Page 45 of Jenna's Protector
“Jenna,” Blake says, his voice gentle. “I know this is difficult, but is there anything else you can remember? Any details about the people involved, the operations, anything at all?”
I take a deep breath, searching my memory. “There was… There was a man who visited often. He didn’t participate in the auctions, but the others deferred to him. I only saw him a few times, but he had this presence—like he was in charge of everything. Which was interesting considering how short he was.”
I flip to a sketch of a distinguished-looking man with piercing eyes. The room falls silent as they take in the image.
“This could be big,” Forest says, his voice low. “If we can identify this man, we might be able to unravel the whole operation.”
Ethan leans forward, his eyes intense. “Did he only appear at the auctions, or did you see him elsewhere?”
“He visited the training facility quite a few times.” A shudderruns through me at the memory. “It was a very uncomfortable feeling whenever his eyes landed on me.”
Gabe speaks up. “Did anything change after his visits?”
I nod slowly, a chill running down my spine. “Sometimes, after one of his visits, one of the girls would disappear. We never knew what happened to them. They didn’t seem to be taken to auction like the rest of us. They just—vanished.”
The room falls silent, the weight of this information settling heavily on everyone.
“Do you have any idea why certain girls were chosen?” Carter asks gently, his hand finding mine under the table.
I shake my head, frustration and fear mingling in my voice.
“No, I could never figure out a pattern. Some were the most beautiful, some the most obedient, others… It seemed random. But his presence always meant change, and rarely for the better.”
Forest exchanges a glance with Blake. “This man could be a key figure in Sentinel’s hierarchy. If we can identify him, it might lead us to the core of their operations.”
“Jenna,” Skye says softly, “can you tell us anything else about him? Any distinguishing features, the way he spoke, anything at all?”
I study the sketch I’ve drawn, trying to recall every detail. “He was short, dressed in expensive suits, but always looked a bit disheveled. His voice was—cultured, with a slight accent I couldn’t place. And he always wore one of those brooches we were discussing earlier.”
As I speak, Mitzy is typing, likely running my description through their databases. The room is tense with anticipation, everyone aware that we might be on the verge of a significant breakthrough.
“One more thing,” I add, the memory surfacing suddenly. “I overheard some of the handlers talking once. They referred to him as ‘The Curator’. I don’t know if that was a title or a codename, but that’s what they called him.”
“The Curator,” Ethan repeats, his brow furrowed. “That’s something we can work with.”
SIXTEEN
Jenna
As the teambuzzes with this latest information, I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. I came here with my sketchpad, hoping to provide clear answers, to be the key that unlocked this mystery. Instead, it feels like I’ve only opened a Pandora’s box of more questions.
Each revelation leads us further down a rabbit hole of uncertainty. The mysterious Curator and the disappearing girls—they’re all pieces of a puzzle that’s growing larger and more complex by the minute. I can’t shake the feeling that instead of moving forward, we’re spinning our wheels, getting further away from answers than we were before.
The memories I’ve dredged up are painful, each one a reopened wound. And for what? Vague images and half-remembered details that only seem to muddy the waters further?
Am I helping? Or am I leading everyone on a wild goose chase through the darkest part of my past?
And underneath it all, there’s a growing sense of unease. With each piece of information we uncover, each layer we peel back, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re poking a very dangerous bear.
What if I’m drawing attention to myself?
What if Sentinel realizes where I am?
I glance around the room at the determined faces of the Guardian team. They seem energized by these new leads, but I feel more lost than ever. I came here hoping for clarity, for a straight path to justice. Instead, I find myself at the center of a web of intrigue that’s growing more tangled by the moment.
“You’re doing great.” Carter squeezes my hand reassuringly as if sensing my turmoil. “Every piece of information helps, even if we can’t see how it all fits together.”
I draw strength from his words, but as the team continues their animated discussion, doubt creeps in. Are we really getting closer to the truth, or did I lead them down the wrong road?