He exhales, long and slow, like he’s deflating.
“Hazel,” he says, and my name sounds like gravel in his throat. “I’m not ignoring you. I just—fuck. I didn’t realize I zoned out.”
“Yeah, well, you did.” My voice cracks, even though I try to keep it sharp. “And you scared the shit out of me. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. Just…talk to me.”
He drags a hand over his face, pushing back the hair falling into his eyes. When he finally looks at me—really looks at me—the fight drains out of my chest. I can almost feel the world begin to crumble around me.
“Fine, yeah okay. It wasn’t just a message,” he murmurs.
A chill spreads down my arms. “What do you mean?”
He rotates the laptop toward me. On the screen is a message, same number, same contact name, but the words are what gut me.
You’re running out of time.
Both of you.
My throat closes. The room feels smaller, like the walls are starting to breathe.How could she have done this?Leyla’s dead, so obviously this means that they’re not dead, and that someone has taken her phone. There’s no other obvious reason for any of this.
“What the fuck…” I whisper, leaning in, but Zack turns the laptop toward himself again, and a shiver skitters up my spine.
“There’s more.” His jaw tics as he clicks open the thread.
Images, at least ten of them. Not of us, thank God, but of the street outside our Airbnb. The view from across the road. A shadowed figure in a hoodie, camera raised. Time stamps from today, one from literally five minutes ago.
My stomach lurches, the wine in my stomach turning over to solid lead as reality hits me. “Zack—someone’s watching us.”
He nods once—stiff and controlled. Too controlled. “I’m tracing it now,” he says, his fingers flying over the keys again, but this time, he’s talking while he works. “Lincoln confirmed there was chatter. Something about loose ends.” He swallows. “Something about you.”
“Me?” My voice breaks entirely this time. “Why me? I didn’t do anything?—”
“You’re with me.”
He says it like it’s a death sentence. I barely know anything about this man, but I know he’s not a bad person.
“No.” I shake my head hard. “No, don’t do that. Don’t make it sound like being near you is some kind of crime?—”
“It is,” he snaps, then slams the laptop shut so fast the sound makes me flinch. His hands fist at his sides. “Hazel, don’t you get it? If they know you’re here, if they know we left?—”
“We?” I echo, stepping closer. “You said we.”
He squeezes his eyes shut like he regrets it, but it’s too late. The word is out there, hanging between us, fragile and real. When he opens them again, the storm is back—quiet but deadly.
“You shouldn’t have gotten involved with me,” he says, softly. “But now it’s too late. It’s my fucking fault, and I’m sorry.” The words come out of his mouth, almost as if it’s eating him alive.
I pull in a shaky breath. “So what do we do?”
He moves toward the window, pulling down the blinds and checking the locks, even though they’re already latched.
“We pack. Now.”
The finality in his voice sends goosebumps racing over my skin.
“We’re leaving tonight. Thirty minutes. Grab only what you need.”
I stare at him, heart pounding and fear twisting with something else—determination, maybe. Or the understanding that whatever this is—whatever we’ve stumbled into together—it’s no longer something either of us can pretend to ignore.
“Zack,” I whisper. “Where are we going?”
