"Please—don't do this!"
The voice cracked through the rain like glass shattering. Elara stopped, heart hammering as the desperate plea echoed between the buildings. Then came a sharp, deafening sound—a gunshot.
The world seemed to stop.
For a heartbeat, she couldn't move. The rain beat against her face, cold and heavy, while her mind scrambled to make sense of what she'd just heard. Then she stepped forward, almost against her will, the soft soles of her shoes splashing in the puddles.
A flickering streetlamp threw weak light over the courtyard ahead. And there—beneath the glow—lay a man on the ground, blood spreading through his white shirt like spilled ink.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Oh God… no…
Even from a distance, she recognized that face.
Mr. Collins.
The same man who had interviewed her this afternoon.
Her pulse roared in her ears. He'd shaken her hand, smiled, told her he admired her honesty and determination. Now his eyes were wide open—empty.
Elara took a shaky step back, her trembling hand clutching her bag. She didn't know what to do—scream, run, call for help—but before she could think, she heard footsteps.
Men. Voices.
She flattened herself against the brick wall, barely daring to breathe.
"You've been selling me out, Collins," a deep, smooth voice said—steady and frighteningly calm.
She peeked from behind the corner. A tall man stood over the fallen body. He was dressed in a dark suit, his hair slicked back, rain sliding off him like even the weather dared not touch him. His presence filled the courtyard with silent authority.
He didn't look angry—he looked in control.
Dangerously in control.
The men beside him waited for orders, dressed the same, their movements sharp and practiced.
Elara's trembling grew worse. This wasn't random. This was planned.
And she had just seen it happen.
Her thoughts screamed: Move, Elara. Go now. Before they see you.
But her body refused to obey. Her mind was too busy replaying the sound of that gunshot.
Then her foot nudged a metal trash can.
It fell.
Clang!
The sound exploded through the silence.
Her heart stopped.
The men turned instantly.
One pointed toward her hiding place. "Boss—someone's there."
The tall man turned his head slowly, his gaze sweeping the darkness. His eyes—cold gray, sharp as a blade—met hers.
For a moment, they just stared at each other through the rain.
Then he spoke, his voice deep and quiet:
"Find her. Alive."
That single word—alive—sent terror shooting through her veins.
Elara spun and ran.
Her shoes splashed through puddles, her breath ragged as she sprinted into the night. The rain blurred her vision, but she didn't dare stop. Behind her, engines roared to life—black cars revving, men shouting.
He's chasing me. He's really chasing me.
She cut through a narrow alley, slipping on wet concrete, her heart pounding like it wanted to break free from her chest. Her scarf caught on a wire; she ripped it loose and kept running.
She could hear them behind her—boots hitting the pavement, getting closer.
"Split up! She can't be far!" one yelled.
Elara ducked behind a stack of crates, pressing a hand over her mouth to silence her breathing. Her whole body trembled. The cold air bit into her skin, and the metallic scent of rain mixed with blood filled her lungs.
She'd never seen a dead man before. Never seen anyone killed.
And now… she'd seen too much.
She closed her eyes for a second, trying to hold herself together. But then she saw it again—Collins's face. His voice earlier that day, soft and encouraging. "You have potential, Miss James."
Now he was gone.
Tears mixed with the rain on her cheeks.
She whispered to herself, "What did I just walk into?"
The sound of footsteps nearby pulled her back to the present. A man's shadow swept across the wall.
Think, Elara. Think!
Her gaze darted to the left—a small alley leading to the main street. She waited until the men turned the other way, then bolted. The moment her feet hit the pavement again, she didn't look back.
She didn't stop running until she reached the bus station, her lungs screaming for air. Her soaked hair clung to her face, her clothes heavy with rain. She collapsed onto a bench, trembling uncontrollably.
People glanced at her—just another drenched woman caught in the storm—but no one saw the terror behind her eyes.
She stared down at her shaking hands. The same hands that had filled out her job form this morning. The same ones that had held hope.
Now they were cold and useless.
Her phone buzzed weakly in her bag. The screen lit up with a single notification—an unsent message draft: "Thank you for the interview today, Mr. Collins."
Her chest tightened painfully.
The man who could've changed her future was gone, and the man who took his life now knew her face.
Elara wiped her tears and swallowed hard, her mind spinning.
I have to disappear.
She didn't know who he was, or what kind of world she had just stepped into but she knew one thing: if that man found her, she wouldn't live to tell anyone what she'd seen.
And as lightning flashed across the night sky, illuminating the city, Elara realized that her quiet, ordinary life had ended the moment she took that wrong turn.