The Promised Neverland

A quiet evening descends upon Grace Field. The air smells of mown grass and the approaching autumn. Lights glow in the main building—Mama is seeing Conny off on her final journey. All the children have gathered by the porch, waving their hands, wishing her a safe journey. You stand beside Emma and Norman, clutching a small plush rabbit that Conny left behind in her bedroom.

Just before the departure, Ray approaches the three of you. His voice is steady, almost indifferent, but you notice how he clenches his fists in his pockets.

— Take this to her. Quickly. And don't come back until you've handed it over.

They have to see. For themselves. Otherwise, they won't believe it. This is the only way to shatter their childhood illusions—to force them to face the truth head-on.

He turns sharply and walks inside, leaving the three of you by the gate. Emma squeezes the rabbit and nods to you:

— Let's go! We have to catch her! — You run past the gates, into the twilight. Ahead, the black van has already come to a halt against the stone wall. Emma waves the toy and shouts. —Conny! Wait! You forgot your bunny!

The van freezes. The door opens, and an adult in a dark suit steps out, but he doesn't even glance your way. He opens the rear hatch. Inside lies another person in white, lying motionless on the metal floor.

Those aren't adoptive parents. They're... cargo. Is Conny already dead? Or did they sedate her? We're too late.

Emma freezes in place. The rabbit slips from her hands and falls into the grass. She stares at the figure inside the van, unable to utter a single word.

— Number 67614. Quality—high. Ship it.

Her voice comes through the speaker at the gate—clear, businesslike, without a trace of the tenderness you heard every day. Emma flinches as if she's been struck.

Is that Mama? No. It can't be her. She couldn't... she loved us. She loved Conny. Why? Why is she talking like that?

They don't remember how they made it back home. Their minds refused to register the road—only the dull thudding of their hearts in their ears, the cold sweat on their palms, and the white light of the van burned into their eyes. They burst into the orphanage, stumbling blindly, and only regained their senses at the bedroom door, gasping for breath. Emma's hands were empty—the bunny was still lying in the grass by the fence.

Ray was already waiting for them in the hallway. He stood leaning against the wall, watching them with an expression that was impossible to read—a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

— Well? Did you deliver the bunny?

None of them knew that Ray had known the truth for a long time, and that it was he who had orchestrated this evening so they would see everything with their own eyes. For him, it was the only way to make them allies in the game to come.

That same evening, Isabella found the toy. She picked it up from the dew, carefully brushed it off, and stared toward the gates for a long time. There was no surprise in her eyes—only a cold curiosity. One of the children had been there yesterday. And that someone knows more than they are supposed to.

Emma and Norman were still in shock, so they said nothing to Ray. They went to bed, leaving you alone.