CHAPTER 8
1077 Words
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*Chapter 8 - Betrayal*
Paris smelled like rain and bread.
5:40 AM. Gare du Nord.
We stepped off the Eurostar and into a different country, but the same fear.
Mara walked fast. “Split here. I’m going to Marseille. You two go to the safehouse in Le Marais. 18 Rue Saint-Paul. Key’s under the mat. Stay 24 hours. Then move again.”
Damian nodded. “Thank you.”
She hugged me. Hard. “Eliza. Stay alive.”
Then she was gone. Lost in the crowd before I could say anything back.
Just like that, it was us.
*Cole and Eliza.* Ghosts.
We took the metro. No talking. Damian — Cole — kept his eyes on every exit.
I kept my hood up. The brown wig felt heavier here.
Le Marais was quiet. Cobblestones. Shutters closed.
18 Rue Saint-Paul was a normal building. Old. Cute. Not at all like a fugitive safehouse.
The key was under the mat.
Inside: one room. Bed. Small kitchen. No cameras.
Mara was good at this.
Damian locked 3 locks behind us. Checked the windows.
Then he finally exhaled. “Okay. We’re safe. For now.”
I dropped my backpack. “I’m starving.”
“Me too.” He pulled cash from his bag. Euros. “I’ll go get food. You stay here. Don’t open the door to anyone.”
“Not even you?” I tried to joke.
He almost smiled. “Especially not me. I’ll knock twice, pause, then once.”
He left.
The apartment was too quiet.
I took off the wig. My scalp hurt. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror.
Brown hair. Stranger’s face. *Eliza Hart.*
Was Ava dead?
My burner buzzed. Unknown number.
`Welcome to Paris. -V`
My blood froze.
I dropped the phone like it burned me.
V. Vex.
How did he get this number? Mara said it was clean.
The door knocked. Twice. Pause. Once.
It was too soon. Damian wasn’t gone 5 minutes.
I didn’t move.
Another knock. “Eliza? It’s me.”
Damian’s voice.
I crept to the door. Looked through the peephole.
Him. Hair wet from rain. Holding two bags of food.
I opened the door.
He stepped in and locked it. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I showed him the phone.
His face went blank. Then furious. “Give me that.”
He smashed it on the floor. Stomped on it. “They traced Mara. Or the passports. Fuck.”
“They know we’re here?”
“They know we’re in Paris.” He paced. “We have to move. Now.”
My stomach dropped. “I just got here.”
“I know.” He stopped in front of me. Put his hands on my shoulders. “Eliza. Listen. This is my fault. He’ll never stop until I’m dead. And now you too.”
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t do that. We’re in this together.”
He looked at me like he didn’t believe it. Like he was waiting for me to leave.
That’s when the power cut out.
The whole building went dark.
“Shit.” Damian killed the lights with the switch too. “Get to the back window.”
We moved in the dark.
Footsteps in the hall. Heavy. 3 sets.
Vant.
One of them spoke. French. “Appartement 4B. Verifiez.”
They knew the apartment number.
Someone had told them.
Damian opened the back window. Fire escape. “Go.”
I climbed out. He followed.
We dropped to the alley below. Ran.
Sirens. Behind us.
We didn’t stop until we reached the Seine. 2 AM in Paris and it was still alive. Tourists. Cafes.
Damian pulled me into a bathroom in a 24-hour cafe.
He turned on the light. We both looked wrecked.
He grabbed my face. “Are you hurt?”
“No. You?”
“No.” He let out a breath. “f**k. Eliza.”
“It was Mara,” I whispered. “Wasn’t it?”
He didn’t answer at first. “She called me when she was 16. Said she was going to take his company down. I believed her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“The only people who knew the address were me, you, and her.” He let go of me. Sat down hard. “She sold us.”
The word hit me like a punch.
Mara. The woman who gave us passports. Who kissed my forehead.
“Why?” I asked.
“Money. Fear. Maybe he has her family.” Damian put his head in his hands. “I don’t know. And I can’t think about it right now or I’ll break.”
I sat next to him. Took his hand.
We sat like that for a long time.
Finally, he looked up. “New rule. No one. No safehouses. No contacts. Just us.”
“Just us,” I agreed.
He stood. “Come on. We need new phones. New plan. And we need to figure out why he wants us dead this bad.”
We left the cafe.
Paris was beautiful and it didn’t care that we were running.
Damian stopped on a bridge. Looked out at the water.
“The files,” he said. “There was something else on that drive. Not just the bribes. Something called `NIGHTFALL PROTOCOL`.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get to the last folder before we leaked everything.” He turned to me. “But what if leaking it made it worse? What if that was the trigger?”
My phone buzzed. My _new_ burner.
Mara.
`I’m sorry. They have my brother. I didn’t have a choice. Run. -M`
Damian read it over my shoulder. His jaw tightened.
“She had a choice,” he said quietly. “And she chose wrong.”
He deleted the message.
We walked. No destination.
“Where do we go now?” I asked.
Damian stopped. Looked at me. The brown wig. The scared eyes. The girl who picked up a USB and changed both our lives.
“Anywhere he’s not,” he said. “And we find out what Nightfall Protocol actually is before he uses it.”
He took my hand.
Two ghosts in Paris.
With a traitor behind us and a monster ahead of us.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure who I was more scared of losing.
Mara.
Or
Him
- Writer
