The rain hammered the industrial district, transforming the cracked pavement into a glistening labyrinth of reflections. Ethan Drake's sedan crept through the desolation, its engine a low growl barely audible over the storm. The wipers scraped rhythmically, cutting brief slashes of clarity into the blurred world beyond. Ethan's fingers tapped the wheel, his gray eyes locked ahead, unreadable.
The address Toby scrawled was etched in his mind as his GPS whispered the final turn. Killing the headlights, he coasted to a stop a block from the shelter. The building leaned into the shadows, its chain-link fence sagging with neglect. A rusted sign hung by a thread, spelling "Haven" in a defeated font. Fitting.
Ethan stepped into the rain, his jacket catching the downpour as he moved with purpose. His boots avoided puddles with unconscious precision, every step silent but deliberate. He spotted the lifeless security camera, its lens pointed aimlessly at the ground. Useless, like the man behind the desk inside.
Gary barely flinched when Ethan entered, water dripping from him onto the peeling linoleum. The receptionist, wiry and disinterested, tapped a pencil against a ledger without looking up.
"Clara DeVries," Ethan said, his voice a low rumble.
Gary didn't bother with pretense. "Don't know her."
Ethan leaned forward, his calm radiating menace. "You're lying."
The pencil stilled. Gary's shoulders slumped under Ethan's unrelenting gaze. "Last door on the left."
Ethan nodded once, brushing past. The hallway stretched ahead, lit by flickering fluorescents casting jagged shadows. He reached the door and pushed it open, slow and measured.
Clara sat hunched on the edge of a cot, her fingers twisting the frayed hem of her sweater. Her brown hair clung to her face in damp strands, her eyes wide and haunted. When she looked up, suspicion flashed behind her exhaustion.
"You're not supposed to be here," she whispered.
Ethan shut the door with a quiet click. "Neither are you."
Clara blinked, her confusion palpable. "I don't—"
"Victor Alderidge," Ethan interrupted, crouching to meet her eye level. "The night he died. You saw something, didn't you?"
Her hands trembled. "It's... fragments. Faces. Shouting. But it's all—"
"Blurry," Ethan finished. "Doesn't matter. Whatever you remember could save your life. Right now, you're a loose end, and someone doesn't leave loose ends."
Heavy footsteps echoed outside, deliberate and ominous. Ethan's head snapped to the door. His instincts sharpened like a blade.
"Stay behind me," he ordered, pulling a collapsible baton from his jacket.
"What's happening?" Clara's voice wavered.
The first shot blew through the doorframe, splinters scattering like shrapnel. Ethan yanked Clara to the ground as another bullet sailed overhead.
He rolled out, baton snapping against the wrist of the nearest assassin. The man's weapon clattered to the floor as Ethan spun him into the line of fire, a human shield absorbing the next barrage.
Lena Navarro advanced, her silenced pistol poised. Her precision was chilling, her gaze locked on Ethan's every move.
"Move!" Ethan barked to Clara, shoving the unconscious attacker aside.
Clara scrambled past him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. A shot grazed Ethan's arm, searing pain, but he didn't flinch. He slammed into the fire exit, dragging Clara into the storm.
Rain lashed their faces as they bolted down the alley, bullets chipping brick and ricocheting into the night. Ethan's sedan loomed ahead. He fumbled with the key fob, heart pounding in controlled rhythm.
"Get in!" he growled, yanking the door open.
Clara dove into the passenger seat, Ethan sliding behind the wheel. The engine roared as he peeled out, tires screaming against the slick pavement. A black SUV emerged in the rearview, gaining fast.
"Who are they?" Clara asked, her voice trembling.
"People who don't miss twice," Ethan replied, his tone grim.
He flipped a hidden switch. Smoke erupted from the sedan's rear, engulfing the alley in a thick haze. The SUV swerved, its silhouette vanishing behind the veil.
They burst into the underground parking garage, the sedan screeching to a halt. Ethan killed the engine, his breaths steady despite the chaos.
Clara sat frozen, her hands gripping the seat. "What do they think I know?" she whispered.
Ethan's gaze pierced her, unwavering. "Whatever it is, they're willing to kill for it."
She nodded, her trembling subsiding into steely resolve. "I'll remember," she said, determination threading through her voice.
Outside, the rain beat a relentless rhythm on the concrete. Ethan leaned back, his mind already calculating their next move. The storm wasn't over—it was just beginning