The knock came at precisely 2:13 a.m.
It wasn't loud, nor desperate. Just deliberate—three soft taps against Layla's apartment door.
Her body froze mid-breath.
Her eyes snapped open.
For a moment, she couldn't move, as if the sound had rooted her to the bed.
Then her training, her instincts, and her growing defiance surged forward.
Cole's name flashed across her bedside screen before she could even reach for it.
"What's happening?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she reached for the drawer, retrieving the small tactical flashlight and a steel pen she kept nearby.
Slow, silent breaths.
She slid out of bed and crept toward the door.
Another knock.
This time two taps.
Layla's pulse thundered, but her steps remained steady.
She pressed her ear to the door.
Silence.
No breathing.
No shuffling.
Just the eerie stillness that makes the heart pound louder.
Her mind raced through every possibility.
A trap? An ally? A warning?
Her fingers hovered near the lock.
Cole's call rang out.
"Layla?"
She mouthed silently.
"I'm fine."
He didn't need to hear her explanation.
He understood.
"Be careful," he whispered.
She nodded.
Her eyes locked onto the peephole.
For a long second, nothing appeared.
Then—a blur of motion.
A figure in dark clothes.
A gloved hand.
A pause.
The figure turned slightly, as if listening.
Layla's grip tightened.
Taking a deep breath, she unlatched the chain but kept the door mostly closed.
"Who's there?" she demanded, voice calm but firm.
No answer.
Instead, the figure raised one gloved finger to its lips—a silent gesture to be quiet.
Layla's eyes narrowed.
"Don't play games."
The figure hesitated.
Finally, in a low, muffled voice, it spoke.
"Please… it's urgent."
Urgent.
That word alone tugged at the knot in her chest.
She hesitated, then unlatched the door another inch.
A tall woman stood on the other side—hooded, masked, eyes darting with desperate purpose.
Her gaze locked on Layla's, and Layla's breath caught.
It was Rhea.
"Come with me," Rhea whispered.
"No," Layla shot back.
"I can't explain everything here," Rhea pleaded. "There's something you must see. If you don't come now, they'll cover it up."
Layla's eyes narrowed.
"I don't know if I can trust you."
Rhea's eyes flashed with frustration.
"Then trust yourself."
For a moment, neither moved.
The air thickened between them.
Then, without another word, Rhea pushed past the door before Layla could stop her.
The chain latch clattered against the doorframe.
Layla's heart raced—but she didn't stop her.
She grabbed the flashlight, slipped on a jacket, and followed.
Rhea led her through stairwells and service corridors, bypassing elevators and cameras.
The building's emergency systems were still unstable.
Red warning lights flickered sporadically, illuminating dark hallways that stretched endlessly.
Layla's flashlight cut narrow beams through dust-laden air.
The silence was oppressive.
"Where are we going?" Layla whispered.
"Somewhere safe," Rhea replied.
But the urgency in her eyes told Layla that safety was a fragile illusion.
They passed a security room with glass panels shattered and wires ripped out like veins from a corpse.
Layla's stomach churned.
"This wasn't random," she muttered.
Rhea's jaw tightened.
"No. It was planned."
At last, they stopped before a service door near the basement's farthest wing.
Rhea produced a coded card and swiped it.
The lock clicked open.
Inside, the air was colder.
Concrete walls surrounded them like a forgotten vault.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering but functional.
Layla's breath fogged the thin air.
Rows of servers lined the walls.
Encrypted drives, monitors, and cables sprawled like neural pathways feeding a beast.
In the center, a single terminal pulsed with activity.
"This is it," Rhea whispered.
Rhea gestured toward the monitor.
Layla's eyes narrowed as streams of data scrolled rapidly across the screen—hidden servers, rerouted networks, manipulated timestamps.
Images appeared—faces half-covered, meetings in restricted zones, digital trails pointing to people high up in the organization.
Names.
Dates.
Corresponding code numbers.
The screen flashed again.
Layla's eyes went wide.
There, unmistakably, Damien's signature access credentials mapped to times when the systems were "down."
Wallace's voice recorded over a secure line instructing a staffer to erase logs "before they cause irreparable damage."
Even worse—video clips showing Mark Darrow handing off drives to someone in the shadows.
Layla's knees nearly buckled.
So much of what she had feared was now laid bare before her.
Her world felt as if it were shattering—but instead of collapsing, something inside her hardened.
"This is it," she breathed.
"This is everything."
Rhea placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
"You can walk away now," she whispered.
"You can pretend this never happened."
But Layla shook her head.
"No," she said firmly.
"I'm not afraid anymore."
Cole's name flashed again on her phone.
"Are you safe?"
Layla hesitated.
Then, without looking away from the screen, she typed:
"I'm not safe. But I'm not running."
She hit send.
The message vanished into the encrypted network.
Rhea's eyes softened for the first time.
"You're braver than you think."
Layla's lips curved into a small, determined smile.
"Then let's finish this."
As they began backing up data and securing copies, Rhea's phone vibrated with an urgent alert.
Her eyes narrowed instantly.
A red banner scrolled across the screen.
INTRUSION DETECTED — LEVEL 5
A siren blared faintly in the distance.
Rhea's face went pale.
"They're coming."
Layla's blood ran cold.
But her eyes burned brighter.
"Then let's not wait for them."