The Hunt Begins
673 Words
The room was too quiet.
Aziel stood in the silence, unmoving. The glass in front of him showed a city soaked in light… but his world was nothing but shadow.
Behind him, the leather chair still held the faint imprint of Rami’s departure. But Aziel hadn’t turned. Not yet.
Not until the door clicked shut.
Then — slowly — he moved.
He crossed the floor like a phantom. No wasted motion. No sound. His hand brushed a hidden sensor beneath the desk.
A screen emerged from the wall — matte black, blood-red interface. Confidential. Ruthless.
“Dock S. Forty-eight-hour surveillance. Filter everything.”
“Isolate unaffiliated hands. External hires. Gaps in chain command.”
His voice was ice. And the system obeyed.
Footage loaded. Fast-forwarded. Paused. Faces flickered. Trucks moved. Crates shifted.
Then—
There she was.
Scarf drawn high. Small frame. Shaking hands.
She didn’t belong.
She wasn’t one of his.
Aziel leaned in, dark eyes narrowing as he froze the frame. Zoomed in. Enhanced. Not to see her face — but her fear. Her hesitation. Her guilt.
She didn’t steal it.
She was made to.
But it didn’t matter.
“That crate was mine.”
He whispered it like a death sentence.
His fingers moved fast — isolating her image, transferring it to a secure line. A heartbeat later, Rami’s device would light up with it.
“Trace her. Every step. I want her name, her street, the second she breathes different.”
“And the others…”
“Every hand that touched my crate — every fool who thinks they’re brave enough to steal from him…”
His jaw clenched.
“Get them all.”
“Torture them.”
“Leave them breathing just long enough to regret it.”
Aziel straightened.
There was no more city. No more skyline.
Just the hunt.
He slid on his black coat. Buttoned it. Fastened the gloves like a surgeon before an operation.
“They think I’ll wait.”
“They think I’ll forgive a mistake.”
He picked up a coin — black steel, no markings. Spun it once. It didn’t fall.
It vanished into his hand.
“I don’t care if she’s innocent.”
“No one walks away holding my blood.”
The door opened — and he walked out without looking back.
__________________
That night, sleep didn’t come.
Hayat sat curled on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her eyes never left the door. It was locked. Bolted. She’d checked it five times already—but still, her fingers trembled.
The scarf she’d worn was shoved deep inside her bag. The gloves too. Every trace of that night stuffed out of sight… but not out of mind.
She could still feel the weight of the crate against her palms.
She could still hear the hiss of the van speeding away—leaving her behind like a used tool.
Her mother’s soft breathing echoed from the other room. Peaceful. Unaware.
Her brother’s pencil scratched against paper as he studied on the mat beside her bed. Focused. Hopeful.
They had no idea what she had done.
She hadn't told them about the job.
Hadn’t told them about the warehouse.
Or the van.
Or the mark on the crate.
Especially not the mark.
That black circle.
She’d searched it. On a cracked, barely working phone. And the deeper she dug, the more her blood turned cold.
No company.
No brand.
No public records.
Just rumors.
Stories whispered online.
“The man without a face.”
“The black coin.”
“If you’ve seen it, it’s already too late.”
Later that night…
A car passed by slowly outside.
Black.
Unmarked.
Didn’t stop.
Didn’t honk.
Just kept rolling.
But Hayat's breath caught in her throat.
Was it random?
Or were they already watching?
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
A message.
Unknown Number
“Job complete. Stay quiet.”
That was it.
No name.
No thanks.
Just those three words.
Hayat stared at the screen until the battery died.
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