Mira didn't stop moving until she'd crossed three streets, taken two random turns, and ducked behind a shuttered bakery that smelled faintly of yesterday's bread. She pressed her back against the wall, chest rising and falling in short, sharp breaths.
Her phone buzzed again.
She flinched.
**Unknown Number:**
*He lost you. Stay where you are.*
"Stay where I am?" she whispered. "Are you insane?"
She peeked around the corner. Cars slid through the early morning haze. A woman dragged a suitcase down the sidewalk. A homeless man slept under a tattered blanket.
No charcoal coat.
No strange device.
No unblinking eyes.
Still, Mira's pulse wouldn't slow.
She typed quickly:
**Mira:**
*I'm done. Tell me who you are or stop texting me.*
A pause.
Then—
*If I tell you, you won't believe me.*
"Try me," she muttered.
Another message came through.
*Look up.*
She did.
Across the street, on the second-floor balcony of an old electronics repair shop, stood a figure in a dark hoodie—hood up, face shadowed. A glint of metal reflected near their ear, maybe a headset. Or an earpiece.
They lifted a hand and waved once.
Mira's breath hitched.
"Is that—"
Her phone vibrated again.
*Come inside.*
Mira looked back at the building.
The repair shop was barely alive—shutter halfway open, wires and broken TVs piled in the window, a dusty "We Fix Everything" sign flickering. It looked like the type of place you entered only if you desperately needed something… or if you were about to get kidnapped.
She crossed her arms. "Yeah. No."
Her phone:
*You want answers or not? You were two minutes from being taken.*
Taken.
The word slammed into her like a punch.
She looked up at the balcony again, but the figure was gone.
Her legs moved before she made a decision.
She crossed the street, ducked under the half-open shutter, and stepped inside.
### **The Shop**
The air smelled like metal and burnt plastic. Shelves towered over her, stacked with outdated phones, cracked tablets, and radios missing their guts. A buzzing fluorescent light flickered overhead.
"Hello?" she called.
No answer.
Mira's hand hovered near the pepper spray in her jacket pocket.
Something shifted behind the counter.
"Don't," a voice said. Calm. Young. Not threatening.
A boy—maybe seventeen or eighteen—stood up from behind a pile of circuit boards. He had messy black hair, smudges of grease on his fingers, and a tiny screwdriver tucked behind his ear. Thick glasses magnified sharp, intelligent eyes.
"I'm Zayn," he said. "I sent the messages."
Mira blinked.
"A kid? You're the one warning me about creepy metro stalkers?"
He shrugged. "Age doesn't change the truth."
"You said I was being watched."
"You were."
"And followed."
"Still are."
Mira stiffened. "By who?"
Zayn hesitated. "Not who. What."
She stared at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"
He motioned toward the back of the shop. "I'll show you."
Mira didn't move.
"Explain first."
Zayn scratched the back of his neck. "Okay, look… the man who followed you? He wasn't a regular person. Not exactly."
"Not exactly," she repeated. "Great. That explains everything."
"I mean it," Zayn said. "He's part of a network. Underground. Hidden. Connected to the metro systems. At least… that's where it started."
Mira narrowed her eyes.
"Start from the beginning. And make it make sense."
Zayn inhaled deeply.
### **The Story**
"Three months ago," he said, "passengers started going missing on Line 7. No bodies. No trace. CCTV cameras glitching every time it happened. Like something erased the footage."
Mira's stomach twisted.
"My cousin," Zayn continued, "was one of them. Last seen entering the metro station right where you were today."
Her breath caught.
"What I figured out," he went on, "is that it's not human traffickers. Not gang stuff. Something more organized. Smarter. Coordinated through the infrastructure itself. Electrical grids. Wireless signals. Even the metro's automated systems."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "A ghost metro conspiracy?"
"No." Zayn adjusted his glasses. "Something real. Something that uses technology to move in the shadows."
"And the man who followed me…?"
"Not a man. Not fully."
Mira shivered. "Then what is he?"
"I don't know yet."
Zayn glanced at her phone. "But I tracked the signal he used to lock onto your location. It's not from any device sold publicly."
"So he knew who I was?"
Zayn shook his head. "He sensed you. That's the problem."
Mira's pulse quickened. "Why me?"
Zayn looked at her with something like fear.
"Because you lit up their network."
Mira felt her mouth go dry. "What does that mean?"
Zayn took a shaky breath.
"You've been marked."
The words echoed through the tiny shop.
Before Mira could respond, the lights above them flickered violently—once, twice, then a loud electrical snap filled the room.
Zayn froze.
"Oh no."
"What?" Mira whispered.
He pointed at the security monitor on the wall.
A tall figure in a charcoal coat stood outside the shop.
Unmoving.
Watching the shutter.
Mira's blood turned cold.
"He found you again," Zayn whispered.
The lights flickered a second time.
Then the shop went dark.