CHAPTER 7
1235 Words
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*Chapter 7 - Ghosts*
We ran through London like ghosts.
3:47 AM. The city was awake and screaming.
Every screen in every bus stop. Every phone.
`VEXCORP EXPOSED`
`PROJECT NIGHTFALL FILES LEAKED`
Mara drove. Hard. Through back streets in Deptford. No headlights.
Damian sat next to her. I was in the back, wrapped in his jacket. It still smelled like him. Smoke and something cold.
No one spoke.
My flat was gone. Everything I owned was ash.
I kept thinking about my mom’s photo. Was it still in the drawer? Was it melted?
“Stop,” I said finally. My voice cracked.
Mara glanced in the rearview. “We can’t.”
“Not the car. Stop thinking.” Damian reached back without looking and found my hand. “We’ll deal with it later.”
I squeezed back. Nodded.
The car stopped in an underground car park. Empty. Fluorescent lights buzzed.
Mara killed the engine. “New plan. New names. New faces.”
She opened the boot. Inside: two backpacks, wigs, clothes, passports.
“These are good,” she said, tossing us the passports. “They’ll hold for 48 hours. After that, Vex will have facial rec everywhere.”
I opened mine.
*Name: Eliza Hart*
*DOB: 14/03/2001*
*Passport Photo: Me. But with brown hair instead of black.*
Damian opened his.
*Name: Cole Bennett*
Cole. Like his middle name.
He looked at it and laughed once. Bitter. “My own name. How original.”
“It’s what we had,” Mara said. She was already dying her hair black in the mirror. “You have 10 minutes to become someone else.”
We changed in the back of the car.
I pulled on jeans, a hoodie, boots. The wig was itchy. Brown. Down to my shoulders.
When I looked up, Damian was watching me.
He’d cut his hair with Mara’s scissors. Messy. Darker. He looked younger. Less billionaire. More dangerous.
His passport said *Cole Bennett* but his eyes were still Damian Vex.
“You look...” he started.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t say I look pretty. Not right now.”
He closed his mouth. Nodded. “You look like you’ll survive.”
That was better.
Mara handed us burner phones. “One call. One text. Then destroy them. No socials. No cards. Cash only.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Eurostar,” Mara said. “Paris. First train at 5:20. From there, anywhere. South America. Asia. Somewhere Vex doesn’t own.”
Paris. In 2 hours.
It felt impossible.
We left the car and walked through the station.
King’s Cross was chaos. News on every TV. Cops everywhere.
But no one looked at us. We were Eliza and Cole now.
Damian — Cole — kept his hand on the small of my back. Grounding me.
The board flickered.
`05:20 LONDON - PARIS. PLATFORM 9. DELAYED.`
“Delayed?” Mara cursed. “Of course it is.”
We sat. Waiting.
That’s when I saw him.
Across the station. Black suit. Earpiece.
Vant.
My blood went cold. “Damian.”
He saw him too. “Don’t look. Don’t run. Act normal.”
Too late. The man was scanning faces. Looking for Damian Cole Vex.
He’d get to Eliza Hart and Cole Bennett in maybe 3 minutes.
Mara stood. “Plan B. Follow me. Now.”
We moved. Fast. Through crowds. Down escalators.
Behind us, footsteps.
“Split up,” Mara hissed. “Meet at the toilets by Platform 4 in 5.”
Damian grabbed my wrist. “No. We stay together.”
We ran.
Into the underground. Into tunnels that smelled like old rain.
Alarms started behind us.
“They locked the station down,” Damian said. “He called it in.”
The PA system crackled.
`ATTENTION. DUE TO A SECURITY INCIDENT, KING’S CROSS IS CLOSED. PLEASE REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE.`
People started panicking.
Damian pulled me into a service corridor. Locked the door behind us.
Dark. Quiet. Just our breathing.
“They’ll check every room,” I whispered.
“I know.” He pressed me against the wall. Not romantic. Protective. His body between me and the door.
I could feel his heart. Fast. Like mine.
Footsteps outside. Close.
A knock.
“Police. Open up.”
Damian didn’t move. His hand found mine in the dark.
The door handle jiggled.
Silence.
Then the footsteps moved on.
We waited a full minute.
“He’s gone,” Damian breathed.
I realized I was shaking. He pulled me closer. “You’re okay. Ava Noelle. You’re okay.”
Hearing my full name in his voice broke something in me.
I nodded into his chest.
His phone buzzed. Mara.
`Platform 4. Toilets. 2 minutes. Train’s moving.`
We ran again.
Platform 4 was empty. Mara was there, looking around like a normal commuter.
The Eurostar doors were closing.
“Go!” she yelled.
We sprinted. Damian shoved me through first. Then him. Then Mara.
The doors closed behind us with a hiss.
We collapsed into seats.
London moved past the window. Slowly at first. Then faster.
Then we were in the tunnel. Under the Channel.
No turning back.
Mara exhaled. “We made it.”
Damian leaned his head back. Closed his eyes. “For now.”
I looked at my hands. They were still shaking.
Damian noticed. He took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders again.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Eliza.”
I almost smiled. “Cole.”
“Yeah.”
The train hummed.
After a while, Mara spoke. “When we get to Paris, I disappear. You two keep going. I’ll send you money, contacts. But I can’t be seen with you.”
Damian nodded. “Thank you. For everything.”
She shrugged. “You’re the first person who ever tried to burn VexCorp down. Least I can do.”
Silence again.
I looked out the window. Black. Water.
Somewhere above us was the sea. Somewhere behind us was my old life, on fire.
Damian shifted. His shoulder touched mine. He didn’t move away.
“You scared?” he asked quietly.
“Terrified,” I admitted.
“Me too,” he said. “But not of him. Of what happens after.”
“What do you mean?”
“When this is over. If we live. Who are we? Eliza and Cole? Or us?”
I didn’t have an answer.
The train burst out of the tunnel. Dawn. France.
Mara stood. “30 minutes to Paris Gare du Nord. Then I’m gone.”
Damian stood too. “Come on.”
We walked to the end of the carriage. Away from cameras.
He stopped. Looked at me. Really looked. At the brown wig. The borrowed clothes. The girl who wasn’t Ava anymore.
“f**k it,” he whispered.
And he kissed me.
Not desperate like before. Not angry.
Soft. Tired. Like he needed to know I was real.
I kissed him back.
When we pulled apart, Mara was pretending not to watch.
Damian rested his forehead against mine. “Eliza Hart,” he murmured. “Ghost.”
“Cole Bennett,” I whispered back. “Ghost.”
The train slowed.
Paris. New names. New start.
And somewhere, a man in London was realizing his son and the DJ had just vanished.
The hunt wasn’t over.
But for the first time, we weren’t running scared.
We were running together.
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- Writer
