The city had a rhythm of its own fast, cold, and merciless. Neon signs flickered against the cracked glass of old buildings, the hum of traffic never ceased, and yet, in the dark corners where the light didn't reach, danger lingered like a shadow waiting to strike.
For weeks, Arya had almost allowed herself to believe they were safe. After stealing the Mercedes and slipping into the city's veins, she, Ivy, and Mira had managed to carve out a fragile existence. They moved constantly, never staying more than two nights in the same place. Arya worked odd shifts in a dim café for cash under the table, Ivy kept a watchful eye and gathered information, and Mira… Mira had grown quieter.
Too quiet.
At first, Arya thought it was grief. Mira's betrayal weighed on them all, though Ivy had chosen silence over reproach, and Arya herself had tried not to let her bitterness consume her. But something in Mira's eyes unsettled her restlessness, guilt, and perhaps something more dangerous.
One evening, Arya returned to the safehouse late. The room smelled of damp concrete and stale bread, but Ivy was already inside, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall.
"She's gone," he said flatly.
Arya froze. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"
"She left an hour ago. Didn't say where." His eyes were sharp, watching Arya's reaction. "And she left her bag behind."
Arya's stomach sank. Mira never left her bag. Not after what they'd been through.
"Where could she?" Arya began, but Ivy cut her off with a raised hand.
"I followed her."
Her chest tightened. "And?"
Ivy's jaw clenched. "She went to the east quarter. Warehouse district. She wasn't alone."
The following night, Arya couldn't resist. Against Ivy's warning, she trailed Mira herself. The streets narrowed into filth-streaked alleys where drunks slept against trash heaps. Mira walked quickly, her hood drawn low, her steps too practiced to be casual. Arya's heart hammered as she kept her distance.
Mira stopped at a derelict warehouse. The iron doors were rusted, but the faint glow of light seeped through the cracks. Arya pressed herself into the shadows, inching closer until she found a broken window.
Inside, Mira wasn't the frightened, broken girl who clung to Arya for warmth in the woods. She stood straighter, her voice firm, speaking to a man whose back was turned. His long coat brushed the floor, and though Arya couldn't see his face, something about the way he held himself radiated authority.
"I've done what you asked," Mira said, her tone clipped. "They trust me now. But Ivy is suspicious. He watches me like a hawk."
Arya's blood turned to ice.
The man chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that carried menace. "Let him. When the time comes, suspicion won't save him. And as for the girl" His head tilted, as though he already knew Arya was somewhere in the shadows. " she's more dangerous than she realizes."
Arya's hand trembled against the window frame. Who was he? How much did he know?
Mira's shoulders sagged. "I only want protection. You promised me that if I gave you information, if I helped you, I'd live."
The man stepped closer, and the dim light caught the scar that slashed across his cheek. Recognition punched Arya's gut. She had seen his face on wanted posters scattered across abandoned villages. This was no mercenary foot soldier. This was one of the General's lieutenants.
"You'll live," he said softly, almost kindly. "As long as you remember who you serve."
Mira flinched at his words. And then, to Arya's horror, she nodded.
Arya stumbled back from the window, her pulse roaring in her ears. Betrayal burned hot in her chest, sharper than any blade. Mira wasn't just broken. She wasn't just guilty of a mistake in the past. She was feeding them to the enemy piece by piece.
Arya wanted to storm inside, drag her out, demand answers. But she forced herself still. No. Not yet. She needed Ivy. She needed a plan.
As she turned to slip away, a shard of glass crunched beneath her boot.
The sound echoed in the alley.
Inside, Mira's head whipped toward the window.
Arya froze. Their eyes met one filled with shock, the other with fury.
And then Mira's lips parted, a whisper Arya could see but not hear.
"Run".