The river had taken almost everything.
Her strength. Her warmth. Her breath.
But not her resolve.
Elara woke to the sound of dripping water and croaking frogs. Her body ached as though she had been beaten with iron rods. She sat up slowly, mud clinging to her skin.
Beside her, Halima lay unconscious but breathing, her chest rising and falling in shallow waves. The flash drive was still in Elara's hand, its edges biting into her palm like a brand.
She whispered, "You will not take this from me."
Her voice felt foreign, hoarse from the river's grasp.
A figure emerged from the shadows of the bank. An old fisherman with skin like leather and eyes that had seen too much. He carried a lantern that flickered weakly against the mist.
"You fell from the bridge," he said. His tone was not surprise but fact, as if the river delivered people to him often. "The water should have killed you."
Elara's lips trembled. "It tried."
The man studied her, then motioned with his lantern. "Come. You cannot stay here. The river gives, but it also takes back."
He led them to a small hut tucked under the cover of trees. Smoke drifted lazily from a tin chimney. Inside, the air smelled of firewood and old fish.
He laid Halima on a mat and pressed herbs to her wounds. Elara watched every move with suspicion until exhaustion finally cracked through her guard.
"Why help us?" she asked.
The man shrugged. "Because once, someone pulled me from the water too. The river chooses who lives. I only follow its will."
Elara sat in silence, her mind replaying the bridge. Her father's face. His words.
You were born to fail.
The fire popped. Halima stirred, whispering in her fevered sleep. Elara clenched the flash drive tighter.
"I will not fail," she murmured. "Not again."
Back in the city, the news told a different story.
Khalid sat in front of a cracked television inside another safe house, his face pale as the announcer spoke.
"Breaking news: unconfirmed reports suggest Elara Bello has drowned after fleeing state security forces near the Third Mainland Bridge. The body has not been recovered."
NUMA cursed, slamming her fist against the table. "This is a staged obituary. They are killing her twice. Once in life, once in memory."
Fatima pressed her hand against her mouth, eyes filling. "If she is gone…"
Khalid cut her off, his voice colder than before. "She is not gone. Until I see her body, I will not believe it."
But beneath his words was a fracture. Something sharp. Something dangerous.
Back in the hut, night bled into dawn.
Halima finally opened her eyes, glassy and distant. She turned to Elara, her lips trembling.
"They will never stop hunting us."
Elara brushed damp hair from her friend's face. "Then let them hunt. The river saved us for a reason. We still have work to do."
Halima's fingers weakly tapped against Elara's hand. "The drive… you still have it?"
Elara nodded, pulling it from her pocket. The metal glinted in the firelight.
Halima smiled faintly. "Then the Silence is weaker than it thinks."
The fisherman returned, setting down a bowl of steaming broth. He studied Elara carefully.
"You carry something heavy," he said. "Heavier than a man should. The river saved you, but rivers also flood. Be careful. When they rise too high, even the strongest walls break."
Elara met his gaze. "Then I will not build walls. I will build fire."
The man chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Be careful, daughter. Fire burns more than enemies."
That night, when Halima finally drifted back to sleep, Elara stepped outside the hut. The river stretched black and endless beneath the moonlight.
She held the flash drive in her hand and raised it to the sky.
"This is not just evidence," she whispered. "This is survival. This is our weapon."
And for the first time since the bridge, she let herself smile.
Because the river had not drowned her.
It had baptized her.
She was no longer running.
She was rising.