IN THE MORNING,
AROUND 7AM IN THE MORNING,
IN THE 134 ROOM IN THE HOTEL OF DALLAS,
SUNRISE RISING ON THE HORIZON.
My neck was curled up but still on hold because l didn't want to let my guard down yet, but of course l was somehow tired, but I can't give up yet.
I woke from the lightest nap, the kind that barely counted as sleep. My body knew before my mind did—morning had come. The room was washed in that pale, early light that made everything feel quieter, almost suspended.
I pushed myself up slowly and checked the bed first.
Clara was still asleep, one arm curved protectively around Yeager. His face was soft in sleep, lashes resting against his cheeks, completely unaware of how close danger still was. I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, just watching them breathe. Proof that for at least one night, I had done my job.
Then I moved.
I crossed the room quietly and knelt beside the bed.
"Clara," I said gently, keeping my voice low. "It's time. We need to leave."
Her eyes opened instantly—no confusion, no grogginess. Just fear, sharp and awake. She nodded and carefully shook Yeager's shoulder, whispering his name until he stirred.
"Are we…?" she began.
"Yes," I said. "This morning. We're moving you across the border. You'll be under Mr.
Graham's protection once we reach Enver."
That seemed to steady her. She kissed Yeager's forehead, whispering reassurances as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.
I turned and walked toward the door. Dorian was already up, as I expected. He stood near the table, methodically checking bags, counting supplies, calm and focused. It was around 7 a.m.—early enough to move unnoticed, late enough to avoid suspicion.
"You're ahead of me," I said quietly.
He glanced up. "Everything's ready. Clothes, documents, emergency kits. No excess weight."
"Good."
My phone vibrated in my hand. A message had come through while I slept. I opened it, eyes scanning quickly.
Transport confirmed. Civilian cargo ship departing this morning. Destination: Enver port. Contact on arrival: Graham.
A ship. Not ideal—but quieter than air, less traceable, and easier to disappear on.
Before we moved, I noticed Clara standing still near the window, hands clasped too tightly in front of her. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes distant.
I walked over and stopped beside her. "You're scared," I said softly.
She let out a shaky breath. "I am."
I turned fully to face her. "That's okay. I am too."
She looked at me then, surprised.
"I've been scared most of my life," I continued, keeping my voice steady. "But fear doesn't get to decide what we do. If it did, we'd be prisoners to it. And I refuse to live like that."
She swallowed, nodding slowly.
"You have to trust me and Dorian," I said. "All the way. We will protect you. And Yeager."
Her eyes filled, but she held herself together. "Alright," she whispered. "I trust you."
That was all I needed.
We left through the hotel's back entrance—Hotel Dallas looked almost peaceful in the morning, nothing like the glittering chaos it became at night. The streets were quiet, the kind of quiet that belonged to early hours and sleeping wealth.
We wore dark, modest clothes, most of our skin covered. No jewelry. No colors that stood out. Dorian walked in front, setting the pace. Clara and Yeager stayed close together. I walked behind them, eyes scanning constantly.
I was armed—lightly but efficiently. Twin daggers strapped high against my thighs beneath my clothes, hidden, accessible. I'd prepared long before sunrise.
As we moved, my mind flickered briefly to something I'd read the night before—scrolling through my phone in silence.
Flashback.
The message from my informant, Daniel, had been short but brutal.
There's a bounty. Anonymous sponsor. Ten million if the wife and child are eliminated first. Kill order incentivized.
Ten million.
Enough to bring every desperate assassin out of hiding.
Present.
That knowledge sat like ice in my chest as we reached the car.
It was simple, unremarkable. The kind of vehicle no one remembered five minutes after seeing it. Dorian opened the doors, and we slipped inside. Clara and Yeager sat in the back. I took the seat beside them. Dorian drove.
The city passed quietly outside the windows.
Yeager fell asleep almost immediately, his head resting against his mother's side. Clara watched him for a while, then turned to me.
"Why do you do this?" she asked softly.
"This job."
I didn't answer right away.
"My life's been… violent," I said finally. "For as long as I can remember. I don't think I chose this work so much as it found me. Or maybe I ran into it on purpose."
She listened without interrupting.
"Everything changed on the fourteenth of June," I added. "My birthday. After that… nothing was ever normal again."
She hesitated.
"Do you still believe in love? After everything?"
I glanced at her. "Do you?"
She was quiet for a long moment. "I still love my husband," she said softly. "Even after all this. I don't excuse what he did. But… I loved him."
It surprised me. And somehow, I believed her.
I didn't push further. Instead, I shifted the conversation to simpler things—schools, places she hoped to see again, what Yeager liked to eat when he was happy. She relaxed slowly, piece by piece.
An hour and a half later, we reached the port.
Ports are controlled chaos—layers of checkpoints, security cameras, guards who look bored but miss nothing. We parked in a designated area and joined the line of passengers moving toward the boarding bridge.
I handed over the tickets at the checkpoint. The guard scanned them, glanced at our faces, then waved us through.
No alarms. No hesitation.
We crossed the metal bridge toward the ship, the sea air cool against my skin.
I stayed behind them, watching everything.
This was only the beginning—but for now, we were moving forward.
And forward was enough.