The night passed like a slow bleed—minute by minute, breath by breath. She sat on the floor until her legs went numb, then stood and paced, gun still in hand. The apartment Eitan had put her in was expensive, sterile, and full of unfamiliar shadows. The furniture looked untouched, like no one had ever lived here.
She kept checking the lock.
And every time she did, it was still bolted.
Still silent.
Still too quiet.
By the time morning bled in through the curtains, she'd peeled off her hoodie and thrown her shoes somewhere near the kitchen. Her throat felt dry, but she hadn't touched a drop of water since Eitan left.
Not because she didn't trust him.
Because she didn't trust herself.
There was something wrong with how calm she was. The way her pulse settled around his voice. The way his words burrowed into her chest and stayed there. She'd never been someone who relied on other people. Never wanted to. But something about the way he looked at her—like he already knew what she was capable of—made her feel almost safe.
Almost.
Then her phone buzzed.
Just once.
She lunged for it.
Unknown number. No caller ID. One message:
"Hello, Ava. Long time."
Her blood went cold.
She didn't move. She didn't breathe. She stared at the screen for three whole seconds before it went black again. Then she swiped up and checked the details—nothing. No trace. Whoever sent it had scrubbed the data trail clean.
She stood there, phone trembling in her hand, before finally dialing.
Not the police. Not her old handler.
Eitan.
It rang once. Then again.
He picked up on the third ring.
"Say something," he said immediately. His voice sounded like it had been carved from stone, too sharp and too direct.
"I got a message," she said, breath unsteady. "Someone found me."
"Did you reply?"
"No. But they know my name. This number. Everything."
"Forward it to me. Now."
She did.
There was a short pause. She could hear typing on his end—faster than she could ever keep up with.
"Trace it?" she asked.
"Already trying. But whoever it is, they're good. This wasn't random. It was meant to spook you."
"It worked."
"I'm on my way."
"Wait—"
Click.
The line went dead.
She stared at the screen again. Then at the door. Her heart was thudding now—too loud in the still apartment.
Ten minutes later, the elevator dinged.
She didn't move.
A knock.
Then his voice.
"Ava."
She unlocked the door without a word.
Eitan walked in fast, dressed in black again, eyes scanning the apartment. No smile. No nod. Just him and his cold, clinical presence.
He held up his tablet. "They bounced the message through three fake servers and a VPN chain based in Hong Kong. But whoever it is? They were sloppy. They left a tiny echo in the code."
Ava blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means I know where they sent the message from."
He handed her the screen.
Her stomach dropped.
A warehouse in the Lower District.
She knew that address.
So did her scars.
"That place is supposed to be abandoned."
"Apparently it isn't."
She looked up at him, trying to stay composed. "You want to go?"
"I'm not giving them the chance to come back for you."
She swallowed. "Then I'm coming too."
He didn't argue.
He just handed her a coat and said, "Let's go."
---
The car ride was silent.
Eitan drove. Fast. Efficient. One hand on the wheel, one tapping commands into his tablet. The streets blurred past the windows—cold and colorless.
Ava sat rigid in the passenger seat, pistol tucked beneath her coat. Her heart wouldn't settle.
She kept replaying that message.
That voice from the past.
"Long time."
She could still hear it in her mind—mocking. Familiar.
She should've known it wouldn't be over. That ghosts don't die just because you stop saying their names.
Eitan pulled into a narrow alley behind the warehouse and killed the lights.
"You wait here," he said.
"No."
He turned to her. "Ava—"
"I know that place. I know the exits. The traps. The corners they like to hide in."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then nodded once.
"Stay behind me."
---
The warehouse was colder than she remembered. The metal door creaked as Eitan forced it open, gun drawn. The scent hit her first—oil, rust, and something acrid beneath it all.
They moved in silence.
Eitan took the lead, sweeping the corners like a man trained for war. Ava followed close behind, senses on high alert.
The main floor was empty. Dusty.
But the back rooms?
She knew they weren't.
She led him past the storage crates, down a short hallway, and into a room that looked untouched.
Except for one thing.
A single chair.
And on it—an old recorder, still playing on loop.
A voice. Hollow. Fuzzy.
"Ava… Ava… Ava…"
Over and over.
She stared at it like it was a ghost.
Then she picked it up and threw it against the wall.
It shattered.
Eitan watched her quietly. "They wanted you to find this."
She turned away. Her hands were shaking.
He stepped closer, lowering his weapon. "What did they do to you here?"
Her throat tightened. "This was the first place I was locked up. When I was fifteen. They used to bring me here after training. To test how long I could survive in the dark."
His eyes never left her.
"Did you survive?"
"I stopped being afraid of the dark," she whispered.
Then he reached out.
Not to touch her.
But just to be near her.
She didn't pull away.
"They won't do it again," he said. "Not while I'm breathing."
She looked up at him, unsure what to believe.
But something in his voice made her want to try.
Ava exhaled shakily, her breath fogging in the cold air of the warehouse.
Eitan stayed close, but didn't crowd her. He didn't ask more questions. He didn't push. Just stood beside her like a shadow that wouldn't leave.
She felt her spine straighten again.
"I want to burn this place down," she muttered.
He glanced at her. "Do it."
She blinked. "What?"
"You want it gone? Then make it gone. No one else gets to own your past but you."
Something flared in her chest—sharp, wild. She looked around the empty room, the rusted walls, the shadows that once felt like claws.
Then she nodded.
They left through the back, but not before Eitan took one last photo of the looping recorder wreckage. "I'll have this place monitored," he said. "If they come back—"
"They won't," Ava cut in. "They already got what they wanted."
"And what's that?"
She met his eyes. "To remind me I'm never free."
Eitan didn't argue.
But his jaw clenched.
When they got back to the car, Ava sat down slower this time, gun still under her coat, heart still pounding—but for the first time, she didn't feel like prey.
Eitan didn't start the engine.
Instead, he turned to her.
"Do you trust me now?" he asked.
Ava didn't answer right away.
But eventually, she said, "I think I'm starting to."
His lips twitched, almost a smile—but not quite.
And then they drove away.
Behind them, the warehouse stood empty.
But something in the air had changed.
Someone had declared war.
And this time, Ava was ready to fight back.