Episode 55
The teahouse smelled of wet earth and old cardamom, steam curling above chipped cups like ghosts of forgotten conversations. Aria sat in the corner, scarf pulled high to hide the bruises that memory had left on her skin. Her eyes tracked every movement, every voice too loud or soft, each shadow that might carry Malik's name. Fear no longer shook her hands as it had the night before; it had settled deeper now — into bone and breath, where it became something colder, something sharp.
The owner, a woman older than the cracked walls, shuffled to her table, setting down a bowl of lentil stew. "Eat, bitiya," she murmured, voice rough with smoke. Aria's heart caught at the kindness, too fragile to hold. "Thank you," she whispered back, words tasting like dust. She lifted the spoon, hand steady despite the tremor in her chest. Each bite tasted of salt and earth, and the truth that hunger was stronger than fear — if only for a moment.
A young man sat two tables away, scarf loose at his throat, gaze fixed on the steam rising from his own cup. His hands bore the quiet scars of old work — thin white lines over knuckles, a burn mark half-hidden at his wrist. He didn't look at her, but didn't look away either. Aria kept her head low, yet her pulse quickened. Strangers aren't safety. But sometimes, they're all that's left.
Beyond the window, morning rain thinned to drizzle. The world looked softer, but danger never left; it only waited.
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Far north, in the cold stone cell, Raian watched the young guard return. His footsteps slowed at the threshold, hesitation alive in every breath. Raian's heart beat slow and heavy, each thud counting down to a choice neither man could name.
"You think he'll spare you?" Raian's voice was a rasp of torn cloth, but steady. The guard's jaw twitched. "Quiet," he hissed, but the command sounded brittle. Raian leaned closer, chains rattling, pain biting deep. "Malik burns every bridge he walks across," he whispered. "One day, you'll find yours on fire — with you still standing on it."
The guard swallowed, gaze flicking to the door, then back. "And you?" he muttered, voice barely louder than breath. "What do you want?" "A name," Raian rasped, breathing past the stab of bruised ribs. "Find Aria. Tell her… tell her the river's mouth is still open." The words tasted of rust and hope. The guard's brows drew down, confusion and fear tangling in his eyes. But before he could speak, boots echoed beyond the corridor. Raian leaned back, chains settling over old bruises, face blank once more. One spark, he thought, pulse loud in his ears. That's all.
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In the southern town, Aria finished the last of the stew, warmth sinking through skin stretched too thin by running and fear. The young man at the other table rose, coin clinking on the rough wood. But as he passed, he paused, breath catching. "You should leave before noon," he murmured, words slipping through cracked lips like smoke. Aria's fingers tightened around the spoon. "Why?" she whispered. His gaze flickered to the window, to the wet street beyond. "Because Malik's men never eat before the hunt." Then he was gone, footsteps swallowed by the morning rain.
Aria sat frozen, stew cooling in her hand, the words sinking through her skin like cold iron. Trust no one, but listen to everything. Bashir's voice in memory sounded softer than it had in life. She rose, slipping coins beside the empty bowl. Outside, rain had eased, leaving the clay road slick and red. Run? No — running meant being hunted. Hide? No — hiding meant waiting to be found. She chose instead to walk, slow and steady, every muscle coiled, heart beating in stubborn defiance.
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Behind her, shadows moved. Two men turned from a corner, steps matching hers. She didn't look back, but her breath quickened. At the end of the street, the old mosque stood silent, stone dark with rain. She turned toward it, pace calm though her blood roared. Inside, the air smelled of moss and wet marble. Shadows hung like old prayers across cracked tiles. She stepped behind a pillar, breath shallow, listening.
The men's footsteps entered, hesitant on wet stone. "Spread out," one hissed. Aria closed her eyes, pulse loud in her ears. She pressed her palm to the marble, feeling the cold steady her. Raian would fight, she thought. But Raian also knows when to wait. The first man passed, breath harsh, knife gripped low. The second man moved slower, eyes scanning every dark corner. Her breath caught — too loud — and he turned, blade flashing.
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Far north, the guard paused at the cell door, hand gripping the keys. "If I speak to her…" he whispered, fear making the words shake. Raian met his gaze, voice low but iron-edged. "Then you do what I can't." The guard swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "And if Malik finds out?" "Then die with something worth dying for," Raian rasped. The words tasted of blood and salt, but the guard nodded once, a motion so small it might have been a breath. The keys turned, iron groaned, then settled back into silence.
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In the mosque, Aria moved first. Her foot caught a loose tile, sending it skittering across the marble. The man lunged, blade slicing air. Aria twisted, slipping on wet stone, but caught herself on the pillar's edge. The knife grazed her arm, heat flaring into pain. She bit back a cry, swinging the broken tile at his face. It cracked against his cheek, sending him reeling. The first man spun back toward them, rage twisting his mouth. "There!" he shouted.
Aria bolted, blood running warm down her sleeve. Marble turned to worn brick beneath her feet as she fled through the side door. Rain fell again, cold against fevered skin, washing blood into the mud. She didn't look back. Don't look back, she told herself, chest burning. Forward is the only way left.
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Somewhere beyond alleys and stone, dawn broke fully, pale and merciless. Malik stood at his window, the scorched ledger page between his fingers. "Find her," he whispered to the glass, breath fogging it. "Alive, she breaks him. Dead, she buries him." Below, the city stirred — unaware that love, fear, and betrayal had already begun to change everything.
And in that thin hour between night and day, hope and despair drew breath side by side, bound by blood, tied by heart.
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Teaser for Episode 56:
Raian gambles everything on a whispered promise; Aria finds an unexpected ally among those who owe nothing to Malik. And the city's shadows begin to whisper of rebellion.