The hotel suite was quiet—too quiet for what had just unfolded. Kiara leaned against the balcony railing, her fingers clenched tightly around the edge, knuckles pale beneath the pressure. Below her, the city pulsed with neon lights and honking cars, oblivious to the storm inside her chest.
Behind her, Zion paced.
He wasn't the same Zion who had once teased her at rehearsals, who used to brush a strand of hair from her face with gentle affection. This Zion was rigid. Alert. And—most unsettling of all—guarded.
Kiara turned to face him. "You need to tell me everything. Now."
He stopped, eyes scanning her as though measuring how much she could take. "It's not that simple."
"Then make it simple," she snapped. "Who was that woman? Why did she call you Aaron?"
Silence bloomed in the room like thick smoke. Zion looked away first.
"She's from a part of my life I thought I left behind," he finally said. "Before music. Before all this. Her name is Talia. And she wasn't supposed to find me again."
Kiara's breath hitched. "So what—you're living under a fake identity? Is Zion even your real name?"
"I changed my name legally when I turned twenty," he said. "I needed to escape that life. You have no idea what it was like. I was deep in things I shouldn't have been. I paid my dues—left that world behind. Talia… she's a ghost I didn't expect to rise again."
Kiara took a step toward him, her voice low. "Are you in danger?"
Zion hesitated, and that alone gave her the answer.
"Oh my God." Kiara backed away. "You brought this to me. To us."
"I didn't mean to," he said, taking a cautious step forward. "Kiara, I love you. I wanted to tell you so many times, but I kept thinking if I told you, I'd make it real again. I've worked so hard to become someone new."
She stared at him. The man she loved—or thought she knew—was unraveling into someone else entirely. She felt like a fool for not noticing the cracks earlier.
"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.
Zion's face crumpled. "Please don't say that."
A sharp knock interrupted them. They both jumped.
Another knock, this time louder.
Kiara slowly approached the door. "Who is it?"
"Room service," a voice called.
"We didn't order anything," Zion said under his breath. He moved closer. "Kiara, wait—"
She opened the door.
A man in a black suit and dark sunglasses stood with a silver food tray. He gave her a polite smile. "Compliments of the chef."
Kiara was about to close the door when Zion lunged forward, knocking the tray out of the man's hands. A gun slid out from under the silver cover and clattered to the floor.
"Run!" Zion yelled, pushing Kiara back.
The man lunged for the weapon, but Zion tackled him, fists flying.
Kiara stumbled backward, heart pounding. She grabbed her phone and dialed emergency services with shaking hands, backing into the bathroom and locking the door.
Outside, she heard crashes, groans, a grunt of pain—Zion's or the man's, she couldn't tell.
Then—silence.
Moments later, a gentle knock on the bathroom door.
"Kiara?" It was Zion. His voice was hoarse.
"Prove it's you," she whispered.
There was a pause. "You once said love wasn't about fireworks. It was about showing up every day. I've been showing up for you, Kiara. Even now."
She opened the door slowly. Zion stood there, blood on his shirt, one eye swollen, but the attacker was gone.
"I chased him off," he said breathlessly. "He got away, but I don't think he'll be back tonight."
Kiara sank onto the edge of the bed, overwhelmed. "What the hell is going on?"
Zion sat beside her. "Talia is part of a group I used to run with. We weren't just street kids—we were mules. Couriers for dangerous people. I got out after one of our crew died. I testified. Went into protection. They told me I was safe."
Kiara stared at him. "But you're not."
"No," he whispered. "And now you're not either."
A chill crept down her spine.
"We need to leave," he said. "Tonight. I'll protect you. But we can't stay here."
"Where would we even go?"
Zion's hand found hers. "Somewhere they can't reach us. I have a safe house. Upstate. I didn't want to ever use it again—but now…"
Kiara nodded slowly. "Then let's go."
They packed in silence. Every sound felt louder, every shadow longer. Kiara moved in a haze, grabbing clothes, stuffing things into bags without really seeing them.
As they prepared to leave, she paused at the door and turned to Zion.
"Is there anything else?" she asked. "Anything else I need to know before I step into whatever this is?"
He didn't answer right away. Then he turned, met her gaze, and said, "There's a file. On me. On everything I did. I buried it. And someone's digging it up."
Kiara frowned. "Why would they do that?"
Zion looked out the window, face grim.
"Because someone doesn't want me to walk away clean."
As the room fell into silence, Elara felt a sharp tug of anxiety rise in her chest. The revelation had left the group stunned, their confidence rattled like a cracked mirror. She stepped away from the fireplace, its flickering glow no longer warm—only casting monstrous shadows on the wall.
Brayden followed her gaze. "We can't fall apart now," he said quietly. "Everything we've done, everything we've risked—if we give in to doubt, we lose."
Elara nodded, her mind already racing. "We need answers. And there's only one person left who might have them."
Brayden's brows furrowed. "You don't mean—?"
"I do." She turned to face him. "The Archivist. He's lived in the silence for too long. Whatever he's hiding—it's time we force the truth out of him."
Before Brayden could object, the door creaked open behind them. A figure cloaked in midnight blue stepped into the light. His voice was cold, deliberate.
"You won't need to search far," he said. "The truth has been watching you all along."
Elara froze, her heart thudding. The room darkened slightly, as if the shadows themselves had leaned in to listen.
And just like that, the game shifted again.
But this time, the pieces were watching.
To be continued…