Chapter 19 Aaron
Aaron
Location: Lisbon — In Pursuit
Time: Night
The city stops being a city.
It becomes a map.
Not streets.
Not buildings.
Lines.
Angles.
Movement.
Targets.
Ronan’s voice cuts through my ear, sharp and fast. “We’ve got the van on traffic cams for six seconds before they ghosted again. Black panel. Likely stolen plates. Moving east.”
“Route?”
“Three possibilities. Collapsing now.”
I don’t answer.
I’m already moving.
The bike roars to life under me, vibration running up through my arms as I tear out of the underground garage.
No lights.
No warning.
Just speed.
Cold.
Precise.
“They took her,” I say. “They didn’t kill her.”
“Yes,” Ronan replies. “Which means they want what she knows.”
Or what they think she has.
Or what she refuses to give.
My grip tightens on the throttle.
“Then they’re going to learn something,” I say.
The bike screams as I cut through traffic—wrong way down a one-way, slipping between cars, jumping a curb into a narrow service lane.
Everything narrows.
Focus sharpens.
There is no noise.
No doubt.
Just one objective.
Find her.
“Two routes collapsing,” Ronan says. “They’re favoring docks or old freight yards.”
“They’ll choose the place with layers,” I say immediately. “Not exits.”
“Agreed. Freight yards.”
I lean hard into a turn, tires skidding just enough to feel the edge before catching again.
The city blurs.
Lights streak.
Time compresses.
But my mind—
My mind is too clear.
I see it again.
The door.
Unlocked.
The cable.
Cut.
Too clean.
Too fast.
You should have stayed in the box.
My jaw tightens.
They took her—
Because I left.
That thought hits like a blade.
I don’t get that mistake twice.
“Eyes up,” Ronan says. “We’ve got a thermal ghost ahead. Could be them. Could be noise.”
“It’s them.”
“How do you know?”
I don’t hesitate.
“Because they still think they’re in control.”
Silence.
Then Ronan, quieter now:
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s about to change.”
I push the bike harder.
Faster.
The engine howls beneath me as the city gives way to shadows and steel.
Freight yards.
Dark.
Layered.
Perfect place to disappear.
Perfect place to die.
My pulse steadies.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Something colder.
Something final.
They wanted her.
They took her.
Now—
They get me.