THE GOOD DAUGHTER

The chase

The echo of the gunshot still rang in Clara’s ears as she sprinted down the narrow aisle between crates, her shoes slipping on the damp concrete. She didn’t know if Ethan had been hit—didn’t have time to think about it.

The duffel bag thumped against her side with every step. Whatever was inside felt solid, heavy. Important.

“Clara!” Ethan’s voice cut through the darkness. “Left—go left!”

She skidded around the corner just as another gunshot split the air, the bullet slamming into a crate inches from her head. Wood splintered, raining down dust and debris.

Her lungs burned. Her heart hammered so hard she could hear it over the pounding of her footsteps. She spotted a faint glow ahead—a half-open side door letting in the yellow light of a streetlamp.

Almost there.

But the intruder was fast. His footsteps grew louder, the beam of his flashlight slicing through the darkness, catching her shoulder for a split second.

“Drop the bag!” he barked.

Clara ignored him, pushing harder, her legs screaming in protest. She slammed into the door, shoving it open, and stumbled out into the rain-slick alley.

Ethan burst through the shadows a second later, his jacket torn at the sleeve, a thin line of blood on his cheek. “Come on!” He grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the street.

Behind them, the intruder’s footsteps pounded against the concrete.

They rounded the corner, but the man was still close, his curses mixing with the sound of the rain.

Ethan glanced over his shoulder, then spotted a narrow gap between two buildings. “In there—quick!”

They slipped into the dark passage, pressing themselves against the wet brick as the intruder ran past, not noticing the turn.

For a moment, all Clara could hear was her own ragged breathing and the drum of rain on metal gutters.

Ethan’s grip on her wrist loosened. “You okay?” rain dripping from his hair, before saying quietly, “If I’m right… it’s the thing that can save your family—or destroy them completely.”