Ava ran. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The dimly lit hallway stretched ahead, an endless tunnel of uncertainty. Behind her, the sounds of struggle filled the air bodies colliding, grunts of pain, furniture crashing.
She didn't look back.
Noah had told her to run, and she would listen.
The key in her hand felt like it was burning into her palm, a reminder that escape was possible if she just kept moving. But where? The train. The safe house. That was the plan, but getting there was another matter entirely.
The corridor twisted sharply, and she nearly slammed into the wall as she turned. Her feet barely caught traction on the sleek flooring. Doors lined the hallway, most closed, a few slightly ajar. Shadows stretched in the flickering light, distorting shapes that looked like they could reach out and pull her back.
Footsteps.
Not hers.
Not Noah's.
Ava's stomach clenched. Someone was following.
She didn't dare slow down.
Bursting through a side door, she stumbled into a stairwell. The air was colder here, the scent of concrete and rain seeping in from somewhere above.
Up or down?
Instinct screamed up. Higher ground meant rooftops, meant visibility, meant a chance to get away without being cornered.
But down meant an exit.
She chose down.
Taking the steps two at a time, she forced her legs to move faster than they ever had. The sounds behind her grew louder, closer. A voice called out, sharp and commanding.
Stop.
She didn't.
Her lungs burned as she reached the bottom, shoving through another door. The alley beyond was slick with rain, neon lights from distant street signs reflecting in puddles like fractured glass.
Ava sprinted forward, weaving between discarded crates and overturned trash bins. The city hummed beyond the alley's mouth, cars rushing by, people moving through their lives oblivious to the storm unfolding in hers.
She could blend in. If she made it far enough, fast enough, she could disappear.
A hand shot out from the shadows.
Fingers wrapped around her wrist, yanking her back before she could react.
She gasped, twisting, her free hand swinging instinctively toward her attacker.
A strong grip caught her arm mid-motion.
Ava.
Her breath hitched.
Noah.
His face was inches from hers, eyes wild, chest heaving. He was covered in bruises, a fresh cut along his jaw bleeding slightly.
We have to keep moving.
She didn't argue.
Together, they ran.