Blood and Vows.

Chapter 9 — The Dogs Released

The city had a way of swallowing sound at night. Even the traffic along the wet boulevard seemed hushed, as if the streets themselves were holding their breath. Alex sat in a narrow café, back to the wall, paper cup of coffee cooling between her hands. The rain from earlier still clung to her hair and coat. She had chosen this place because it was anonymous—small, unremarkable, always half-empty.

Her eyes, however, never rested. She watched the door, the window, the reflections in the glass. Any one of them could carry the face of someone sent to find her.

Her phone buzzed. The vibration jolted her more than it should have. She checked the screen: Colonel Stevens.

Her heart pulled two ways at once. Relief—because Stevens had been her only anchor since Jacob’s death. And dread—because he wouldn’t call now unless things had gotten worse.

She answered quickly, voice low. “Colonel?”

On the other end, his tone was clipped, urgent. “Alex, listen to me carefully. You need to disappear. Now.”

Her grip tightened on the cup. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t have time for explanations. Evidence surfaced this morning. It points to your phone. Leaks, Alex. Messages sent straight into the cartel’s servers. Not Jacob’s. Yours.”

For a heartbeat, the café noise blurred, like someone had pulled cotton over her ears. Her own phone—the one she guarded like her weapon—painted as the source of betrayal.

“That’s impossible,” she said sharply. “You know I’d never—”

“I know.” Stevens cut her off. His voice softened for a moment, but only a moment. “But the rest of the agency doesn’t. They’ve already moved. Teams are being briefed. You’re not facing suspicion anymore, Alex. You’re the prime leak. Every dog is about to be let off the leash, and their orders will be simple: bring you in. Or worse.”

Alex pressed a palm to her forehead, dragging it down her face. “Jacob’s files. He—he had access to my devices. He was in and out of my apartment. If anyone tampered, it was him.”

“Convincing them of that won’t be simple. You know how this works.”

Her chest tightened. “So I run? Like a fugitive?”

Stevens’s silence carried its own weight. Finally he said, “Stay low. Don’t contact anyone. Not me, not Emil, not Natalie. If you breathe too loudly, they’ll hear it. Give me time to find the cracks in this case.”

Her throat burned. “Colonel, if I disappear now, it’ll be an admission of guilt.”

“Alex,” he said firmly, “if you don’t disappear, it’ll be a death sentence.”

The line went quiet except for his breathing. Then, softer: “I believe you. Don’t make me the only one left who does.”

The call ended.

Alex sat frozen, the coffee untouched. Her reflection in the café window looked like someone else—a woman hollowed out, hunted. The words repeated in her skull: every dog will be let off the leash.

Jacob’s ghost pressed close. He had always been careful with phones, almost paranoid. Never trust the device that tracks you, he used to say. Back then, she thought it was his habit of secrecy. Now she wondered if it had been practice for this moment—planting everything on her, making sure her digital shadow condemned her before she could even breathe a defense.

She pushed back from the table abruptly, tossing the cup in the trash. The barista barely glanced up. That was good. Let her be invisible.

Her phone vibrated again. Unknown number.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she powered it down, then slipped it into a napkin dispenser near the counter. Whoever picked it up later would hand it in, maybe even turn it on, and it would start chirping again—leading her hunters to a dead end.

On the street, the night had thickened. Police sirens wailed distantly, bouncing between buildings. Alex moved fast but steady, shoulders relaxed to avoid drawing attention.

In an office blocks away, agents clustered around monitors, tracking signals that pulsed like a heartbeat. One pointed at a dot moving slowly through the café district.

“She’s right there,” he said.

Orders came crisp and final: “Move in.”

But by the time tactical boots hit the pavement, Alex’s trail had already gone cold.

She ducked through alleys, weaving through laundry lines strung overhead, dumpsters sour with rain and rot. At one corner, she stopped, listening. Footsteps. Too heavy for a civilian. Too many.

She flattened herself against a wall, heart hammering. The footsteps passed, fading toward the café she had just left. She forced herself not to breathe until silence fell again.

When she moved, it was quick, decisive. She stripped off her jacket, reversed it inside out, and shoved her hair under a knit cap from a street vendor’s stall. Cash paid. No names.

The city became camouflage.

By dawn, she had reached the river. Fog rolled off the water, swallowing the far bank. Alex crouched near the embankment, watching barges drift heavy with containers. The sound of diesel engines was oddly calming.

She remembered Stevens’s last words: Don’t make me the only one left who believes you.

Her jaw tightened. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of catching her like prey. Not Jacob. Not the agency. Not even Sebastian Cortez, wherever he was hiding in this storm.

She pulled a burner phone from her bag, one of three she had bought in cash weeks ago. She hesitated, then powered it on. No contacts, no names, no ties. Blank slate.

Her reflection in the dark screen looked back at her.

“You’re not guilty,” she whispered. “You’re not.”

But guilt didn’t matter. Perception did. And perception said she was the leak.

She stood, tossing the last of her old belongings—the cap, the jacket, even her wallet—into the water. They floated for a moment before the river pulled them under.

When she turned, there was nothing left of Alex Walker the agent. Only a woman hunted, faceless, moving into the fog before the hounds could catch her scent.

By the time Stevens checked the café later that morning, all he found was her abandoned phone sealed in a napkin dispenser, screen dark.

He closed his hand over it, muttering to himself, “Stay alive, Alex. Just stay alive.”