Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
MIA
I spot my contact in the corner, a red scarf draped around his neck. As if sensing my arrival, he looks up. Our gazes connect across the room, and just like that, the weight of the world comes crashing down on me once more. The secrets, the danger, the constant fear—it all rushes back, stealing the breath from my lungs.
But I force myself to move, to put one foot in front of the other until I’m sliding into the booth across from him.
“Mia Chen?” His voice is low and gruff, with a hint of an accent I can’t quite place.
I nod, my throat too dry to speak.
“My name is Agent Torres, your contact with the U.S. Embassy.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a zippered pouch, holding it out to me. “Take this. It’s everything you’ll need.”
My hands tremble as I reach for the pouch, its weight substantial in my grip. I clutch it to my chest, a lifeline in this dark and uncertain world.
“Do you have it?” he says, his voice low and gravely.
With trembling hands, I reach into my backpack and pull out the tablet, placing it on the table between us. I absentmindedly touch my neck—a sharp reminder of the street’s chaos .
“It’s all there,” I whisper, barely audible above the background chatter. “Everything you need to know.”
He nods, reaching for the tablet, then stops short, his gaze sharpening on my neck.
“What happened?” His concern is palpable, and his voice is low, tinged with urgency.
“I’m not sure.” My voice is unsteady as a slight dizziness muddles my thoughts. “There was a scuffle… I think someone tried to…”
Drug me? I must be paranoid.
My words trail off as I pull my fingers from my neck, noticing a streak of blood smeared on them. The room shifts subtly, the drug’s effects not enough to overpower me but sufficient to make everything seem slightly off-kilter, as though I’m floating.
Spinning.
His expression hardens, and he slides out of the booth. He grips my arm tight and hauls me to my feet.
“We need to go. Now. It’s not safe.”
I turn toward the front door, but he yanks me back, his grip like iron.
“Not that way.”
He pulls me down a corridor toward the restrooms, bursting through a door leading to a back alley. The humid air slams into me like a slap, and I stumble, my head spinning.
My contact is already on his phone, barking orders for backup, but as we’re about to exit the alley, a figure steps into view at the other end.
Lena.
Time slows as she raises a gun, her gaze locks onto me. The crack of the shot is deafening in the narrow alley. Agent Torres grunts, jerking back as a blossom of red spreads across his shirt.
I gasp, stumbling backward as a spray of warm liquid splatters across my face. It takes me a moment to realize it’s blood—his blood—hot and sticky against my skin.
He returns fire, the gun bucking in his hand, and Lena doubles over, a scream of pain tearing from her throat as the bullet rips into her gut. She crumples to the ground, blood pooling beneath her.
But even as she falls, her gun comes up again, her face a mask of agony and rage. Another shot rings out, and Agent Torres staggers, a look of shocked disbelief on his face as a crimson stain blooms over his heart.
He’s dead before he hits the ground, his phone skittering from his hand and sliding under the dumpster.
My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I’m frozen, paralyzed by fear. The sight of Agent Torres lying in a pool of his own blood, the dark stain spreading beneath him, is seared into my mind.
I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think.
Lena is on her knees now, her gun shaking in her blood-slicked hands as she tries to bring it to bear on me.
Survival instincts kick in, and I move before I realize what I’m doing.
I lunge to the side as another shot rings out, the sound deafening in the narrow alley. The bullet ricochets off the wall behind me, sending a spray of brick and mortar into the air. The debris stings my skin, but I barely register the pain.
I lunge for Torres’s fallen wallet, stuffing it into my backpack along with the tablet. I need to contact the embassy and tell them what happened.
Do I leave him here? I can’t do that. It’s wrong, but I don’t dare stay where I am.
For a split second, my eyes dart to the dumpster, to the phone lying just out of reach.
But there’s no time.
Lena’s gun rises, her finger tightening on the trigger. I turn and run, bursting back through the café’s rear door just as another shot rings out. The bullet shatters the bricks mere inches from my head.
Back in the bar, disoriented by the sudden noise and light, the music is too loud, the laughter too sharp, and the colors too bright. For a moment, I’m blinded, stumbling, and disoriented.
But I don’t stop .
I can’t stop.
My legs move of their own accord, carrying me forward even as my mind struggles to keep up. I weave through the crowd, pushing past people, my elbows and shoulders colliding with strangers. Shouts of surprise and anger follow me, but I don’t slow down.
I can’t go out the front, can’t risk running into Lena if she’s still alive, but then I realize—the front door is the only other exit.
If Lena is still in the alley…
I change course, hurling myself toward the front of the café, shouldering past shocked patrons. I burst out onto the street, turning left, away from the alley where Lena fell.
But the street is packed, the crowd surging in the opposite direction, a river of drunken revelers and partygoers impeding my progress. It’s like trying to swim upstream.
Each second feels like an eternity, my heart pounding in my ears and my breath coming in short, panicked gasps as I shove and elbow my way through the press of bodies. Every face in the crowd seems to hide a threat.
Every shadow conceals an enemy.
I stumble, trying to catch my breath.
Terror courses through my veins, a living thing that threatens to consume me. I’m in a nightmare, running for my life, my feet moving but never fast enough. The faces of the people around me blur together, a sea of strangers who can’t possibly understand the danger I’m in.
I clutch my backpack to my chest, the weight of it grounding me even as my mind spins out of control. It’s all I have left of Agent Torres, the man who died trying to help me.
The man whose blood is still warm and sticky on my skin.
A sob builds in my throat, but I swallow it down. I can’t let fear and grief overtake me.
I have to keep moving.
After what feels like hours, but can only be minutes, I spot a shop ahead, its windows dark. I lunge for the door, nearly sobbing with relief when I find it unlocked.
I spot a sign for the restrooms and, on unsteady legs, make my way toward it, shouldering through the door and into the women’s room.
Thankfully, it’s empty. I slam the door shut behind me, sliding the lock into place with trembling fingers.
For a long moment, I just stand there, my heart slamming against my ribs and my breath coming in ragged gasps. The world spins around me, and I press my hands to my face, trying to hold myself together.
But it’s no use.
The sobs come then, tearing out of me in great, wracking spasms that leave me gasping for air. I slide down the wall, my knees drawing up to my chest as I cry, the weight of everything that’s happened crashing down on me like a physical blow.
My contact is dead.
Lena, if that really is her name, is after me.
And I’m alone, hunted, with no one to turn to and nowhere to go.
My secrets feel like a noose around my neck, tightening with every passing second.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel the cold, creeping tendrils of true despair wrapping around my heart.
Because I don’t know if I can do this.
I don’t know if I can survive.