The Girl in My Dumpster Was the City’s Missing Child

What the Files Said

Hours later, we climbed out of a rusted hatch in an alley that smelled like bread and spices. Dawn had softened the skyline, turning the snow into something almost pretty.

The North Harbor Community Hub was a brick building that looked like a school and a library had merged on a budget. I’d spent a lot of late nights here with Lauren back when she fixed their Wi-Fi for free.

The back door lock didn’t put up much of a fight. Inside, the building was silent. Holiday week. Closed.

I took Emma to the computer lab and sat her in a rolling chair. “Spin, but don’t touch the keys,” I told her.

She gave the chair a tentative push and watched the room drift a few inches to the side. It was the first hint of play I’d seen from her.

I logged onto the main terminal, dug around for old admin credentials, and finally found the right one. From there, it was a matter of using their connection to get into the parts of Hartley’s system the public never saw.

Corporate security is strong—until you find the lazy corner some mid-level tech never got around to patching. That corner, tonight, was an outdated backup server still sitting on an old IP.

I typed in every phrase I could think of. AEGIS PROJECT. PHASE TRIALS. PEDIATRIC.

And there it was: a folder labelled AEGIS-ALPHA / INTERNAL ONLY.

I opened a report.

The words made my skin crawl. Gene editing. Experimental dosing. Children listed by code numbers. Notes about behavior changes, severe side effects, entire lines highlighted in red.

Most entries ended with one word: closed.

Then I saw it.

SUBJECT ALPHA: Genetic source match: E. H. Primary donor extraction complete. Original host no longer essential to program outcomes.

I didn’t have to be a lawyer to understand what that meant. They hadn’t just tested on Emma. They had used her genetic material to build something they could sell. And once they had what they wanted, her life became a loose thread.

“Noah?” Emma’s voice pulled me back.

She was staring up at the wall of security monitors.

On the grainy black-and-white feed, three dark SUVs had just stopped outside the front entrance. Men stepped out—no badges, no uniforms, but the same heavy jackets, the same calm stride.

“They found us,” I whispered.

I looked at Emma’s taped wrist. The bracelet. The “never lose her” promise.

“Come here,” I said.

She shrank back a little. “Are we leaving?”

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