One To Go
848 Words
Amara didn’t turn around right away.
She stood frozen, the file pressed to her chest like a shield. Her nails bit into the edges of the folder, but she didn’t notice the sting. All she could hear were those five words, scrawled beneath the photo:
One down. One to go.
Her heart pounded in her throat.
Slowly, she turned.
Kian was in the doorway.
Still. Silent.
No anger. No panic. Just that same unnerving calm — like this moment had already played out in his mind a thousand times.
“How much did you see?” he asked, his voice smooth, practiced.
Amara didn’t answer right away. She slipped the folder behind her back, more out of instinct than strategy.
“Enough.”
Kian stepped inside and closed the door with a quiet click that made her stomach tighten.
“Then you understand,” he said. “Why I couldn’t let you go.”
Her back hit the edge of the desk. “You lied to me.”
“I protected you.”
She let out a breathless laugh. “You used me.”
“I married you.”
“Don’t twist this,” she snapped. “You married me because of my DNA. Because I’m Ava’s twin. Because I’m a match for something. Some experiment. Some… cure.”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
Kian’s eyes dropped. His posture shifted — shoulders heavy, hands loose at his sides.
“Ava was dying,” he said finally.
That stopped her cold.
“…What?”
“She had a genetic disorder. Extremely rare. Aggressive. Her blood — it wasn’t just unusual. It was unstable. Mutating. And whatever was in it… it was also valuable. Dangerous.”
Amara stared, stunned.
“We tried everything,” he went on. “Trials. Therapies. But she left before we could finish. She didn’t trust me.”
“Because you were using her,” Amara said.
His voice cracked. “I loved her.”
There was a flicker of something real in his face. Something raw. Human.
“She ran,” he said quietly. “And when she disappeared… I thought I’d lost everything. Until I found out about you.”
“And what? You tracked me down, played the grieving fiancé, and proposed?”
“You were her twin,” he said. “Her mirror. A second chance. You don’t know what they did at Greystone. How far it went.”
“No,” she said, her voice shaking, “but I’m starting to.”
She held up the photo.
“This?” she whispered. “This was your way of protecting me?”
Kian looked at the photo — and something in his expression cracked. Just for a second.
“I didn’t take that,” he said. “I found it. Weeks before the wedding. It was waiting for me at my office. No note. No prints. Just that picture.”
Amara blinked. “You’re saying someone else did this?”
“Yes. Someone who wanted me to know Ava was gone. And that you were next.”
“Why not tell me?”
“Because they’re still watching,” he said. “They think you’re just bait.”
Her breath hitched. “Bait for who?”
Kian didn’t answer right away. He turned to the bookshelf behind him and pressed something — a hidden switch.
With a low mechanical hum, a panel slid open.
Amara flinched as cold air spilled out of the hidden room.
It wasn’t another study. Not really.
It was a war room.
Steel walls. Monitors. Maps. Pins. Photos. Diagrams connected by red string.
And in the center, one name circled over and over:
Dr. Marcus Thornhill.
Amara’s voice was barely a whisper. “Your father?”
He nodded. “He’s alive. Running the Greystone Project underground. Still experimenting. Still trying to reproduce whatever happened to you and Ava.”
Her mouth went dry. “Reproduce what?”
Kian grabbed a folder from the shelf — thinner than the one she held, but just as damning.
“Your blood,” he said. “It regenerates too fast. He thinks it’s the key to something bigger. Something… beyond medicine.”
She dropped into the nearest chair. Her whole body felt weightless and heavy all at once.
“I’m not just your wife,” she said hollowly. “I’m the final test subject.”
“No,” Kian said, stepping closer. “You’re the last survivor.”
Silence stretched between them.
Thick.
Unbearable.
“I should run,” she said.
“If you do,” he said gently, “they’ll find you faster. You know that.”
She looked up at him. Her chest ached.
“And if I stay?”
He reached out his hand.
“We bring this to the ground.”
She stared at his hand.
The man she married.
The liar.
The protector.
The one who might still be the enemy.
And somewhere deep inside, a clock had started ticking.
She didn’t know if she was about to step into safety…
Or straight into hell.
- Writer
