Our eyes met.
For one eternal second, we just stared at each other. Me, frozen in terror. Him, with a smoking gun in his hand and a body at his feet. His face was clear in the dim light—I’d never forget it. Square jaw. Cold eyes. The kind of face that probably looked charming when he smiled but right now looked like death itself.
Then I ran.
I don’t remember making the decision. Don’t remember my legs moving. One second I was standing there, and the next I was sprinting down the alley, bursting through the back door of the club, shoving past the confused faces of my coworkers.
“Zainab? Zainab, what?—”
I didn’t stop. Didn’t explain. Just grabbed my purse from behind the bar and kept going, out the front door, into the night, running until my lungs burned and my legs screamed and I couldn’t run anymore.
He saw me. He knew my face. Knew I worked at the club.
It was only a matter of time before he asked around. Before someone pointed him in my direction. Before he came to finish what he’d started with that man in the alley.
But nobody at the club knew I had a twin. I never talked about my personal life. Never mentioned a sister. Never brought anyone around.
That was the only advantage I had.
I had to get home. Had to get Zahara. Had to get Yusef. We had to leave tonight. Right now. Immediately.
The bus ride to our apartment took twenty minutes. Longest twenty minutes of my life.
I called Zahara as soon as I was on the bus.
“Zai?” She sounded sleepy. It was almost midnight. “What’s wrong?”
“We have to go.” I was trying to keep my voice steady, but I could hear the panic bleeding through. “Tonight. Right now. Something happened at work and we have to leave.”
“What? Zainab, slow down, what?—”
“I’ll explain when I get there. Just start packing. Essentials only. We’re gone in an hour.”
“Yusef’s at a sleepover?—”
“I’ll get him on my way. Just pack, Zahara. Please. Trust me.”
A pause. Then: “Okay. Okay, I trust you.”
I hung up and started walking. Yusef’s friend lived three blocks away. I’d pick him up, make some excuse about a family emergency, and we’d be on the road before he could figure out where I lived.
It was a good plan.
It should have worked.
I knew something was wrong before I even opened the door.
It was too quiet. The lights were off—all of them—and Zahara always left the kitchen light on when she was expecting me. Said she didn’t like me coming home to a dark apartment.
“Zahara?” I called out, pushing the door open slowly. “Z, you here?”
Yusef was beside me, holding my hand, still groggy and confused about why I’d pulled him out of his sleepover in the middle of the night. He kept asking questions I couldn’t answer—“Why do we have to go? What’s wrong? Where’s Mama?”—and I kept telling him everything was fine, just hold on, we’ll be home soon.
The apartment was dark. Silent.
“Zahara?”
I reached for the light switch. Flipped it on.
