The air inside the safehouse had grown heavy with tension. Ayla stood near the boarded window, eyes fixed on the dim street beyond. Zayn moved with a quiet urgency as he packed a small bag—bandages, a gun, and a handful of supplies. Silas lay on the makeshift bed, still unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady.
"We have to move now," Zayn said, his voice low but firm. "They'll track us here soon."
Ayla looked over at Silas, then back at Zayn. "He's not even awake. What if moving him makes it worse?"
Zayn slung the bag over his shoulder and knelt beside Silas. "If we stay, he won't get the chance to wake up."
Ayla didn't argue. She could see it in his eyes—Zayn had done this before. The quiet confidence, the efficiency, the way he kept checking the time and the door. He wasn't just a friend. He was someone who had survived things… maybe done things.
As they lifted Silas together, Ayla caught a glimpse of something inked on the inside of Zayn's wrist—a faded, black tattoo in a foreign script. She didn't ask about it. Not yet.
"What's your story?" she asked instead, her voice tight from the weight of Silas's body.
Zayn didn't look at her. "Later."
They moved quickly, Zayn leading the way. Just as they reached the back exit, Ayla froze. "Wait," she whispered. "Do you hear that?"
Zayn paused. The crunch of footsteps outside. Then more—multiple sets. Shadows passed the windows like phantoms.
"They're here," he muttered. "We go now."
The back door creaked open into a narrow alley, dimly lit and slick from earlier rain. Zayn led the way, his pistol drawn, Ayla close behind with Silas's arm slung over her shoulder.
Then—shouts from the front of the house. Boots thundered inside.
Zayn cursed under his breath. "Too late."
Two figures emerged from the far end of the alley—Wellington's men, dressed in black, guns raised.
"Down!" Zayn shouted, shoving Ayla and Silas behind a stack of crates.
Gunfire cracked through the air. Ayla flinched, heart pounding, as bullets splintered wood inches from her face.
Zayn moved like lightning—returning fire, precise and controlled. He clipped one man in the shoulder; the second ducked behind a dumpster, spraying bullets blindly.
"Go! Move to the car!" Zayn called out. "Left side, black sedan—keys are inside!"
Ayla didn't hesitate. She dragged Silas with everything she had, heart in her throat. Her limbs ached, but adrenaline pushed her forward. The car was parked half a block away, just where Zayn had said. She yanked the door open and shoved Silas into the backseat.
Another shout—one of the men was flanking Zayn's side.
Without thinking, Ayla grabbed the emergency flare gun from the car's glovebox. She didn't aim perfectly. She didn't have to.
BOOM. The flare hit the ground just in front of the attacker, erupting into a blinding flash. The man staggered, blinded. Zayn seized the chance, tackling him hard to the pavement.
He didn't kill him—but he made sure he wouldn't get back up soon.
Zayn leapt into the passenger seat just as Ayla started the car.
She gripped the wheel, knuckles white, tires screeching as she tore down the road. In the rearview mirror, flames from the flare danced like a warning in the darkness.
The tires crunched over gravel as the car rolled to a stop beneath a thick canopy of trees. The cabin stood at the edge of a dense forest, its weathered wood and moss-covered roof nearly blending into the wilderness. Smoke curled faintly from an old chimney, though the place looked abandoned to anyone passing by.
"This is it," Zayn muttered, throwing the car into park. He glanced at Ayla. "Help me get him inside."
Ayla nodded, rushing to the other side as Zayn opened the back door. Together, they lifted Silas between them, his weight awkward and uncooperative. As they carried him toward the cabin, Ayla noticed faded claw marks on the door—remnants of a long-forgotten past.
Zayn kicked the door open with practiced ease. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of cedarwood and old smoke. Dust danced in the beams of light that spilled through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. A worn leather couch, an iron stove, and a cluttered table filled the one-room space.
"Put him here," Zayn said, gesturing to a low cot in the corner.
Ayla helped lower Silas onto it, brushing a damp lock of hair from his forehead. "How do you know this place?"
Zayn hesitated for a moment, then moved
To a cabinet, rummaging through supplies. "It belonged to an old friend. Dimitri Novak. Called him 'Bear.' Retired smuggler. Mean as hell, but loyal. He told me to come here only if I had nowhere else to go."
Ayla stood quietly, watching him. "So… that's where we are now?"
Zayn looked over his shoulder. "Exactly."
He returned with a small medical kit, kneeling beside Silas and checking his wound again. The bleeding had slowed, but the risk of infection loomed. As he cleaned the area, Ayla noticed how steady Zayn's hands were—every movement sharp, efficient, no hesitation.
"You've done this before," she said quietly.
"Too many times," Zayn replied without looking up. "Silas and I—we've been through worse."
Ayla folded her arms, her voice cautious. "You didn't ask who I was or why I'm here.
Aren't you even a little suspicious?"
Zayn finally looked at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "I am. But if he trusted you enough to call, I trust his judgment—for now."
Before Ayla could respond, Zayn stood and grabbed a heavy blanket, covering Silas. He then walked to a wall-mounted panel, flipping a hidden switch. A faint hum filled the room as security shutters slid down over the windows. Metal locking bars clicked into place.
Ayla blinked. "That's… some serious protection."
Zayn gave a dry smirk. "Dimitri was paranoid. Every corner of this place is rigged to keep unwanted guests out."
Just then, Silas stirred—barely. A soft groan escaped his lips, and his fingers twitched. Ayla was at his side in an instant.
"Silas?" she whispered.
His eyes flickered open for the briefest second, unfocused and glassy. His lips moved, forming her name like a breath. "Ayla…"
Her heart clenched.
Zayn stepped closer, checking his pulse. "He's fighting it. Give him time."
Outside, the forest stood quiet. But somewhere in the city, Mr. Wellington's jaw was tight with fury.
He stood in front of a large monitor displaying footage from traffic cams, drones, and tapped security feeds. His strategist stood beside him, arms folded, eyes cold.
"They slipped through," the strategist said. "But we're closing in."
Wellington's voice was low and venomous. "This isn't just about Silas anymore. That girl—Ayla—she's tangled herself into this mess. And now Zayn's involved."
The strategist turned, pulling up a file on Zayn Malikov. "He's a ghost. Military background, mercenary experience, rumored ties to underground networks in the Balkans. Dangerous man."
Wellington's lip curled. "Then we'll need someone who knows how to deal with dangerous men."
He pressed a button on the intercom. "Send in Kassian."
The strategist raised an eyebrow. "You're unleashing him?"
Wellington nodded. "It's time they understood what fear really looks like."
Ayla sat at the edge of the cot, her eyes never straying too far from Silas as he lay unconscious. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle from the stove and the rustle of the wind outside, brushing against the trees like a whispering secret.
Zayn had made his way to a small table near the back, where a faded map of the city lay outstretched. His fingers traced lines across it, eyes scanning over potential safe routes or areas where they might find an advantage. His quiet movements gave Ayla time to think.
She glanced at Silas again. He hadn't stirred in a while, but her gut told her he was close. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. Every creak of the floor, every gust of wind, set her on edge. The isolation of the cabin, despite its protective measures, only seemed to amplify her sense of vulnerability.
A faint moan came from the cot.
Ayla's heart skipped a beat as she rushed to Silas's side, her breath catching in her throat. His eyes flickered open once more, this time more lucid than before.
"Silas?" she whispered, her voice full of concern.
His eyes focused on her, though there was a haze behind them, a fog of confusion that seemed to cloud his thoughts.
"Ayla," he rasped, his voice rough from unconsciousness. He swallowed, then blinked as if struggling to piece together his surroundings. "Where…?"
"You're safe," Ayla said quickly, gently pressing a hand to his shoulder. "We're in a cabin. Zayn brought us here. You were injured."
He frowned, his gaze darting to Zayn, who had quietly stepped back into the room, offering them space but never taking his eyes off the pair.
"Zayn?" Silas asked, his voice hoarse.
"Yeah," Zayn said, his tone neutral. "You're in no condition to be running around, but you'll be fine. Got some rest, just need to let your body heal."
Ayla couldn't help the quiet relief that washed over her. Silas was awake, coherent. And yet… something still felt off. His eyes held a distant quality, like he wasn't entirely present. She wondered how deep the damage ran.
"Why… why are you here, Ayla?" Silas murmured, his gaze soft but confused.
"I couldn't leave you behind," she answered, her voice steadier than she felt. "You're involved in something bigger than you realize. And now, I am too."
Zayn watched the exchange closely, arms crossed over his chest. "You're both involved in this now," he said. "And that means there's no going back."
The weight of Zayn's words hung heavily in the air, and Ayla felt her heart rate increase. She turned to him, brows furrowing. "So, what's the plan now?"
Zayn's eyes narrowed as he took in the situation. "We don't have much time. Wellington won't stop until he finds you, Silas. He'll tear the city apart if he has to."
Ayla shifted uncomfortably. "How do you know so much about him?"
Zayn's lips twisted into a half-smile, but there was no humor in it. "Let's just say I've had… dealings with people like him before."
The tension between the three of them thickened. For a moment, there was a silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the wind rustling through the trees. It was as if the world outside had stopped, waiting for them to make their next move.
Then, Silas, now a little clearer but still weakened, finally spoke.
"We strike back."
Zayn raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're up for that?"
Silas's eyes locked onto Zayn's, fierce despite the exhaustion that still clung to him. "I didn't get this far by running, Zayn. We need to hit him first, before he gets any closer."
Ayla took a breath, stepping closer to the cot. "How? We don't even know where he is."
Zayn nodded in agreement, pacing slowly, rubbing his jaw. "Wellington's got a few hidden safe houses in the city. We need intel—something to give us a lead." He looked over at Ayla. "I'm guessing you have some resources from your father's people? Maybe we can use that."
Ayla hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I may have a few contacts. My father wasn't just a businessman. He had ties to law enforcement, and a few people in the government. They might know something about Wellington's operations."
Zayn's eyes sharpened. "That's a start. We'll need everything we can get."
Before any further plans could be made, a loud knock echoed from the door.
Ayla froze, her pulse quickening. Zayn's head snapped up, his hand immediately reaching for the gun at his side.
"I thought this place was secure," Ayla whispered, anxiety flooding her chest.
"It is," Zayn said, his voice low. "But we're not the only ones who know about this cabin."
A slow, deliberate knock sounded again. Then a voice, muffled but unmistakable, came from the other side.
"Zayn… It's Dimitri."
Zayn's posture relaxed slightly, but only slightly. "Stay here," he instructed Ayla, his eyes hard. "Don't move."
Ayla nodded, her hand hovering near the pistol at her belt, as Zayn moved toward the door.
Zayn's hand hovered over the door handle, his fingers twitching with the weight of the decision. Dimitri's name held significance, a remnant of a past he wasn't eager to revisit. He knew Dimitri wasn't someone to knock unless it was urgent, and urgency in their world usually meant danger.
With a measured breath, Zayn opened the door just wide enough to peer outside. The tall, weathered figure of Dimitri stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow. The old smuggler's face was worn with age, but his eyes still held the sharpness of a man who'd seen too much.
"Zayn," Dimitri said, his gravelly voice carrying the weight of an unspoken history. "I'm not here for small talk. We've got a problem."
Zayn stepped aside, allowing Dimitri to enter, his gaze darting to Ayla. She stood frozen by the cot, watching the exchange closely. Dimitri gave her a quick, assessing look before turning his attention back to Zayn.
"What's going on?" Zayn asked, his tone cautious but not alarmed. He trusted Dimitri's judgment, but he wasn't naïve enough to think the old smuggler was here just to catch up.
"Dimitri's a man who knows how to get things done," Zayn said in an aside to Ayla. "What does he want now?"
Dimitri shrugged off his thick coat, revealing a collection of weapons strapped beneath it. He was always prepared, and right now, it felt like they all needed to be.
"Something's not right," Dimitri muttered, his gaze shifting to Silas's prone form. "You're not the only ones being hunted, Zayn. Wellington's got a new dog on his leash. A real piece of work. They've found one of my safe houses… and they're coming for you."
Zayn clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "What's this new threat?"
Dimitri sighed, his heavy eyes meeting Zayn's. "Kassian. A former operative from the Black Sun network. If Wellington's sent him after you, things just went to a whole new level. This man's a ghost. He's good at making people disappear. You're not gonna outrun him."
Ayla's stomach dropped. The mention of Kassian made everything feel far too real, like the walls were closing in around them. She swallowed hard, stepping closer to Zayn. "What do we do now?"
Zayn didn't answer immediately. He turned toward Silas, who was still unconscious, then back to Dimitri. "I need to make sure Silas is stable. If Kassian's coming, we don't have much time."
Dimitri's eyes darkened. "I didn't come here just to warn you. There's something you need to know—there's a hidden room under the cabin. A safe room. If it comes down to it, that's where you'll need to go. But you won't have long before they find it. Wellington's men are thorough."
Zayn nodded, understanding the gravity of Dimitri's words. He turned to Ayla, his eyes softening for a moment. "We may need to use it. Stay close."
Ayla nodded, the fear in her chest turning into something more manageable: resolve. She had already made it this far, and she wasn't about to let fear hold her back now.
Without another word, Zayn and Dimitri began moving quickly, preparing for what was coming next. Zayn opened a trapdoor in the far corner of the cabin, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into darkness. "Down there," Zayn said, his voice low. "If it comes to it, we'll need to make sure Silas is ready to move. You're going to have to help him, Ayla."
Ayla's heart raced, but she nodded, moving toward Silas's side once more. She had no idea what would happen in the next few hours, but one thing was clear: there was no going back.
Zayn turned to Dimitri as he began securing the rest of the cabin. "Do you think we have a chance?" he asked, his voice grim.
Dimitri didn't answer right away. He was busy checking the windows, ensuring all of them were properly barricaded. "A chance? In this game, Zayn, no one's ever got a guarantee. But we do what we can."
Ayla could hear the conversation as she began checking Silas's wound again, making sure the bandages were secure. She heard the heavy thump of Dimitri's boots on the floorboards as he moved through the cabin, preparing for whatever was coming.
As they worked in silence, the realization hit her: they were trapped in this cabin. The city outside was no longer their safe haven. If Kassian or anyone else from Wellington's crew found them, it would be a fight to the death.
Zayn finished his preparations and approached Ayla, his eyes locked onto hers. "Once Silas is stable, we leave. We don't wait for them to find us. If we can get to one of my other contacts, we might have a chance."
Ayla's pulse quickened. "And if they find us first?"
Zayn didn't hesitate. "Then we fight. We take down whoever comes through that."
Just as he finished speaking, a soft creak echoed from the front door, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots crunching on gravel outside.
"They're here," Dimitri whispered, his voice low and urgent.
Zayn's eyes narrowed as he reached for his gun. "Get to the safe room. Now."
Ayla's heart hammered in her chest as she helped Silas to his feet, guiding him toward the trapdoor. Her mind raced—this was it. There was no more time.