The silence in the safe house was suffocating, the air thick with tension and uncertainty. Farah's words still hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Haqim stood by the window, his silhouette barely visible against the dim light filtering through the cracked blinds. He hadn't spoken in minutes, his mind racing, analyzing the situation from every angle.
"There's a mole, Haqim," Farah had repeated. "I saw him myself. Faizan's men are moving fast. They're closing in."
Haqim finally turned to face her, his eyes narrowing, sharp as blades. "How did you get this information?"
Farah, still damp from the rain, leaned back against the wall. Her face was pale and strained, her eyes reflecting the weight of the secrets she carried. "I've been embedded with them for months, playing my role. It wasn't easy. They're getting more careful, more paranoid. But last night… last night, I overheard something. They mentioned your name. And they weren't just talking about tracking you—they know details. Things they shouldn't know."
Haqim's jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "How much do they know?"
Farah hesitated, casting a nervous glance around the room. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her jacket, betraying her nerves. "Enough to get you killed. They know about your safe houses. Your operations. I heard Faizan mention something about the resistance too."
The name, Faizan, still carried weight, like a ghost haunting the shadows of Haqim's life. Faizan was more than just a military leader in Lasim; he was a mastermind in his own right, a tactician as ruthless as Haqim himself. For him to be this close to unmasking Haqim's carefully constructed web of lies was a danger Haqim could not afford.
Haqim took a step toward Farah, his expression hardening. "If there's a mole, we need to find them now. The resistance cannot survive if they're compromised. I cannot survive."
Farah met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting fear but also determination. "I don't know who it is yet, but I'll find out. I just needed you to know before it was too late."
Haqim crossed his arms, staring her down, assessing her. "You've been reliable so far, but if you're lying, or worse, playing both sides…"
"I'm not!" Farah's voice was sharp, almost panicked. "You know me better than that. I've risked too much to betray you."
There was a beat of silence. Haqim's mind raced. He had learned long ago never to trust anyone completely, but Farah had proven her loyalty more than once. Still, desperation could make people unpredictable. He couldn't afford to ignore any possibility.
"I want you to stay off the radar for now," Haqim finally said, his tone measured. "Go underground. I'll handle things from here."
Farah's expression shifted, a mix of relief and frustration. "I can help, Haqim. I know them, their routines. I can get closer."
"I said no." His voice was calm but firm, leaving no room for argument. "I don't need you dead. If you're compromised, you'll be more useful to me alive."
Farah looked like she wanted to argue, but she knew better. She nodded once, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion. "Fine. But be careful, Haqim. They're not just hunting you. They're hunting anyone connected to you."
Haqim didn't respond. His mind was already spinning, plotting his next move. He glanced out the window again, eyes scanning the rain-soaked streets of Krafta. There was no room for mistakes now. The game had escalated, and every decision had to be precise.
.............................................
Later that night…
Haqim found himself in a secluded corner of a run-down bar on the outskirts of the city. It was a place where information was currency, and every face was a potential enemy. Haqim kept his back to the wall, his hood pulled low over his face. His contact would arrive soon, someone who might have more details on Faizan's latest movements.
The door to the bar creaked open, and a man stepped in. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and looked like he'd seen his fair share of battles. His eyes scanned the room before landing on Haqim. Without a word, he crossed the room and sat down across from him.
"I hear you're looking for answers," the man said, his voice low and gravelly.
"I hear you might have them," Haqim replied, keeping his tone neutral.
The man leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Depends on what you're asking."
Haqim met his gaze, unflinching. "Faizan. I need to know what he's planning."
The man chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Faizan? You're not the only one looking for him. He's become a ghost these days, moving from place to place. But there are whispers. Word on the street is he's got his eye on something big. Something that'll change the power dynamics in Krafta. You're part of it, whether you like it or not."
Haqim's expression remained impassive, but inside, his mind whirred. "I need specifics. Who's working for him? Who's compromised?"
The man took a long drink from his glass before setting it down with a soft clink. "Information like that doesn't come cheap."
Haqim slid an envelope across the table, stuffed with enough money to make the man's eyes gleam with greed. "Now talk."
The man grinned, pocketing the envelope before leaning in closer. "Word is, Faizan's got a man on the inside. High up in the resistance. No one knows who it is, but they're feeding him intel. And it's not just the resistance. He's got eyes on everyone who could threaten his position."
Haqim's jaw tightened. So Farah's information had been accurate. There was a mole, and they were embedded deep.
"What's his endgame?" Haqim asked, voice low.
The man shrugged. "Power. Control. He wants to make sure that when the dust settles, he's the one calling the shots in Krafta. And if that means taking out a few key players along the way, so be it."
Haqim leaned back, processing the information. Faizan was moving fast, and if Haqim didn't act soon, everything he'd built would crumble.
"I need a name," Haqim said quietly.
The man smirked. "Names cost extra."
Haqim's eyes darkened. "Or you don't walk out of here."
The man's smile faded. He knew who he was dealing with. After a tense moment, he nodded. "Alright. I don't have a name yet, but there's a meeting tonight. Big players, resistance leaders. Faizan's man will be there."
"Where?"
The man hesitated, glancing around nervously. "Abandoned warehouse, south end of the industrial district. Midnight. But you didn't hear it from me."
Haqim stood up without another word, slipping out of the bar and into the cold night. The clock was ticking, and now more than ever, he had to stay one step ahead.
.............................................
The Industrial District
The rain had picked up again as Haqim approached the industrial district. His thoughts were on high alert, every sound and shadow scrutinized. The abandoned warehouse loomed ahead, a dark and decrepit building that had seen better days.
Haqim moved like a phantom, blending into the night as he circled the perimeter. He had no intention of walking in blind. From the shadows, he watched as figures moved inside, speaking in hushed tones. It was a gathering of key resistance members, all unaware that they were being played.
Haqim's grip tightened on the handle of his knife. The mole was in there, and he would find them. One way or another, he'd make sure tonight didn't go according to Faizan's plan.