Ayla
barely had time to react before Silas yanked her forward, pulling her into a
sprint. The moment they moved, a sharp whistle cut through the air—a signal.
Footsteps pounded against the pavement behind them. The pursuers were closing
in.
"Let
go of me!" Ayla protested, trying to wrest her arm free.
Silas
didn't stop. "Not unless you want a bullet in your back."
Ayla
clenched her jaw but kept running. They darted into a narrow alley, shadows
stretching long under flickering streetlights. Silas led them through a maze of
backstreets, turning sharply at random intervals, forcing their pursuers to
guess their route.
Gunfire
cracked behind them. A bullet ricocheted off the brick wall inches from Ayla's
shoulder.
She
gasped. "Are they shooting at us?!"
Silas
didn't answer. He spotted an opening ahead—an empty street leading to a parking
lot. A single car sat in the corner, sleek and dark. Ayla's car.
"Keys,"
Silas demanded.
Ayla
hesitated. "Wait—"
"No
time, princess." He reached into her coat pocket, fishing them out himself
before she could protest.
"Unbelievable!"
she huffed.
Silas
ignored her, unlocking the car and shoving her inside the passenger seat. He
slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and slammed his foot on the gas.
The
tires screeched as the car rocketed forward. The men behind them spilled into
the street, shouting orders into their radios.
"They're
not giving up," Ayla warned, twisting in her seat.
Silas
glanced at the rearview mirror. A motorcycle revved to life, its rider peeling
off after them. He swore under his breath.
Ayla's
grip tightened on the door handle. "You have a plan, right?"
Silas
clenched his jaw. "Yeah. Don't die."
"Fantastic."
The
motorcycle gained on them fast, the rider maneuvering through traffic with
practiced ease.
Ayla's
mind raced. Think. Think.
Then
she saw it—a construction site just ahead. Steel beams, stacks of concrete
blocks, scaffolding. A potential escape route.
"There!"
She pointed.
Silas
glanced at her, then the site. He exhaled sharply. Risky. But better than
nothing.
Without
another word, he swerved into the site, crashing through a flimsy barrier. Dust
and debris kicked up around them as they sped onto the uneven terrain. The
motorcycle followed, undeterred.
"He's
still coming!" Ayla shouted.
Silas
gritted his teeth. "Then let's make his job harder."
He
jerked the wheel, sending the car into a tight turn around a stack of metal
pipes. The motorcycle veered sharply to follow—but Ayla spotted the flaw in the
rider's path.
Too
close. Too fast.
"Hit
the brakes—now!" she ordered.
Silas
reacted instantly, slamming the brakes.
The
motorcycle rider had no time to adjust. He clipped the stack of pipes, and in
an instant, the entire structure came crashing down. Metal clattered against
the pavement as the rider was thrown off, rolling violently across the ground.
Silas
didn't wait to see if he got back up. He hit the gas again, speeding out of the
construction site and back onto an empty street. Only when the chaos faded
behind them did he finally slow down.
A
heavy silence settled between them. Ayla pressed a hand to her temple, exhaling
sharply.
"Okay,"
she said, turning toward him. "Start talking."
Silas
kept his eyes on the road. "About what?"
"Everything,"
she snapped. "Who you are. Why people are trying to kill you. And what the
hell I just got myself into."
Silas
sighed. He had known this moment was coming. But what he hadn't expected—what
unsettled him most—was the sharp intelligence behind Ayla's gaze.
She
wasn't just afraid. She was connecting dots.
And
that made her dangerous.