The phone vibrated in my hand, Chloe’s name flashing on the screen. It was still early, barely 7 AM.
I was driving Elena to a safehouse I knew, a small, forgotten apartment above a laundromat in a different district. She was jumpy, clutching the cipher book like a lifeline.
“Hello?” I answered, my voice tight.
“Dad! They’re here!” Chloe’s voice was a ragged scream, thick with panic. “There are men at the door! They’re trying to break in!”
My blood ran cold. He’d moved faster than I thought possible.
“Who, Chloe? What men?” I demanded, my grip tightening on the steering wheel.
“They’re shouting! They have… guns! They’re saying they want you!” she cried, the sound of splintering wood echoing in the background. “They called you an informant!”
Informant. Marcus. He’d used his stolen cash, his leverage with Soria’s lieutenants, and twisted the narrative. He was framing me.
He was telling them I was targeting *their* operations, not just him.
“Get out!” I shouted into the phone. “The fire escape in the back! Go to the abandoned basement on 3rd Street! The old bakery building!”
It was a contingency I’d planned weeks ago, a hidden bolt hole. Chloe knew it.
“Go! Now!” I roared, pushing the accelerator to the floor. The safehouse for Elena could wait. Chloe was in immediate danger.
Elena gasped, her face draining of color. She’d heard Chloe’s screams.
My old sedan, usually a steady, reliable companion, lurched through the morning traffic. Each red light was a punch to the gut. The distance felt endless.
I pictured Chloe, fragile after everything Marcus had done, facing down armed men. My fault. I’d brought this to her door.
The phone went dead. Just static.
My knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Marcus hadn’t just reacted; he’d escalated. Violently.
I pushed the car harder, weaving through lanes. I could almost hear the sound of the front door giving way, the boots on my old hardwood floors.
My home. Chloe’s only remaining sanctuary.
I had to get there. Now.
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