Missing
1649 Words
The fog had thickened.
The streets that once buzzed with engines and wild cheers were now ghostly quiet.
Judy jogged toward the parked Porsche, her racing jacket half-zipped, still catching her breath from the small argument she had with some guy who swore she "cut him off" in the last turn.
“Aya’s probably bored out of her mind,” she muttered with a grin, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
She approached the car—
And froze.
The passenger door was wide open.
Her smile dropped.
“Aya?”
She looked inside. Empty. The black fox mask was gone.
Judy’s eyes darted around. She spun in a circle, scanning the surrounding streets, the loading docks, the thinning crowd of racers packing up. Her pulse picked up speed.
“Don’t panic. Maybe she just went to buy tea. She probably saw something cute. Maybe—”
She opened the glovebox.
Aya’s phone… was still there.
“No. No, no, no.”
She slammed the glovebox shut
She asked the nearest mechanic,
“Hey—did you see a girl with a hijab? Small, black jacket, serious face?”
The guy shrugged.
“A lotta girls tonight.”
“Not like her,” Judy growled.
Now her heart was racing harder than it had on the track.
“What if she got lost? What if someone saw her alone? What if it’s the mafia again? What if—"
Then she noticed the small black box on the seat. The one Aya had left behind.
She opened it.
The envelope was still inside.
Judy pulled it out, opened it, and read the silver handwriting slowly:
“The fox shouldn’t stay in the cage too long.”
– D
Her jaw tightened.
“Demir?” she whispered.
No — it didn’t seem like his style.
But someone knew Aya was here.
Someone had been watching.
And now Aya… was gone.
“I’m going to kill her,” Judy muttered under her breath, her voice trembling with panic and anger.
“After I find her.”
She yanked open the driver’s door, tossed her helmet aside, and slammed her foot on the gas.
The black Porsche screeched away into the fog, the tires singing a warning to the quiet street:
She’s coming.
........elsewhere......
The night was alive with sound — engines growling, tires screeching, voices shouting in a dozen different languages.
Aya adjusted the black fox mask on her face as she stepped out from between two parked cars. Her eyes flicked left and right, scanning the blur of helmets, flames, and neon paint. Everything felt like a video game level — one she didn’t know how to play.
“Okay… vending machine. Northeast corner. Silver fox mask. Vanilla smell. Judy.”
She muttered the clues under her breath , hoping they’d lead her through the chaos.
But the crowd was growing thicker. Racers strutted around like rockstars, girls with LED chokers posed for photos, and music blasted from somewhere unseen. Aya turned a corner too quickly and was nearly hit by a flying can of Red Bull.
“Sorry!” someone yelled.
She didn’t respond. Her jaw was tight. Her heart beat a little faster. She had lost sight of the path back to the car.
I should have waited.
She’s going to kill me.
She paused near a group of girls in matching red jackets. None of them looked like Judy. One was holding a fox mask, but it was gold, not white with black stripes.
Wrong fox.
Aya turned sharply — and crashed straight into someone.
Hard.
Her shoulder slammed into their chest. She stumbled back a step, holding her mask to keep it from flying off. The other person staggered, too.
“Watch it—” a smooth voice muttered, annoyed.
Aya looked up… and froze.
The guy she’d just collided with was wearing an all-black jacket with zippers, a chain around his wrist, and an amused smirk that made him look way too calm for someone who had just been hit.
He blinked at her mask.
“That’s… an interesting disguise,” he said.
Aya said nothing. Her brain short-circuited.
“You alright, fox girl?” he added, voice laced with humor.
She stepped back.
“Sorry, I— I’m looking for someone.”
“Aren’t we all?” he said, grinning as he walked past.
Aya watched him vanish into the smoke and music.
Who was that?
She tried to shake off the weird feeling in her chest and pushed forward again, hoping she wasn’t walking in circles.
But now the lights were dimmer, and the crowd had shifted. The races were starting again — and the roar of engines suddenly made everything harder to think through.
“Judy…” she whispered.
Her hands clenched.
“Where are you?”
Judy had searched the lot three times now.
The fog was still heavy.
The music had shifted into a slower, bass-heavy beat that vibrated through the pavement, and the final race of the night was about to begin.
“Aya,” Judy muttered under her breath, eyes darting from one masked face to another.
“Why now? Why tonight?”
She moved through the crowd like a bullet, shouldering past drunk mechanics, flashy girls, and racers flexing beside their cars. Her boots echoed on the concrete, her eyes locked on every dark figure in a hijab or mask.
“Where did you go?” she whispered.
Meanwhile…
Aya stood still, almost hidden behind a metal barrel near the edge of the track. Her black fox mask clung to her face. She could feel the engine vibrations in her ribs.
She had no idea where she was anymore. She had walked too far. The crowd had pulled her in like a tide. But she couldn’t leave — not yet.
“If I wait here,” she told herself, “maybe Judy’s racing now. Maybe I’ll see her car.”
She leaned forward, heart racing as the announcer shouted:
“Final race! The wild one! Ten racers — one lap — anything goes!”
Engines howled like beasts being unleashed.
Aya’s eyes swept the line of cars.
Her heart skipped.
There — at the end — the flat black Porsche.
“Judy,” she whispered, a wave of relief crashing over her.
But—
Wait…
The person behind the wheel…
It wasn’t Judy.
It was a man. Tall. Blond. Sunglasses even at night. Yavuz.
“What is he doing here?” Aya whispered, her breath catching.
She didn’t know him well — but she’d seen his photo once in Demir’s office. His twin. The wild one.
The race began.
Tires screamed. The air filled with smoke and screams.
Aya’s pulse hammered. She tried to pull away from the crowd but they were packed too tightly.
Suddenly—
BOOM.
A loud explosion of sound.
Not a crash — not yet.
But something went wrong.
Two cars collided at a turn. One flipped. The crowd gasped. Metal shrieked.
But Aya’s eyes weren’t on the flipped car — they were on Yavuz.
Because he had seen her.Her mask slipped for a moment.
Even from across the track, with her black mask, his eyes locked on her like a radar.
He didn’t look surprised.
He looked like he’d been expecting her.
Aya froze.
And then…
He smiled.
Just a little.
Like a fox who finally spotted a rabbit.
After a few minutes
The race had ended in a blaze of noise and smoke.
Sparks still danced in the air.
The flipped car was being hauled away by two mechanics. The crowd buzzed with excitement, drunk on adrenaline and streetlight. Everyone talked about the crash—except Aya.
She was frozen.
Because he was walking toward her.
Yavuz.
Black leather jacket. Helmet tucked under his arm.
That unnerving smirk on his face.
His boots thudded with calm confidence against the pavement as he pushed past people, eyes locked on the girl in the black fox mask.
“Aya?” he called, his voice low and curious, like he’d just spotted something rare in the forest.
Aya took one slow step back.
He knows who I am.
Oh no… he’s Demir’s brother.
He’ll take me back to that cursed compound.
Her heart started pounding. Her feet reacted before her brain could.
She turned and ran.
“Wait—!” Yavuz called behind her, sounding surprised.
But Aya was already weaving through the crowd like water. Dodging between racers, slipping past groups, her black mask still hugging her face. Her breathing was fast but sharp — athletic, controlled. She’d run like this before.
People turned. Someone shouted, “Whoa!” as she shoved past a group of girls with pink streaks in their hair.
“Aya, stop!” Yavuz’s voice echoed behind her.
Like hell I will.
She slipped down a side alley between two trucks, her shoes crunching against gravel and cigarette butts.
Yavuz followed.
He was fast.
But he wasn’t desperate like her.
Aya dashed into a dark corridor between crates and tents where the food stalls were closing. Someone yelled at her in Turkish. She ignored them. She turned sharply left, ducked under a metal bar, and—
Smacked into a low hanging banner.
She insulted under her breath and kept running, heartbeat booming in her ears.
She didn’t stop until she reached the edge of the dockyard, where water glimmered under the moonlight and the noise faded.
She hid behind a cargo container, crouching low, her fingers trembling.
Her chest rose and fell.
Her lungs burned.
Her mask felt too tight.
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Calm. Close.
“You really run like a fox,” Yavuz’s voice came from somewhere behind the container.
“So it’s true, huh? The girls did escape.”
Aya held her breath.
He didn’t sound angry.
But that didn’t matter.
He knows.
- Writer
