Chapter 7
1624 Words
The alley smelled like rain-soaked concrete and rust.
Hannah stumbled as Adrian pulled her forward, boots skidding on slick pavement, her heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack her ribs from the inside. Sirens wailed somewhere behind them—too close, too loud, impossible to place.
Her skin buzzed.
The pressure inside her had lost all subtlety now. It rolled through her chest and limbs in sharp, reactive waves, feeding off her panic like it had been waiting for this moment.
“Slow down,” she gasped.
Adrian didn’t break stride. “Breathe,” he said instead. “With me.”
“I am breathing,” she snapped. “I’m just—breathing loudly.”
Something metal rattled as they passed—a dumpster lid, a loose sign, she didn’t know. Hannah flinched and threw a hand out without thinking.
The sound cut off mid-clatter.
Dead still.
She skidded to a stop.
“Oh,” she said faintly. “That’s… different. I stopped it”
Adrian glanced back sharply. His eyes flicked from the stilled metal to her hand.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to,” she shot back.
They turned sharply into a side street—quieter, narrower, the buildings pressing in like spectators waiting for something to happen.
Then Adrian stopped.
Hannah nearly ran into his back.
“What—” she started.
And then she saw them.
Three men stood beneath a flickering streetlight.
The first leaned casually against a wrought-iron fence, posture relaxed but alert, dark hair neatly combed, expression unreadable. His eyes tracked Hannah immediately.
The second stood a few feet away, closer to the curb. Broader, looser, eith his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. His gaze swept the street once before landing on her, mouth curving into something between a smile and a challenge.
The third lingered half a step back from the others, partially swallowed by shadow. He wasn’t watching the street or Adrian.
He was watching her.
Not her face.
Her presence.
The pressure inside Hannah locked on.
Her knees nearly buckled.
“Oh,” she breathed. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The broad-shouldered one pushed off the curb. “You okay?”
Hannah let out a breathless, hysterical laugh. “Define okay. I’m running, terrified, and improvising. You tell me.”
“We know,” the calm one said.
Adrian didn’t slow. “We don’t have time.”
“We figured,” the quiet one added. His voice was low, distant, like he was listening to something beneath the city noise.
Hannah’s gaze snapped back to Adrian. “You didn’t tell me this was a reunion.”
He didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Footsteps echoed from the street behind them.
The pressure surged, reacting to the sound, to the threat, to her.
The streetlight above them flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
The calm one’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She feels it.”
“Yes,” Hannah snapped. “And I hate it.”
A shape moved on the rooftop above—too fast, too fluid to be human.
Hannah’s stomach dropped. “Those aren’t cops.”
“No,” the broad-shouldered one said grimly. “They’re not.”
Fear punched through her chest, sharp and immediate.
The pressure exploded outward.
Windows down the street rattled in unison.
Hannah gasped. “I didn’t—”
“I know,” Adrian said sharply, gripping her arm. “But you can’t let it do that.”
She laughed breathlessly. “I love how that implies I’m in charge.”
The calm one stepped closer, voice steady, grounding. “You’re not in control yet. But you’re not powerless either.”
“That’s a terrible middle ground,” Hannah muttered.
A heavy thud landed above them.
The quiet one tilted his head. “We move. Now.”
They ran.
Not blindly—directed.
The broad-shouldered one took point, weaving them through alleys and service corridors Hannah had never noticed despite working nearby for years. The calm one stayed at her left, matching her pace without touching her, presence oddly stabilizing.
The quiet one brought up the rear, head tilted, listening.
Hannah’s lungs burned.
Her thoughts scattered.
And the pressure kept reacting—every spike of fear feeding it, every stumble sharpening it.
“Okay,” she panted, “I need someone to explain why my nervous system is on steroids ”
The broad-shouldered one snorted. “That’s not wrong.”
“Later,” Adrian snapped.
They ducked into an abandoned loading bay and slammed the door shut behind them.
Silence crashed down.
Hannah bent over, hands on her knees, trying not to pass out. “If I black out, don’t let them turn me into a meme.”
The pressure hummed—high, tight, alive.
The calm one crouched in front of her. “You did well.”
She barked a weak laugh. “I ran and didn’t die. I want a sticker.”
Adrian paced once, then turned sharply to the others. “How close?”
“Too close,” the quiet one said. “They followed the spike.”
Hannah straightened slowly. “The spike.”
“Yes,” he said, eyes steady on hers. “You.”
Her humor faltered.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “That’s… unfortunate.”
The broad-shouldered one crossed his arms. “You can’t stay here.”
“That’s funny,” Hannah replied thinly. “I was just thinking I’d sleep in my own bed.”
Adrian stopped pacing. “That’s not an option.”
She looked at him—really looked at him now.
“You knew this would happen,” she said.
He didn’t deny it.
The pressure pulsed hard.
Hannah forced herself to breathe, grounding the way she somehow knew how to do now—feet on concrete, lungs full, panic reined in just enough.
The pressure followed.
Steady.
Controlled.
The calm one’s expression shifted. “She’s learning.”
“Please don’t say that like it’s encouraging,” Hannah muttered.
Voices echoed outside the bay.
"We have to move." Adrian demanded, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward.
“No,” she snapped, breath ragged. “Absolutely not.” She pulled her arm free.
Everyone froze.
Sirens wailed somewhere closer now. The pressure under her skin surged in response to her anger, rippling outward like heat off asphalt.
“I am not running blind,” she said, jabbing a finger between the four men. “Not again. Not after what has happened tonight. Someone is telling me what is happening.”
The broad-shouldered one shifted, jaw tightening. The quiet one tilted his head, studying her like she’d just said something he’d been waiting to hear.
The calm one met her gaze steadily. “This isn’t the place.”
“That seems to be a pattern,” Hannah shot back. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t the bar either.”
Adrian stepped closer. “Hannah—”
“No,” she cut in sharply. “You don’t get to Hannah me, like I don't have a rifht to answers.”
The pressure flared again—hot, reactive.
A nearby car alarm chirped once, then died.
Hannah swore under her breath. “See? That. I want to know what the hell that is about.”
The calm one exhaled slowly. “Things are responding to you.”
Hannah stared at him. “That is the vaguest sentence I have ever heard. Try again.”
“They’re not supposed to,” the broad-shouldered one added quietly.
Her stomach dropped. “Cool. Love that for me.”
The quiet one spoke, voice low, distant. “You’re not causing it on purpose."
”Is that supposed to be reassuring ,” Hannah said flatly. “In the same way ‘accidental fire’ is reassuring.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “We don’t have time for explanations.”
“That’s funny,” she snapped. “Because it feels like I just ran out of time for not having them.”
The pressure surged hard enough that the lights above them flickered violently.
The quiet one glanced upwards. “They’re moving.”
Adrian’s hand closed around Hannah’s wrist again, firmer now. Grounding.
“We go. Now.”
She pulled against him once, anger and fear tangling in her chest. “You’re not dragging me anywhere without telling me why.”
He leaned in close, voice low and unyielding.
“Because if you stay still long enough to argue, someone will notice. I will give you the information I can, once we are safe. ”
That landed.
Hard.
Hannah swallowed, pulse roaring in her ears, the pressure under her skin thrumming like a warning she didn’t need explained.
“…I hate this,” she muttered.
“I know,” Adrian said.
She shot him a glare. “You keep saying that like it helps.”
“It doesn’t,” he replied. “But it’s still true.”
Another heavy thud landed on the rooftop above them.
The quiet one tensed. “Decision time.”
Adrian stepped in front of her. “You come with us.”
Hannah glanced toward the door, toward the city she was leaving behind, toward Jessa somewhere behind broken glass and police lights.
Her chest ached.
“…Okay,” she said finally. “But you’re explaining everything.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Some of it.”
She huffed weakly. “Figures.”
Hannah straightened, fear mixing with something sharper now.
Resolve.
“Alright,” she said. “Let's go, before I accidentally level the neighborhood.”
The broad-shouldered one smiled faintly. “I like her.”
They slipped back into the night, the city folding away behind them.
- Writer
