Chapter 13 Chapter 13
Rain turned the city into a reflection of itself. Streetlights bled across the puddles, the air full of sirens and the smell of metal. Nina kept moving—head down, hood up, hands jammed into her pockets so no one could see the tremor in them. Every car that slowed beside the curb made her heart stutter. Every passing glance felt like recognition.
She had memorised the map Adrian left her, but maps didn’t show who owned which corners.
At the river bridge, she stopped, breath fogging the air. A police cordon shimmered farther down—blue tape, lights spinning. The museum explosion was already on the news; people were saying it was an electrical fault, but she knew better. The Circle would turn it into a story convenient for them. They always did.
She crossed the bridge anyway.
The alley behind the tram depot offered a sliver of shelter. She ducked into the shadow of a freight container and pulled out her phone. No signal. Either jammed or gone. The city’s silence had become organised.
Something scraped behind her—boot on gravel. She spun. A shape detached from the darkness, too big to be a coincidence. Her pulse kicked.
“Don’t run,” a voice said.
She didn’t listen. She darted into the open street, rain slapping against her face. The figure followed, fast, sure-footed. She cut left through a service gate and climbed the fence, hands slipping on wet metal. On the other side, she dropped hard, knees cracking against stone, but kept running.
The yard beyond opened onto the abandoned railway sidings—rows of rusted carriages sleeping under the storm. She wove between them, the air thick with oil and wet rust. When she finally stopped, she couldn’t hear footsteps anymore.
Only the wind.
She bent over, gasping. That’s when she saw the smear of blood on the nearest carriage door. Fresh.
Her stomach twisted. “Adrian?”
Adrian
He’d made it as far as the depot before his leg gave out. The bullet had grazed the muscle; not fatal, but messy. He tore the sleeve off his shirt and bound it tight, teeth clenched against the burn. Around him, the train yard hummed with the low rhythm of rain on iron.
Through the static in his earpiece, a voice crackled.
“Target not confirmed. Orders?”
He pulled the comm from his ear and crushed it under his boot.
He didn’t need more orders.
Somewhere ahead, a metal door slammed. He drew his weapon, moving silently between the rows of carriages. The Circle wouldn’t stop with one ambush; they’d keep sending hunters until nothing of his past remained. That included her.
A flash of movement—small, fast. Then a voice he knew better than his own whispered his name.
“Nina?”
Nina
She saw him emerge from between the carriages, coat soaked, one hand pressed to his thigh. For a heartbeat, she thought he was another trick of the rain.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“Later.” His eyes swept the shadows behind her. “They followed you?”
“I don’t know. I ran.”
“Then they did.”
He moved toward her, favouring one leg, and grabbed her hand. “We need cover.”
They slipped into an open freight car, the metal cold beneath their palms. Adrian dragged the sliding door almost shut, leaving a thin crack of light. Outside, voices shouted—searchers spreading through the yard. Boots clanged on steel, echoing in the rain.
Nina pressed her back to the wall, heartbeat roaring. Adrian crouched beside the gap, pistol ready. His breathing was even, but the tension in his shoulders was a coiled spring.
One of the voices came closer.
“…she was seen crossing the bridge—check the sidings!”
Another answered, “Boss wants them alive.”
Nina felt Adrian’s hand find hers in the dark, steadying rather than comforting. When the footsteps passed, he released her slowly.
“They won’t stop,” she whispered.
“They will if they think we’re dead,” he said. “Come on.”
They moved through the rain again, keeping low between the lines of carriages until the sound of pursuit faded. At the far edge of the yard, a maintenance tunnel yawned open, half-flooded. Adrian guided her inside. The roar of the storm dulled to a steady hum.
Water reached their ankles. She looked at him—wet hair plastered to his face, shirt clinging to muscle, eyes burning with focus. The light from the tunnel mouth turned him half gold, half shadow.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“I’ve been worse.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Despite herself, a laugh broke through the fear. He looked at her then, really looked, and for a moment the rest of the world fell away. The sound of water, their ragged breathing, the quiet pulse of being alive—all of it gathered into that thin space between them.
Adrian turned first, scanning the dark ahead. “There’s a safe room about a kilometre in. Old smuggler’s passage. We’ll rest there.”
“And then?”
“Then I start a war.”
They reached the door twenty minutes later—a steel hatch disguised by layers of graffiti. Adrian tapped a sequence on the keypad; the lock released with a sigh. Inside, the room smelled of dust and fuel. Maps covered one wall, red lines threading across Europe like veins. A generator hummed in the corner.
Nina stepped in and turned to him. “You planned for this.”
“I plan for everything,” he said. Then, quieter, “But not for you.”
Before she could answer, the radio on the table crackled to life:
“…Marin confirmed alive. Orders changed. Kill on sight.”
Adrian’s eyes met hers. “They just made it simple.”
The radio’s static hissed like the sound of rain.
Adrian switched it off with one decisive twist, the small room sinking into a silence so dense Nina could hear her own pulse.
“Kill on sight,” she repeated softly.
He nodded once. “They won’t hesitate.”
He limped to the maps on the wall and began tearing several down, revealing a narrow metal cabinet behind them. Inside, weapons and cash were packed with the precision of a surgeon’s tray. He tossed her a flashlight. “Take that. If the power goes out, we still move.”
Nina’s hands trembled as she caught it. “Where are we moving to?”
“Anywhere they don’t expect.” He checked the pistol’s magazine, racked the slide. “Stay behind me.”
A faint vibration ran through the floor—engines idling above ground. Then the distant bark of a voice through a loudspeaker:
“Adrian Marin! Come out with your hands visible!”
He smiled without humour. “They brought theatrics.”
The first explosion hit a heartbeat later. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, lights flickered, and the generator coughed. Nina flinched as plaster cracked near her shoulder.
Adrian dragged her toward the back wall. “There’s a service crawlspace. Small, but it runs under the tracks.”
“Do you keep secret doors everywhere?” she asked, trying to sound brave.
“Only in the places that can burn.”
He kicked aside a crate and lifted a steel hatch. Cold air breathed up from the dark below.
A second blast shook the room. The generator sputtered out, plunging them into shadow broken only by the trembling beam of her flashlight. Somewhere above, boots pounded on metal stairs.
“Go,” he said. “I’ll follow.”
She hesitated. “Adrian—”
“Now, Nina.”