CHAPTER 6: FLAMES AND FAVOURS.
1075 Words
It was the first time Amara saw Zayn bleeding.
The wound wasn’t deep; just a graze along his ribs from the gunfight at the safehouse,but it left a crimson line down his side. This is a reminder that even ghosts can be wounded.
They holed up in a back-alley clinic run by a woman, Zayn, called Reva. A medic from his past life. She didn’t ask questions, just stitched him up while Amara watched from the shadows, her arms folded tightly.
“You ever think about walking away?” Amara asked.
Zayn didn’t flinch as the needle bit flesh. “Walking away is not in the job description.”
Reva snorted. “He’s lying. I patched him up in Rio two years ago. He had a plane ticket and a bag packed. Then he heard a kid got kidnapped by a cartel he was supposed to be working with.”
Amara raised a brow. “He saved the kid?”
“He killed the cartel leader instead. Pissed off four governments and burned an eight-year old cover.”
Zayn looked away. “It wasn’t a good plan.”
“It was the right one,” Reva said. “But you don’t do right very often. Not unless someone gives you a reason to.”
She glanced at Amara.
The air thickened.
Amara looked away.
---
By nightfall, Reva had disappeared again. No goodbyes, no warnings, just a clean exit. The kind only people with a history of being hunted understand.
Zayn and Amara left the clinic under cover of darkness.
Their next destination was Berlin.
Zayn had arranged for an encrypted data drop with a contact there, someone capable of blasting the contents of the final drive across the international intelligence web. Not just exposing Hydra, but ripping out its influence from the heart of global agencies.
But Berlin wasn’t safe.
None of their routes were.
So they reached out to him, the last person Zayn wanted to see.
“Who’s Jace?” Amara asked as they waited in a graffiti-covered underpass, a cold wind cutting between them.
Zayn didn’t answer immediately.
Then, “He’s my brother.”
Amara blinked. “You have a brother?”
“Had. He died three years ago. The one you’ll meet… is what’s left.”
She was about to ask more when the black bike cut through the mist like a blade. The rider wore a black leather jacket, no helmet. His face was half-shadow, but Amara recognized the resemblance.
Jace stopped the bike and stepped off, pulling out a cigarette.
“Ghost,” he said, voice smooth and venomous. “Didn’t expect to see you above ground.”
Zayn didn’t smile. “I need an extraction.”
Jace looked at Amara. “Who’s the girl?”
Amara lifted her chin. “The reason you’re still alive.”
He laughed. “She’s got fire. I like her.”
Zayn stepped between them. “Jace. Please.”
That softened something in his brother’s expression. Barely.
“You’re bleeding loyalty now? That’s new.” Jace flicked the cigarette aside. “Fine. One favour. You get a ride to Berlin, no strings.”
“And in return?” Zayn asked.
Jace grinned. “You give me the coordinates to the Hydra site in Oslo. I have… debts.”
Zayn hesitated.
Amara stepped forward. “We give you Oslo. But you get us in and out clean. There is no sabotage and no betrayal.”
Jace’s grin widened. “Who said I was gonna betray you?”
“You didn’t have to,” she said. “You just smell like betrayal.”
Zayn almost smiled.
Jace nodded slowly. “Alright, fire girl. You’ve got steel.”
“Just make sure your ride has armour.”
---
Berlin was cold and full of eyes.
Jace left them two blocks from the drop point: an abandoned train station wired with surveillance traps. The kind only ghosts and traitors used.
Zayn scanned the area.
“We go in, ten minutes tops,” he said. “Download. Broadcast. Then disappear.”
Amara held the laptop tight. “And if they show up?”
Zayn looked at her.
“Then we don’t run.”
---
Inside the station, the air was thick with dust and silence.
They reached the terminal, plugged into the access hub, and initiated the upload. Files flickered across global nodes,CIA, MI6, Interpol, and even dark-net channels.
Then the screen went black.
“Wait…..what?” Amara tapped the keyboard. “It’s jammed.”
A low hum rose from the walls.
Zayn spun around.
“It’s a trap.”
Lights exploded on.
Dozens of red laser dots covered them.
From the shadows stepped her.
Tall. Elegant. Red heels clicking like gunshots.
“Farah,” Zayn growled.
Amara recognized her from the surveillance file.
MI6 double agent. Hydra queen.
She smiled like a blade. “Hello, Ghost.”
Amara moved to shield the laptop, but two guards stepped in, weapons raised.
“You’ve caused quite the mess,” Farah purred. “Red Mist was supposed to be a whisper. And now you’ve turned it into a war cry.”
Zayn stepped forward. “You’re already exposed.”
Farah raised an eyebrow. “To who? The agencies we own? The politicians we feed? The assassins we trained?”
She leaned closer.
“Ghost… we are the system.”
Amara whispered, “Not for long.”
Farah tilted her head. “You still think you’re a martyr?”
“I think you’re afraid,” Amara said. “Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
Farah’s smile faltered.
Then she turned to her guards. “Kill her.”
Zayn moved before they did.
He pulled Amara to the ground as bullets flew.
Chaos erupted.
Flashbangs exploded.
Farah vanished.
Zayn returned fire, his shots clean and precise.
Amara shielded the laptop as the screen came back to life.
UPLOAD COMPLETE.
She screamed, “We got it!”
Zayn grabbed her hand. “Then run.”
---
They escaped through a maintenance shaft, chased by sirens and shadows.
But as they emerged into the alley, breathless and bleeding.
Zayn kissed her.
Not a soft, unsure kiss.
A fierce one. Full of blood and fire and everything they couldn’t say.
When they broke apart, Amara stared at him.
“Now what?” she asked.
Zayn looked back at the burning sky behind them.
“Now we start the real war.”
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD