Tomas slid into the driver's seat and shut the door with a sharp click that echoed louder than it should have in the empty street. The engine started on the first turn. He pulled away from the curb and merged onto the road, the headlights slicing through the rain.
Outside, the storm had settled into a relentless downpour. Rain hammered the windshield in dense sheets, blurring the city into streaks of gray and yellow. The wipers dragged back and forth in exhausted arcs, barely keeping up. Streetlights trembled in puddles like broken stars, stretching and shattering with every ripple.
The folder lay on the passenger seat, heavy despite its thinness.
Evidence. Truth. Death sentences.
Tomas kept his eyes on the road, jaw clenched, hands steady on the wheel. His thoughts circled Laura—alone in the apartment, surrounded by walls that suddenly felt far too thin.
Then something shifted in the mirror.
A pair of headlights.
Black SUV.
His stomach tightened.
Same model. Same height. Same silhouette.
No visible plates.
The SUV kept its distance—not close enough to provoke panic, not far enough to feel accidental.
Tomas pressed the accelerator.
The engine responded immediately.
So did the SUV.
His pulse spiked.
Not coincidence.
He took a sharp turn. The SUV followed. Another turn. Still there.
I need to lose them fast. Laura is home alone.
The rain intensified as Tomas swerved onto a narrow gravel road branching off the main street. The tires skidded slightly before finding purchase. Ahead loomed a half-finished apartment complex—concrete skeletons rising out of the darkness, metal containers stacked unevenly, piles of sand soaked and collapsing into themselves. No lights. No people. No cameras.
Perfect.
The SUV slowed slightly as Tomas accelerated deeper into the site. Gravel sprayed behind him. At the last moment, he slammed the brakes.
The car slid sideways.
Tomas was already moving.
He threw the door open, jumped out, and vanished behind the corner of a rusted construction trailer just as the SUV rolled to a stop.
Rain soaked him instantly, cold water seeping into his clothes.
The SUV's engine idled.
Two doors opened.
Two men stepped out.
They moved with controlled precision—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Black suits clung darkly to their bodies, rain streaming off their shoulders. Earpieces glinted faintly under the site's lone floodlight. Weapons were already in their hands.
Not amateurs.
Not the men from the gas station.
Professionals.
They approached Tomas's car cautiously.
One man reached the driver's door and pulled it open.
Empty.
The other scanned the area, gun raised, muscles tense.
Now.
Tomas surged forward from behind.
He struck fast and silent.
The nearest man barely had time to turn before Tomas twisted his arm, wrenching the weapon free and yanking him backward. Tomas slammed his shoulder into the man's spine and dragged him into position just as the second man fired.
The shot rang out.
The bullet punched into his own teammate's chest.
The man gasped once and collapsed, eyes wide with shock.
Before the shooter could react, Tomas crossed the distance in a blur. Three precise strikes—throat, jaw, temple. The man crumpled without another sound, weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.
The rain swallowed the echoes.
Tomas didn't look back.
He sprinted to his car, hands slick with rain and blood, slammed the door, and peeled out of the site, gravel exploding beneath the tires.
His breath came hard, but his focus was razor-sharp.
Home.
The closer he got to the apartment, the tighter his chest became. He took the stairs two at a time, lungs burning, heart hammering.
The hallway was silent.
Too silent.
The apartment door stood ajar.
Time slowed.
"No," he breathed.
Inside, the scene hit him like a physical blow.
Furniture lay overturned. A chair smashed against the wall. The table lay on its side, one leg broken clean off. A coffee cup lay shattered across the floor, dark liquid spreading outward, mixing with muddy footprints tracked through the apartment.
The smell of rain, metal, and fear filled the air.
"Laura?" he called, voice cracking.
No answer.
His gaze dropped.
The teddy bear lay on its side near the couch, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath it.
Tomas crossed the room in two steps and picked it up.
Something shifted inside.
He reached in carefully and pulled out a small USB drive.
She managed.
His hand tightened so hard his nails cut into his palm. A thin line of blood slid down his thumb.
His phone vibrated.
Laura's name lit the screen.
"Laura?" he answered instantly. "Laura, are you—"
A calm, cold male voice interrupted him.
"Hello, Tomas. This is Valentinas. Laura's… uncle."
Tomas froze.
"As you understand," Valentinas continued smoothly, "she's with me now. And we have a small problem. I need the documents you removed from the BlueVeil vault."
"Put her on," Tomas said, his voice low and shaking with contained rage. "I need to know she's alive."
A quiet laugh.
"She's alive. For now. But if you want her to remain so, I suggest you don't test my patience."
The phone shifted.
"Tomas…" Laura's voice was weak, trembling. "I'm okay. Don't give them the documents. If you expose them, they'll—"
A sudden thud cut her off.
A sharp cry.
"LAURA!" Tomas shouted.
The line went silent for a second—then Valentinas returned.
"If you don't hurry," he said calmly, "you won't see her alive again."
"…Fine," Tomas said, his voice breaking. "I'll bring them."
"Half an hour," Valentinas replied. "I'm sending the address."
The call ended.
A message appeared immediately—coordinates near the train station. An abandoned warehouse.
Tomas grabbed the folder from the table, slid the USB drive behind the bookshelf, and ran.
The warehouse loomed like a corpse in the rain.
Lightning cracked overhead, briefly illuminating four black SUVs lined up in front of it like a firing squad.
Even if I give them the documents, they won't let me walk away.
Tomas took out his phone, activated the camera, and began recording.
"My name is Tomas," he said calmly. "If this footage is released, it means I was murdered for exposing NovaCure."
He stepped out of the car with the folder in his hands.
Within seconds, armed men surrounded him, guns raised.
"Lower your weapons," a voice commanded from the darkness.
The men obeyed instantly, stepping aside.
Valentinas emerged.
Tall. Composed. Silver at the temples. An expensive coat soaked through by rain. His eyes were flat, glacial.
"No more introductions," Valentinas said. "Give me the documents."
"I'm recording," Tomas replied. "If anything happens to me, this video goes straight to the police and the media."
Valentinas smiled thinly.
"Prepared," he said. "Good. Open the doors."
The warehouse doors groaned open.
Inside—cold concrete. Flickering lights.
And Laura.
She lay motionless in a spreading pool of blood.
Her clothes were torn. Her cheek swollen and purple. Her lip split. Rainwater dripped through the broken roof, mixing with the blood beneath her. A deep gash on her head still bled slowly. Her arms and legs were bruised raw, skin scraped where she had been dragged.
Tomas's stomach dropped into nothing.
He lunged forward, but hands seized him, forcing him back.
"You said you wouldn't touch her!" he roared.
Valentinas shrugged.
"I said you'd see her," he replied calmly. "I never said she'd be unharmed."
Tomas threw the folder at him and tore free, collapsing beside Laura.
Her breathing was shallow, uneven.
He checked her pulse—weak, but there.
He ripped off his shirt, tore it into strips, and wrapped her head, pressing firmly to slow the bleeding.
Her skin was cold.
Valentinas approached and held out her phone.
"She was stubborn," he said mockingly.
Tomas ignored him, lifting Laura carefully and carrying her to the car.
As he laid her in the back seat, her pulse fluttered under his fingers—fading.
The engine roared to life.
Rain blurred the world into chaos as Tomas sped toward the hospital.
One thought burned through him.
Laura must survive.
Laura — POV
Pain came before understanding.
Not sharp at first. Dull. Confusing. Like waking up from a nightmare where your body remembers something your mind refuses to accept.
The room smelled wrong.
Concrete. Rust. Blood.
Laura blinked slowly. Light flickered above her—harsh, uneven, stabbing at her eyes. Her head throbbed with every pulse of her heart, a deep pressure that made her stomach roll.
She tried to move.
Her wrists burned.
Rope.
The realization arrived calmly, almost gently, as if her brain was protecting her from panic by slowing everything down.
I'm tied.
Her mouth tasted metallic. She swallowed and tasted blood.
Memory crept in piece by piece.
The apartment door.
Hands grabbing her from behind.
Her scream cut short.
Someone saying her name like it meant nothing.
She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing shallowly, listening.
Voices echoed somewhere nearby—men talking, boots scraping against concrete. Rain hammered against metal above her, each drop loud and relentless.
She was lying on her side.
Cold soaked through her clothes. Her cheek pressed against concrete slick with water—and something warmer.
Blood.
Her blood.
Don't panic.
The thought came uninvited, steady and strange. Panic won't help. Panic never helps.
She focused on breathing instead.
In. Out.
Her ribs screamed with every inhale. Something had hit her there. Hard.
Tomas.
The thought hurt worse than her body.
He doesn't know where I am.
She tried to remember everything—every detail. The car. The road. Anything.
She shifted slightly.
Pain exploded behind her eyes.
A groan escaped her throat before she could stop it.
Footsteps approached.
A shadow fell across her vision.
"Well," a calm voice said. "She's awake."
Laura forced her eyes open.
The man standing over her was tall, well-dressed despite the setting. Gray hair at the temples. Hands clean. Face relaxed, almost bored.
Valentinas.
Her stomach twisted.
"You," she whispered.
He crouched down in front of her, careful not to touch her.
"I'm disappointed," he said mildly. "You were always a clever child."
Her jaw tightened.
"Where is Tomas?"
Valentinas smiled faintly.
"He's worried," he said. "As he should be."
A hand grabbed her hair suddenly and yanked her head back.
White-hot pain tore through her scalp.
She screamed.
"Enough," Valentinas said sharply.
The grip loosened, but her head throbbed violently.
Valentinas sighed and stood.
"Make sure she stays conscious," he told someone off to the side. "I want her to speak when the time comes."
He walked away.
Laura lay shaking, tears leaking silently from her eyes.
She tried to curl inward, but her restraints stopped her. Every movement sent pain through her body—bruises, cuts, something wrong with her head.
Focus.
She forced her mind away from the pain.
The teddy bear.
The USB.
Did Tomas find it?
Her heart pounded.
Please.
Time blurred.
Pain dulled, then returned in waves. Someone poured water on her face at one point. Another voice laughed when she coughed and choked.
She thought about her mother.
About the note.
About how afraid she had been her whole life without knowing why.
If this is how it ends, she thought, at least Tomas knows the truth.
Then she heard his voice.
"LAURA!"
Her heart surged violently.
Tomas.
He's here.
She struggled to lift her head, every nerve screaming. Her vision swam, but she saw movement—figures parting, light shifting.
"Tomas…" she whispered into the phone pressed briefly to her ear. Her voice sounded distant, fragile. "I'm okay. Don't give them the documents. If you expose them—"
Something slammed into her side.
The world shattered.
She screamed.
The phone was ripped away.
Pain flooded everything. Her body went limp, vision darkening at the edges.
Through the haze, she heard Valentinas again.
Calm. Controlled.
Cruel.
Then footsteps.
Then Tomas.
She felt his presence before she saw him.
The way the air changed.
The way her body reacted.
He dropped beside her.
Strong hands. Gentle hands.
"Tomas," she tried to say, but it came out as air.
She felt pressure on her head—fabric. His shirt.
Her chest tightened painfully.
I'm sorry, she wanted to say. I'm sorry you had to see this.
She wanted to tell him not to blame himself.
She wanted to tell him she loved him.
But the darkness was closing in again.
The last thing she felt was being lifted—careful, desperate—and rain hitting her face.
And Tomas' voice, breaking.
"Stay with me."
She tried.
She really did.