The black flames were closing in, and they were coming in way too fast. Assad dug his boots into the cracked pavement, bracing both hands against the writhing wall of fire. Every spark that grazed his skin crawled up his arms like liquid heat.
"Come on… not yet!" he roared, pushing back with every ounce of strength he had.
But the prison didn't listen. It moved as if it were alive, feeding, devouring, shrinking. The guards screamed from inside, their faces illuminated in a hellish red by the inferno. One was frozen in fear, trembling and unable to move. The other still clutched the briefcase, jaw set in defiance.
"Move!" Assad shouted. "I said move!"
"I—I can't!" the terrified one sobbed.
Assad's jaw tightened. There was no time for debate. He ripped his hands away from the flames and dashed inside. The heat seared his vision, warping everything around him — the air felt molten, and the ground cracked beneath each step. He grabbed the frightened one by the arm, her skin already blistering. "Hold on to me."
Her eyes widened. "What are you—"
"Saving your damn life."
He scanned the area, searching through the haze for anything — anything at all — and then he spotted it. A puddle. Small, but enough. Rainwater mixed with oil, glimmering faintly beside the rubble.
It wasn't much, but it was all he had.
Assad turned to both women. "Listen to me carefully. I'm going to throw you toward that puddle. When you hit it, roll. Don't think, just roll. The water will put out the flames, got it?"
The defiant one spat blood. "You're insane—"
"Yeah," he muttered, "I've heard that before."
Without waiting for a response, he crouched low and, with a burst of energy, hurled the first guard straight through the collapsing flames. She screamed as the fire caught her sleeves, but she landed half in the puddle, steam bursting around her.
She hit the puddle hard, splashing water everywhere. Steam hissed, smoke rising. She rolled and rolled, panting. Her sleeves were scorched, her cheek burned, but she was alive.
Assad smiled faintly, relieved. "Good… that worked."
Then he turned to the other guard. "Your turn."
She stared into his silver eyes, taking in his scorched clothes and the fire swirling like a tempest behind him. The way he said it calm, certain sent a chill racing down her spine.
"You ready?" he asked.
"…You sound terrifying when you say it like that," she muttered, gripping her briefcase tightly.
Assad blinked, then let out a small laugh. "Sorry. Just a habit."
"Yeah, yeah," she exhaled, "let's do it."
He nodded once, grabbed her arm, and with a sharp grunt, flung her toward the same puddle. The fire caught her mid-throw. Flames ignited on her shoulder and back, crawling down her coat. She hit the puddle hard, water splashing everywhere, but instead of dousing the flames…
A hiss split the air, followed by a scream that echoed through the street.
"AAAAAAAHHHH!"
Assad froze. The puddle wasn't extinguishing the flames it was feeding them. The moment she touched it, the water turned black, bubbling violently. She thrashed and rolled, desperately trying to put herself out, but the flames clung to her skin like tar.
"What the hell—?!" Assad sprinted forward, bursting through the dying wall of fire. His heart raced in his chest, panic surging.
"Stop! Stop, drop, roll! Just—"
Her screams grew louder, raw and breaking. Steam and smoke enveloped her completely. The stench of burning flesh filled the air.
"HELP HER!" cried the first guard, stumbling toward them. "PLEASE, SHE'S MY SISTER!"
Assad froze mid-step. "...What?"
The burning woman reached out toward the voice, her eyes wide with agony then the flames consumed her entirely. Her scream faded into a whisper, then silence. When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left. Not even ash.
The surviving guard fell to her knees, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "No… no, no, no…"
Assad stood there, frozen. His mind replayed the last thing she'd said: Sister.
He turned to her slowly. "She was your sister?"
The guard's tear-streaked face snapped toward him, a mix of fury and despair.
"I—" Assad paused, feeling a dryness in his throat. "The water… it wasn't meant to—"
She pounded her fist against the slick pavement, tears streaming down her face. "You liar! You killed her!"
Those words struck him harder than any bullet ever could.
Assad took a cautious step closer to her. The heat was starting to fade, but the air still hung heavy with the smell of burnt flesh and metal. He crouched down next to the surviving guard, who was trembling as she clutched the briefcase tightly to her chest.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice rough around the edges. "I didn't mean for—"
"Get the hell away from me!" she screamed.
Her voice cracked, a raw mix of rage and grief. She scrambled backward, her boots slipping on the slick tiles, her eyes wide with fear. "You—you touched her! You threw her into that… that thing!"
Assad froze, his hands hovering uncertainly in the air, torn between reaching out and pulling back. His chest felt like it was being squeezed.
"I was trying to save her," he murmured. "If I had known—"
"You didn't know anything!" she shot back, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You play the hero, and everyone ends up dead! Just… stay away from me!"
The weight of her words hit him harder than the heat ever could. He looked at her, so small and fragile now, shaking and covered in ash, and he couldn't find a single word to make sense of it all. For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved. The only sound was the soft crackle of dying embers in the alley.
Finally, Assad lowered his hands. His gaze drifted to the two briefcases lying nearby, half-burned but still intact. He swallowed hard.
What now?
If he stayed, maybe he could calm her down and get her out alive. But if he left the cases behind, Mischa would take them and whatever nightmare was inside would spread again. His mind raced.
Save her… or save what's left of the mission.
"Just go!" she yelled, clutching the briefcase even tighter. "Take whatever you want and leave me alone!"
He stared at her for a moment longer, caught between guilt and instinct. Then he let out a slow breath, glancing toward the flickering neon lights beyond the alley. The city was eerily silent, holding its breath.
"…Fine," he finally said, his voice low. "But if you stay here, you'll die too."
He walked past her, stepping over the puddle and the ashes that had once been her sister. Each step echoed against
Assad stood there for a moment, the briefcases feeling heavy and burdensome at his side. The alley was thick with the scent of smoke and iron, while the city beyond pulsed with neon lights and distant sirens.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from the curled-up figure of the surviving guard, her quiet sobs barely audible over the noise of the street.
Then, something inside him broke.
"Damn it." He let the briefcases drop, ignoring the way the puddle rippled like a held breath, and lunged forward.
He seized her wrist with a grip so tight it made her gasp. "Get up. Now."
She recoiled, her eyes wide with suspicion, but he didn't give her a chance to refuse. "I'll pay for my sins — whether you like it or not." His voice was raw, a mix of a promise and a threat. "Move."
For a heartbeat, it looked like she might push him away, maybe even scream at him to get lost. But something in her — shock, the instinct to survive, a flicker of hope — drove her to scramble to her feet.
And then they were off.
Assad hoisted the briefcases as they burst into the street, their boots slapping against the wet concrete, steam and ash trailing behind them. The city swallowed the alley whole; neon signs flickered wildly above, and a delivery drone zipped by like a careless moth.
"Taura?" he gasped, scanning the crowd as they ran. "Where—she's not—"
"She's not here," the guard panted, clutching her arm where the skin had blistered. "Who are you taking me to?"
Assad kept pushing forward, dodging a vendor's cart and an old man who muttered about the gods. "Listen," he said between breaths, "I need to finish this job first. Then — then I'll make it right. Just run. Don't stop until I say so."
Her expression twisted confusion, fear, and a fragile glimmer of trust. "Why should I believe—?"
"Because I said so." It didn't sound like a promise; it was more of a command. It sliced through the chaos, and for reasons she couldn't quite grasp, she followed his lead.
They navigated through alleyways, each one narrower and darker than the last, until the city's neon glow and clamor faded into an industrial corridor.
They sprinted until their lungs felt like they were on fire and their legs threatened to buckle beneath them. The city around them buzzed with life flickering neon lights, the low hum of engines, and a cold drizzle that made everything slick underfoot.
Finally, Assad caught sight of a dimly lit corner shop tucked away from the chaos.
"Here," he whispered.
The guard hesitated, glancing back at the empty street, but eventually followed him inside. The shop was barely hanging on, with shelves leaning precariously and a faint odor of oil mixed with stale food. A lone clerk dozed behind the counter, headphones on, completely unaware of their presence.
Assad signaled for silence and crouched down behind a row of shelves. The guard settled next to him, gripping her burned arm, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
Assad tapped his wristwatch. The small device flickered with static before projecting a faint, blue-tinted hologram. Taura's image appeared—distorted but still recognizable, her sharp eyes scanning the feed as if she were already anticipating trouble.
"Assad?" Her voice crackled through the static.
He let out a breath, trying to steady himself. "Where are you? What happened with the maid?"
Taura's gaze darted to the side for a moment, as if she were checking her surroundings. "I'm on my way. But… the maid—"
Assad leaned in closer to the flickering screen. "What about her?"
"She vanished."
A smirk crept onto his face, relief washing over him. "Good. Guess she took off when things got dicey."
Taura didn't share his amusement. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, almost lost in the static.
"No, Assad. She vanished. As in, gone. No trace. The sensors picked up some movement for a few seconds after, then nothing. I think…"
She paused.
"I think she's after those briefcases."
The smile faded instantly. Assad's fingers tightened around the watch. The faint blue light flickered across his eyes as the words sank in like a knife against his thoughts.
"After the briefcases?" he echoed slowly.
Taura nodded. "Yeah. It seems like the drugs in one of those cases are high value."