CHAPTER 3: THE SAFE LIES
1113 Words
By morning, the storm had passed, but the war was just beginning.
Amara woke to the smell of coffee, which was strong, bitter, and oddly comforting. She sat up slowly, wincing at the sharp pull in her stitched shoulder.
Zayn stood at the counter, boiling water over a tiny camp stove, his sleeves rolled to his elbows,and his face unreadable.
For a moment, he looked almost normal.
“Good morning,” she rasped.
He glanced back and said, “You talk in your sleep.”
Hearing that Amara froze and asked, “What did I say?”
“Names. Numbers. Something about files.”
She tensed. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”
He raised a brow, then set a tin mug beside her. “You do now.”
Amara narrowed her eyes but took the coffee. “Thanks.”
He sat across from her, folding his arms. “We need to talk about your storage.”
She stared at him. “Storage?”
“The one they didn’t find. You said you still had some files.”
“I encrypted them and then splitted the pieces across three cold drives; they are hidden in lockers around the city.”
“Locations?”
“Why? So you can ‘accidentally’ deliver them to your bosses?”
“If I wanted you dead,” Zayn said flatly, “you’d be dead.”
She held his gaze. “You’re asking me to trust a man who showed up in my apartment with a silencer.”
“And you’re trusting me enough to share a bunker,” he countered. “Let’s not pretend we’re not both gambling.”
Silence stretched, tense and sharp.
Then Amara said, “The first drive’s in a coin locker at the old train station in South Hollow.”
Zayn stood. “Pack something light. We’re going now.”
----
South Hollow looked abandoned, graffiti on the walls, rats in the gutters, and a rusted skeleton of what used to be a bustling depot. It had been closed down after a fire ten years ago, but the underground storage lockers remained untouched and forgotten.
Just the way Amara liked it.
Zayn scanned the perimeter as they approached, every muscle with alert. His eyes moved like a sniper’s; precise, unblinking, and cold.
They slipped inside through a broken service door. The hallway smelled of mould and urine. Lights flickered overhead.
“Locker 218,” Amara whispered, guiding him past rows of rusted metal compartments.
When they reached it, she knelt, typed a six-digit code into the manual lock. Click.
Inside, there was a small grey drive, no labels. Innocuous. Dangerous.
Zayn took it and slipped it into his pocket.
Then he froze.
A creak echoed down the hall. Not theirs.
“Someone’s here,” he muttered.
Amara stiffened. “You said this place was off the grid.”
“I said it was. Not anymore.”
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward a side stairwell just as a shadow crossed the end of the corridor.
“Go!” he ordered.
Footsteps thundered behind them. A voice barked in static,radio chatter. “Target acquired. Engage on sight.”
Zayn shoved Amara through the door and slammed it shut, locking it from the inside.
“We’re boxed in,” she hissed.
“No,” he said, kicking open a maintenance panel. “We go underground.”
He helped her into the duct system beneath the floor, hot and narrow, crawling through steel like rats. Above, the echo of boots, gunfire, and broken metal.
When they emerged two blocks away, both were soaked in sweat and grime.
Amara slumped against the wall. “Tell me you didn’t lead them to me.”
Zayn wiped his brow. “I didn’t. Someone else did.”
Amara’s eyes widened. “Then they’re tracing the files.”
Zayn nodded grimly. “Which means the second drive’s already compromised.”
“No,” she said. “It’s at a law office. A friend. Neutral territory.”
“There’s no such thing anymore.”
She stood. “Then we make it safe.”
---
The law office was located in the upper district, glass windows, clean suits, and smiling liars. The kind of place that hid its knives behind contracts and clauses.
Amara led him into the building through a back stairwell. Inside, they found the office dark, empty. Too empty.
“No secretary?” Zayn asked.
Amara stepped inside. “He always works late. This isn’t right—”
A light snapped on.
A man stood behind the desk, tall, sharp-suited, his face a picture of calm.
“Amara,” he said, smiling tightly. “You’re alive.”
“Caleb,” she breathed. “They came for me. I need—”
“You need to leave,” he interrupted, eyes flicking to Zayn. “Now.”
Zayn stepped forward. “We’re here for the drive. She trusted you with it.”
“I had no choice,” Caleb said. “They were going to kill my family.”
Amara froze. “You gave it to them?”
He looked away.
“You son of a—”
Zayn caught her before she lunged. Caleb raised his hands.
“I didn’t tell them where the third one was. I swear.”
“You just handed them half the truth,” Zayn said. “That’s worse.”
“Please,” Caleb whispered. “They’re watching me. Listening. You have to go.”
Amara’s eyes burned with betrayal. “You were the only person I trusted.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Zayn pulled her back. “We’re done here.”
They exited through the fire escape, vanishing into the night.
---
Back at the safe house, Amara didn’t speak for a long time.
Zayn watched her from across the room as she stared at the wall, her fingers clenched into fists. Not crying. I'm just burning.
“People break,” he said quietly.
“They don’t have to betray you.”
“No. But they do.”
She looked at him, voice brittle. “Why are you helping me?”
He opened his mouth to answer. Then paused.
Finally, he said, “Because for once, I want to fight for something real. Not orders. Not missions. Something that makes the pain worth it.”
Amara blinked. “You think I’m that thing?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But you haven’t run. And neither have I.”
They sat in silence, the weight of betrayal and survival hanging between them.
And somewhere beneath all the pain; an invisible thread began to form.
Thin.
Tense.
Unbreakable.
- Writer
