean, sinking into despair, they spotted an old cargo ship docked at the shore.

On deck stood a rough-looking man with stubble covering his face. He wore grease-stained work clothes and was yelling into a satellite phone, his language crude and irritable.

They happened to overhear that the ship was transporting a batch of fresh groceries out to sea. The ship's destination was right in the area where Westen Rust Foundry was located.

In this desperate situation, Sarah found courage she'd never had before.

She hurried forward and stopped the sweaty, foul-smelling captain. She swallowed her pride, begging with an almost humble tone.

"We can work," Sarah said, her eyes earnest, fighting for this chance. "We can help you load cargo, count goods, and unload at the port—all for free. We can handle any hard or heavy work. Just please give us a ride."

She didn't care about dignity. She just wanted to grab this only way out.

The captain spat casually and looked the two thin girls up and down slowly.

Seeing how honest and frail they looked, and thinking about how he couldn't possibly move all those mountains of cargo by himself, he finally relented.

"You can only stay in the back of the cargo hold, squeezed in with the seafood," he warned harshly. "Keep your heads down and don't cause any trouble. Otherwise I'll throw you straight into the ocean."

"We'll behave!"

For the next two hours, they worked non-stop. Heavy cardboard boxes and foul-smelling burlap sacks were lifted and stacked over and over.

The rough rope tore open Sarah's palms. Salty seawater mixed with blood seeped into the wounds, bringing sharp, stinging pain.

She bit her lip hard and didn't make a sound the entire time.

The cargo ship finally started up and slowly pulled away from the town's port. Sarah and Claire collapsed, completely drained, in the deepest corner of the cargo hold.

The space was cramped and oppressive. They were surrounded on all sides by towering stacks of cargo, the air thick with a nauseating fish smell. The space was so tight they couldn't even straighten their legs.

But when the ship rocked violently and left the port behind, Sarah's mind was crystal clear.

They'd really left. They'd officially embarked on this unknown and dangerous journey.

Even if the road ahead led to an abyss, she would never turn back.

The waves at sea were especially rough. The sealed cargo hold had no ventilation or cooling, and the stuffy, sticky air wrapped around their bodies, making them deeply uncomfortable.

Throughout the bumpy journey, the two could only curl up in the gaps between cargo piles, silently enduring the ordeal.

"What do you think our psychological counseling work actually involves?" Claire felt miserable but still tried to imagine the future. "It can't be sitting around chatting with serious criminals, helping them with their mental health issues, right?"

"I don't know," Sarah said softly, resting her head on Claire's shoulder, her eyes both gentle and determined. "But as long as we can get that fifty thousand dollars and start a new life at Silverpeak College, I'm willing to do whatever work it is."

In the dark, oppressive cargo hold, the two quietly sketched out what the future might look like.

Bright libraries, open lawns, mornings without abuse and violence. These small, beautiful hopes became their only comfort in this moment.

As night deepened, the temperature at sea gradually dropped.

The two agreed to take turns keeping watch.

"I'll take the first shift," Sarah volunteered.

Her mind was too restless to sleep. Anticipation for a new life and fear of the unknown twisted together, keeping her heartbeat from settling.

Besides, the day's labor had been too exhausting—Claire was already worn out. Sarah couldn't bear to wake her.

Claire didn't object and soon fell into a deep sleep leaning against the hard cardboard boxes.

Sarah sat alone in the darkness. Through a palm-sized piece of glass on the bulkhead, covered in salt deposits and grime, she looked out at the pitch-black night sky and churning black waves.

The road ahead was completely unclear. They might even be sent straight back.

But at least they were moving forward.

The glass reflected her pale but resolute face. Sarah told herself silently that Claire was right—no situation could be worse than the life they'd left behind.

She forced her heavy eyelids to stay open, keeping watch by the cargo all night, never once waking Claire.

She pushed through the entire long, cold, miserable night.

When dawn broke, the cargo ship docked smoothly at the unloading area.

The two kept their promise, using the last bit of strength in their bodies to help the captain unload all the cargo.

They were so exhausted they could barely stand, but still thanked the captain earnestly. Then they clasped each other's hands tightly and walked into the chaotic, crowded flow of people at the dock.

This port town was even more chaotic and rundown than the one they'd lived in.

The howling sea wind carried no fresh air—only the pungent smell of gasoline mixed with workers' heavy sweat, making them nauseous.

Clutching the wrinkled acceptance letter, they followed the blurry directions on the paper, walking toward their destination.

After walking continuously for over an hour, the surroundings became increasingly desolate.

The moment they stopped, a chill swept through their entire bodies.

This place was absurdly remote. Within their entire field of vision, they couldn't see a single pedestrian or any vehicles.

Only one building stood alone in the wilderness—an old abandoned factory with walls covered in rust.

The factory gate was half-open, the interior pitch black, so deep you couldn't see the end.

"Claire," Sarah swallowed, her voice trembling slightly. "Did we find the wrong place? This looks like it's been abandoned for years."

"The address on the notice is definitely here." Claire frowned deeply, her eyes full of doubt.

Just then, heavy, steady footsteps approached without warning from the blind spot behind them.

Sarah's heart tightened. She turned around in terror.

An extremely large man was approaching them step by step. He wore a black tank top, his neck and muscular arms covered in strange, complex tattoo patterns.

His massive frame completely blocked out the sunlight, casting the two girls entirely in heavy shadow.

An overwhelming sense of oppression hit them, making it almost impossible for Sarah to breathe. She instinctively stepped back, gripping Claire's arm tightly.

The tattooed man's eyes were indifferent as he looked down at them, as if examining two worthless objects.

"You're the psychological counselors?" he asked, his voice rough and hoarse, devoid of any emotion.

Claire's body was trembling slightly, but she still clenched her teeth, forced herself to steady her mind, and met his gaze. "Yes. We're here to report."

The tattooed man nodded expressionlessly and lifted his chin slightly. "Follow me."

A strong urge to retreat immediately overwhelmed Sarah. Her legs felt too heavy to move.

Her instincts were screaming warnings. This was definitely not some legitimate prison volunteer program. Everything before them looked more like an entrance to hell.

She wanted to grab Claire and run.

But in the next second, several dark figures slowly emerged from the shadows behind the tattooed man. Several fierce-looking men, playing with iron rods in their hands, silently blocked off all escape routes.

Sarah fell into complete despair.

They couldn't escape.

She could only take a deep breath and, following Claire, steel herself and walk behind the man.

The group walked deeper and deeper into the area, surrounded by rusted, scrapped machinery.

Finally, the tattooed man stopped in front of a heavy iron door. He pushed it open and gestured for them to enter.

The iron door closed heavily behind them with a dull, thick sound.

Inside the room was only one old hanging lamp. The unstable voltage made the light buzz and flicker.

There wasn't a single window in the room, completely cutting off outside light. The sealed, oppressive atmosphere created extreme psychological discomfort.

"Honestly, this is pretty intense," Claire said, rubbing her arms and joking in a forced casual tone, trying to ease the tension. "Sarah, I feel like we've stepped into a trap. This probably won't end well for us."

Her deliberately lighthearted joke didn't comfort Sarah—instead, it pushed her already taut nerves to the breaking point.

Sarah curled up in the corner of the room, her body shaking violently beyond her control.

Just as the suffocating feeling of the enclosed space was about to completely consume her—

The door lock suddenly made a clear turning sound.