Chapter 49 up
“All units, stand by,” the police commander’s voice crackled over the radio. “The target is likely still inside. Move quietly.”
Clark clenched his fists. His breathing was heavy. In the seat beside him, Vincent stared straight ahead, his jaw tight.
“Are you ready?” Vincent asked softly.
Clark swallowed. “I don’t care about anything else… as long as she’s still breathing.”
Vincent nodded. “She’s strong. She’s holding on.”
Inside the warehouse, far from the sound of engines and footsteps, Nyla lay on the cold cement floor. Her body trembled. Her head felt heavy, her vision blurred. The ropes around her wrists had left her skin red, small wounds beginning to dry.
Don’t fall asleep… not now… she begged herself.
Footsteps approached. Two men spoke in low voices.
“Hurry. We need to move her again,” one said.
“There’s no time. The police are close,” the other replied, anxious.
Nyla closed her eyes, pretending to be unconscious. Every breath felt like a knife in her chest. She bit her lip to suppress a groan. Please… anyone…
Outside, the team moved in. Officers spread out, slipping in from the right and left sides of the warehouse. Clark got out of the car before being ordered to. Vincent grabbed his arm.
“Clark, wait—”
“She’s inside,” Clark whispered firmly. “I can feel it.”
The warehouse door was kicked in with a single hard blow.
BANG!
“POLICE! HANDS UP!”
Shouts tore through the night. Chaos erupted instantly. One kidnapper tried to run but was taken down within seconds. The other fell, his weapon skidding away, his hands cuffed.
Clark ran inside, ignoring shouted warnings. His eyes swept the room—dark, damp, reeking of rust and blood.
“Nyla!” His voice cracked. “Nyla!”
No answer.
Vincent followed. “Clark, left! I’ll take the back!”
Clark staggered forward, his heart pounding as if it might burst. In the corner of the warehouse, he saw a small figure lying still.
“Nyla…” His voice was barely a whisper.
He dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he touched her face. Her skin was cold. Too cold.
“No… no…” Clark gently tapped her cheek. “Nyla, open your eyes. I’m here.”
Nyla’s eyelids fluttered. Her vision was hazy, but that voice… she knew it.
“Clark…?” she whispered weakly.
Clark held his breath, then let out a broken laugh mixed with a sob. “Yes. I’m here. I’m sorry… I’m late.”
The police called for medics. Vincent stood near the door, finally letting out a breath of relief when he saw that Nyla was still alive.
Nyla tried to smile, though tears streamed down her face without her realizing it. “I… I thought… you wouldn’t come.”
Clark took her hand, feeling a weak but real pulse beneath his fingers. “Never think that again. I would search for you… anywhere.”
A stretcher arrived. The medics worked quickly.
“Dehydration, minor injuries, mild hypothermia,” one of them said. “But she’ll survive.”
That word—survive—nearly made Clark’s knees give out. He pressed his lips to the back of Nyla’s hand, his tears falling onto her skin.
“Thank you… for holding on,” he whispered.
Nyla shook her head faintly. “I… I was just… waiting for you.”
The ambulance lights flashed, reflecting off exhausted but relieved faces. As the stretcher was wheeled out, Nyla reached for Clark’s arm with what little strength she had left.
“Don’t go,” she murmured.
“I’m here,” Clark replied quickly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Vincent stood a few steps behind them, watching with moist but steady eyes. For the first time since all of this began, he let out a long breath.
That night, under rain that was finally easing, Nyla was taken away in an ambulance—not as a defeated victim, but as a woman who survived.
As the ambulance doors closed, Nyla whispered, almost inaudible, yet sharp enough to pierce Clark’s heart:
“I knew you would come… even when I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
Clark rested his forehead against the ambulance door, closing his eyes.
“Forgive me, Nyla,” he whispered. “I betrayed your love.”