"This is how we disappear."
Mira shut her bedroom door quietly and crossed the room in long, precise strides. Raquel was starting to panic. Liam was emotionally frozen. And time? Time was vanishing with every breath.
But Mira wasn't one to fall apart. If she did, how would the plan fall through?
She grabbed her phone and tapped on Julian – Flights/Logistics.
It rang once.
"Mira," came the crisp British voice on the other end. "Didn't expect to hear from you this early."
"I need a flight route locked for tomorrow afternoon. Three passengers. To Mumbai. My father's jet is on standby at the Hangar 6 terminal."
"Short notice," Julian said, typing audibly. "You'll need diplomatic clearance out of New York, and Mumbai's slotting can be a nightmare."
"You'll manage it. That's why my father pays you."
A pause. Then, "Consider it done. I'll email the finalized route by noon. Expect a premium on the urgency."
"Bill me double if you have to. Just get it secured."
She ended the call.
Next: Carver – IDs.
He picked up faster than she expected.
"Mira Koker. Didn't think I'd hear from you again so soon."
"I need three full identity kits, Carver. New names. Cleanpassports. One for me. One male, late teens. One female, same age. I'll send photos and digital data in five."
"Need them when?"
"Tonight."
"Jesus. That's almost impossible."
"Almost. Means it can be done."
"What you're asking for is insane, Mira."
"So is the price I'm willing to pay you. Money's not the problem."
A pause. "Overnight production will cost you. Triple."
"I don't care. Send your guy to me directly once they're ready. Same address."
Carver hesitated. "You sure you want to move this quick?"
"I don't have a choice."
"That urgent, huh? Can I ask why three brand-new passports—"
"You don't need to know why, Carver. Just deliver. Discreetly, you know. My driver will meet you at the usual drop point."
"Understood. Send the files ."
She was already pulling up Raquel and Liam's photos, running encryption filters, scrubbing metadata, and packaging them for Carver in a zipped file, sealed.
---
Carver's courier handed off the documents to Mira's driver at a gas station five blocks from the Koker estate. The envelope was plain and unmarked. Inside it, there were three new, crisp passports, social security data, fabricated school records, and health cards.
Back in the estate, Mira reviewed the documents in the back of her father's Mercedes. The stress coiled tight in her chest began to ease. Everything was finally falling into place.
She moved like a shadow through the house.
To the household staff, Mira's story was easy: a school-sponsored cultural project in Mumbai. Three students, handpicked.
No one dared to ask any questions. Her father's name was enough to clear off any doubts they had, any objections they could think of.
—
The sun was starting to dip behind Manhattan's jagged skyline when Mira, Raquel, and Liam emerged from the Koker estate with their minimal luggage.
The driver waited near the garage, wearing his usual impassive expression behind sunglasses. He opened the back door, and Mira ushered the others inside.
The car rolled out of the high-walled estate, turning onto the quiet Upper East Side street. Mira glanced once at her watch. 3:58PM, perfect timing. The jet was scheduled to lift by 5:00 sharp.
As the car coasted smoothly down the avenue, Raquel sat stiffly in the back seat, her eyes darting to the tinted windows.
And then she saw it.
Behind them, a black Audi. Low, sleek, and unmarked. Same one she'd noticed back when Mira first picked them up after leaving Brookside. Her breath caught.
"Mira," she whispered urgently. "That car's following us."
Mira's brows furrowed. "You sure?"
"It's the same one. From that first ride to your place. I recognize the colour, midnight black, not the regular car paint."
Mira glanced behind subtly, then looked ahead. "Driver, take Fifth and cut through Lexington. Now."
"Yes, Miss Koker," the man replied calmly, already turning.
Liam leaned forward. "What's going on?"
Raquel couldn't take her eyes off the rear window. "They're speeding up."
The black car was tailing too closely now, trying to stay discreet but failing. Raquel's fingers trembled as she gripped her backpack tighter.
"What if it's the cops? What if they know? What if they tracked us?"
"No one knows," Mira said evenly. "They're guessing. Whoever it is, they're just trailing us. It's too early for the authorities to pick up on what we're doing."
The driver swerved onto an off-ramp, veering sharply between lanes, then dipped under an underpass that opened into an alternate airport access road. The black car overshot the turn.
"They missed it," Mira muttered.
Raquel spun in her seat to watch the vehicle disappear from view.
"We lost them," the driver confirmed calmly.
Raquel let out a ragged breath and leaned back. "Holy crap. That was… that was close. What if they come back? How did they even find us in the first place?"
"They won't be back, Raquel. Be bold for once," Mira assured her in a clipped voice. "And even if they do, we'll be airborne in less than an hour. You just need to breathe and relax, okay?"
"I am breathing!" she snapped, but her voice cracked, betraying the panic she was trying to hide. "It's just—having the same car follow us twice wasn't part of the plan."
Liam looked shaken too, but he said nothing.
Mira reached over and squeezed Raquel's hand. "Listen to me. Once we're in the air, they can't find us. We'll be mere ghosts. Just hold it together for another thirty minutes."
---
4:00PM - The Executive Terminal
The jet gleamed beneath the hot afternoon sun. Staff moved efficiently, loading their bags. The cabin was perfectly chilled, stocked, and silenced.
Raquel appeared first, dressed in a pale yellow hoodie, oversized jeans, and dark sunglasses. Her face was pale and tight, lips chewed raw.
Liam followed silently, duffel slung over one shoulder, his usual confidence reduced to quiet discomfort.
Mira arrived last, sleek in a black bomber jacket and soft grey joggers, designer shades shielding her expression. She moved like she owned the sky.
As they boarded, no one stopped them. Nor interrupted with questions.
Mira's father's signature on a flight manifest was the only ticket they needed.
They were airborne within twenty minutes.
Raquel leaned against the glass, eyes locked on the fading skyline. "Does anyone suspect anything?"
"For the umpteenth time, Raquel," Mira replied, rolling her eyes. "My father's name does most of the work."
Liam murmured, "And when someone eventually realizes?"
Mira's gaze didn't move. "Then we'll be far too gone to follow."
---
The Next Morning — Mumbai, India
The jet touched down in a blur of warm haze and diesel wind.
Waiting on the tarmac stood a tall figure in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, a paper sign that read "MK" dangling from his hand.
"Everett," Mira called.
He dropped the sign. "Mira Koker. Haven't seen you since Berlin."
"India suits you," she said, returning the grin as they hugged briefly.
"You didn't say you were bringing company."
"I didn't think it mattered. You offered me your place."
"I did," he nodded. "Spare villa's prepped. And soundproofed."
He looked at Raquel and Liam. "Friends?"
"Yeah, they are. They'll be staying with me."
"Even better."
The drive through Mumbai was a blur of horn blasts and lighted-up billboards. The streets were as busy as ever. The SUV glided through it all, the vehicle's tinted windows muting the chaos.
Inside, Mira checked her encrypted email.
One message stood out. No sender, no subject. Just a line of text:
"We will keep following you."
She stared at it, then quietly locked her phone.
---
Later That Evening – Everett's Underground Art Gallery
Tucked beneath a converted textile mill, Everett's hidden gallery pulsed with low music and filtered lights. Dozens of abstract werewolf paintings covered the walls—the creatures distorted and full of movement.
"Painted all these last year," Everett said, swirling a glass of wine.
Liam held up a painting. "This is really impressive. Do you sell?" he asked.
"Yes, but only to top clients. The street is too risky for me."
Mira stood beneath one of Everett's larger pieces—a red-eyed beast mid-transformation.
"I need to know," she said softly to Everett. "If anyone in this city can trace us."
"Not unless you walk into a police station and give them your old names."
"Someone's already poking around."
"You sure?"
Mira didn't answer. Just pulled up her phone and showed him the message.
He frowned. "Anonymous?"
"Encrypted. Buried in my secondary inbox."
Everett's mood changed slightly. He took the phone, studied the source metadata.
"This wasn't local," he said. "Came from the States."
Raquel, still pacing, froze. "You think it's from Brookside?"
"No," Mira said immediately. "They don't even know what email client I use for burner alerts."
Everett handed her back the phone. "Then someone else does."
Mira turned back toward the painting.
A new life had just begun.