The explosion above us shook the narrow staircase.
Dust rained down as we moved quickly through the underground passage. The emergency lights flickered, casting sharp shadows across his face.
He didn't look afraid.
He looked focused.
Deadly calm.
Gunshots echoed again — closer this time.
"How did they get past your security?" I demanded, struggling to keep up with his long strides.
"They didn't," he replied coldly. "Someone let them in."
My stomach twisted.
A traitor.
Of course there was a traitor.
We reached the bottom of the stairs where a reinforced steel door blocked the exit. He pressed his palm against a hidden scanner. The lock clicked open.
Cold night air hit my face as we stepped into a concealed underground garage.
Three black SUVs waited, engines already running.
He opened the passenger door and guided me inside before circling to the driver's seat.
"You trust your staff that much?" I asked sharply.
"I trust no one," he answered, accelerating out of the hidden gate.
Behind us, flames painted the sky orange.
My breath caught.
"My room…" I whispered.
"Replaceable."
"And the people inside?"
Silence.
His jaw tightened.
That was answer enough.
The city blurred past us as we sped through empty streets.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Somewhere they won't expect."
"That's comforting."
He glanced at me briefly. "You're alive. That should be enough."
I crossed my arms, anger mixing with fear.
"This is happening because of my father."
"No," he said firmly. "This is happening because someone thinks I'm vulnerable."
"They attacked your home."
"Yes."
"And you're calm?"
His grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"I'm not calm."
There it was.
Not fear.
Rage.
Controlled. Focused. Dangerous.
We stopped in front of a modern building near the harbor. It looked abandoned from the outside.
Inside, it was the opposite.
Clean. Minimal. Prepared.
"A safehouse," I murmured.
"Yes."
He locked multiple doors behind us as we entered.
The silence here felt heavy.
Temporary.
"You should rest," he said.
I laughed bitterly. "After that?"
His eyes studied me carefully.
"You handled it well."
"Don't compliment me."
"I'm not."
He stepped closer.
"You didn't panic."
"I was too busy trying not to die."
Something shifted in his expression.
Not softness.
Responsibility.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He removed his jacket and placed it over my shoulders.
The gesture stunned me.
Small.
Unnecessary.
Dangerous.
"You don't have to pretend with me," he added.
"I'm not pretending."
"You are," he said calmly. "You're terrified."
I couldn't argue.
Because he was right.
"Why are they really after you?" I asked softly.
His face hardened.
"I built something they can't control."
"And they want it."
"Yes."
"And my father gave them access."
A pause.
"Yes."
The truth settled heavily between us.
"I might have something," I said slowly.
His eyes sharpened instantly.
"What?"
"The night before everything collapsed… my father gave me a small encrypted drive."
Silence filled the room.
"Where is it?" he asked quietly.
"Safe."
"That's not specific."
"I didn't trust him," I admitted. "So I hid it."
His gaze burned into mine.
"You have no idea what could be on that drive."
"I assumed it wasn't family photos."
He didn't smile.
"Give it to me."
"No."
The word surprised both of us.
His eyes darkened.
"You think I would discard you?" he asked softly.
"You called me collateral."
That hit him.
I saw it.
For a fraction of a second.
"You are not collateral anymore," he said quietly.
"Then prove it."
Silence stretched.
He stepped closer.
"If I wanted that drive by force," he murmured, "you wouldn't be negotiating."
"I know."
His fingers brushed my cheek.
Fire.
Tension.
War.
A phone buzzed on the table.
He answered without breaking eye contact.
"Yes."
A pause.
His expression turned cold.
"They traced the signal," a voice said faintly. "They know you're still in the city."
My blood ran cold.
He ended the call slowly.
"Well," I whispered, "that was fast."
He looked at me.
No distance in his eyes now.
"Stay close to me."
"That's your plan?"
"No."
His hand tightened slightly around my wrist.
"That's your only option."
And in that moment, I realized something terrifying.
This wasn't about debt anymore.
It wasn't even about the drive.
This was war.
And I was standing at the center of it.