The night tasted like metal and adrenaline.
We didn't speak as we ran. Adrian led the way through the back alley, every movement calculated, silent, controlled. My heart hammered loud enough to echo in my ears, and I hated that I trusted his pace more than my own instincts.
The car was waiting two blocks down, dark and nondescript, the kind no one remembers. He slid into the driver's seat, and I followed without question. The engine purred to life. Within seconds, the city lights were shrinking in the rearview mirror.
For the first few miles, neither of us said a word. The silence wasn't comfortable; it was full of everything I wanted to yell, and everything he wasn't ready to admit.
Finally, I broke it. "You said they'd be back. Who are they, Adrian?"
He didn't look at me. "Private contractors. Ross hires them to erase evidence when his mess leaks."
"And now I'm the mess?"
"You're the target."
I laughed dryly. "Comforting."
He shifted gears, eyes fixed on the road. "You should've stayed hidden."
"Hidden?" I shot back. "You mean quiet. That's what you want to say."
His jaw tightened. "You think this is about silencing you? Elara, your article painted a target on your back. Ross lost three men because of what you exposed."
"Then maybe he should've been more careful with his lies."
He exhaled, long and sharp, like the words hit somewhere real. The car filled again with silence heavier this time, the kind that pressed against the ribs.
When we finally stopped, it was just outside the city limits, a rundown roadside motel that looked like it hadn't seen customers in years. One neon sign flickered the word Vacancy, the rest burned out.
He parked in the shadows, cut the engine, and turned to me. "We stay low tonight. No calls. No lights."
"Fine," I muttered, opening the door. "But I'm not sharing a room."
He gave a small, humorless smile. "There's only one room that locks from the inside."
Of course, there was.
The room smelled faintly of dust and old cigarettes. One bed. A cracked mirror. A small table by the window. I dropped my bag and sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he checked the locks, the curtains, even the vents.
"You've done this before," I said quietly.
He didn't answer, just set his gun on the table within reach and sat in the chair opposite me.
For a while, neither of us moved. The sound of rain against the window filled the space between us.
"You still don't believe me," he said finally.
"I believe you're good at lying," I said. "You always were."
His eyes lifted to mine. "And yet you followed me."
I hated that he was right. I hated that a part of me, the part that remembered the way he'd looked at me the day my brother's name was cleared, still wanted to believe there was more to him than the betrayal.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "When your brother died, I wasn't there. I was halfway across the world, running an op Ross ordered. I found out two weeks later."
I blinked. "That's not what the report said."
"The report said what Ross wanted it to say."
Something cracked inside me, not fully, but enough for the air to feel different. "You didn't even get to say goodbye?"
He shook his head. "He was my best friend, Elara. I would've taken the bullet for him."
The honesty in his tone unnerved me. I searched his face for signs of deceit, but all I saw was the weight of something old and unhealed.
"Why tell me this now?" I asked softly.
"Because you deserve to know the truth before the truth kills you."
I swallowed hard, staring at him. There were a hundred things I wanted to say —accusations, questions, maybe even thanks— but the words wouldn't come.
A low rumble of thunder rolled outside. I stood and turned away, trying to steady the chaos inside me.
"You should get some sleep," he said. "We move at dawn."
I gave a dry laugh. "You really think I can sleep after that?"
He didn't answer. Just leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the door.
I lay down on the bed anyway, facing the opposite wall. The rain grew heavier, masking the sound of my unsteady breathing. I told myself not to think about him, not the sound of his voice, not the way his presence filled the room like heat.
But somewhere between exhaustion and fear, I drifted.
When I woke, the light was gray and cold. Adrian was still awake, sitting where I'd left him, eyes fixed on his phone. A message flashed across the screen, one name that made my blood run cold.
Liam Callen.
My brother.
I sat up fast. "What is that?"
He hesitated a beat too long. "You shouldn't have seen that."
I was already on my feet. "You said Liam was dead."
"He was," Adrian said. "But if this message is real, someone wants us to think otherwise."
I grabbed the phone from his hand before he could stop me. The message was simple: coordinates, a time, and three words: He's waiting, Elara.
My throat went dry. "Is this one of your tricks?"
"No." His voice was low, serious. "This came from a burner line linked to one of Ross's old contacts."
I looked up at him, anger and hope colliding so fast it hurt. "If my brother's alive"
"Then Ross has been lying to both of us," he finished. "And that means this goes deeper than either of us thought."
The air between us felt charged, like the moments before lightning hits. For the first time, we weren't enemies standing on opposite sides of the truth. We were two people caught in the same fire, and it was burning fast.
"Then we find him," I said.
Adrian nodded. "But not alone."
I almost smiled. "So now we're partners?"
"Temporary," he said, though the flicker in his eyes told a different story.
I stepped closer, close enough to see the faint stubble on his jaw, the scar that ran just beneath his ear. "Careful, Adrian. You're starting to sound like you care."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "You make it hard not to."
The space between us tightened, electric and dangerous. For a moment, the storm outside was nothing compared to the storm inside that room. I could feel the pulse in my wrist, the heat of his breath when he leaned closer.
Then his phone buzzed again. Another message.
This one only had two words: They know.
His expression hardened instantly. "We have to move. Now."
He grabbed his jacket, checked his gun, and reached for my hand without thinking. The touch was brief, but it was enough to send my heart racing.
We stepped into the rain, the wind sharp and cold. Behind us, the motel flickered under the storm's light. Ahead of us, the road stretched into darkness.
As the car roared to life, I glanced at him, the man I'd hated, the man who might be my only chance at surviving the truth.
For the first time, I wasn't sure which of us was chasing the other or what we'd become once the truth finally burned through everything left between us.