The sprawling city below stirred awake, a restless symphony of distant engines, piercing sirens, and flickering neon lights casting ghostly glows on slick pavements. Silas's hands clenched the steering wheel of Ayla's glossy black sedan, knuckles whitening under the strain as they darted through Valthera's twisting streets wrapped in night's shadow. The memory of gunfire and the predator's growl of the motorcycle haunted his ears. Behind them, NexaCore's sterile walls and steel towers dissolved into streaks of muted gray.
Ayla leaned forward in her seat, scanning the mirrors. "Still on us," she said, her voice clipped.
A quick glance in the mirror confirmed it—the bike was still there. The rider, masked and relentless, maneuvered with surgical precision. Silas couldn't tell whether it was one of Wellington's top enforcers or a freelancer on a fat paycheck, but either way, they knew how to hunt.
"Hold tight," Silas muttered, jerking the wheel. The sedan swerved off the main road and dove into a half-lit underpass. Tires screamed as they skidded across wet pavement. Blurs of concrete shot past, close enough to kiss the car's paint. "Where the hell are you going?" Ayla demanded, one hand gripping the dashboard as her voice edged with panic.
"Where are you going?" Ayla asked, bracing against the dashboard.
"There's a maintenance tunnel entrance up ahead. I spotted it during a job last year. If we can get in before he catches up—"
A burst of gunfire cracked behind them. The rear windshield exploded into fragments.
"—we'll live to see morning," Silas finished, gritting his teeth.
A narrow tunnel appeared ahead, mostly hidden behind industrial dumpsters. Silas stomped the brakes and cut the engine. "Out," he barked.
Without waiting, they bolted. Ayla sprinted toward a rust-streaked gate while Silas leaned into the car, yanking a handgun from beneath the seat. The motorcycle's roar grew louder seconds away. "Locked!" Ayla called out, rattling the gate.
"Move," Silas said. He fired a single shot at the rusted padlock. It shattered with a spark. He kicked the gate open, and they slipped into the shadows just as their pursuer rounded the corner.
The tunnel swallowed them in darkness, the air damp and clinging, steeped in rust and old motor oil. Water dripped from overhead pipes. Silas slammed the gate behind them and bolted it from the inside. Footsteps thudded behind them—fast, but not yet at the gate.
"This way," Silas whispered. They moved quickly, their footsteps echoing. The tunnel twisted and narrowed, eventually splitting into two.
"Left or right?" Ayla asked.
Silas paused, listening. A faint hum came from the left—machinery. "Left. We might be able to lose him near the old turbine shafts."
They ran. The path sloped downward, leading into a forgotten chamber where rusted machines loomed like sleeping giants. Everything smelled of time—mildew, grease, and dust hanging thick in the air.
"Are we safe?" she whispered.
"For now." He peeked around the corner. No movement. "He'll expect us to keep running. We'll wait it out, then double back."
Ayla pressed herself against the cold wall, her breath ragged. "When you jumped into my car, this definitely wasn't what I had in mind."
Silas gave a faint, tired grin. "It's not what I expected either."
They sat in silence, the whir of distant fans the only sound. After a long pause, Ayla spoke.
"You said Ashur could help. Where is he?"
"Safehouse near the old port. But we can't go there directly. If they're tracking us…"
"We need a new plan," she said, voice firm.
Silas turned toward her, eyes sharpened by more than adrenaline. Beneath the grit and grime, his expression carried both loss and resolve. "This isn't just about your father anymore… is it?" She hesitated. "I want to know the truth. About him. About what he was involved in. And I think you do too."
Silas nodded. "Then we stick together."
Before she could answer, a metallic creak echoed through the tunnel—a sound that didn't belong to silence. Silas raised his gun. Ayla instinctively crouched lower.
A beam of light flickered in the distance—flashlight.
"He's in," Silas whispered.
They moved again, this time slower, more deliberate. Down another corridor, through a hatch door, into a lower level filled with old pump systems. Silas guided Ayla through the maze, mind racing for options.
He found a crawlspace behind one of the tanks. "In here," he whispered.
They squeezed in, pressed shoulder to shoulder in the dark. The flashlight beam passed above them, searching. Silence stretched. Every breath felt loud.
Eventually, the beam receded. Footsteps moved away.
Silas waited a full minute before exhaling. "We're good. For now."
Ayla looked at him, her voice barely audible. "We can't keep running forever."
"No," Silas agreed. "If we're careful, we can stay ahead of them," Silas whispered.
They moved again, cautious and silent, until the tunnel spilled into a maintenance stairwell. Climbing up, they emerged into a narrow alley as the first hint of dawn painted the sky in shades of soft blue and gold.
Silas tucked the flash drive deeper into his jacket pocket. "Let's find Ashur."
Ayla nodded. "And start getting answers."