Chapter 19 Chapter 19
The road out of Ljubljana wound through mist and pine.
By the time dawn broke, the city was a smear of grey behind them, the skyline dissolving into low clouds. Adrian kept the headlights dim, the car humming just above a whisper. Every few minutes, he checked the rear-view mirror, eyes flicking there and back as if the reflection itself might betray them.
Nina sat beside him, wrapped in an old jacket that still smelled faintly of smoke and gun oil. Her hands rested on the black case wedged between her knees. Neither of them had spoken since leaving the apartment.
“Papers,” he said suddenly, reaching into the glove box. He handed her two envelopes. “Yours first.”
She unfolded the forged passport. The photo looked like her, but harder—shoulders squared, gaze direct. Nina Kralj was gone; the new name read Eva Novak.
“You keep a printer for these in every hideout?” she asked.
“Only the useful ones.”
He pulled onto a smaller road that wound through the forest. “If anyone stops us, you’re my assistant. We’re on our way to inspect a property near Murska Sobota. Smile if you can manage it.”
She didn’t. “And you?”
“I’m the man who owns it.”
The kilometres unspooled in silence. Forest gave way to farmland, mist hanging low over stubble fields. Occasionally, a farmhouse appeared and vanished again. The monotony might have been soothing if not for the tension stretched between them—like a wire, invisible but ready to snap.
After two hours, Adrian slowed near a shuttered petrol station. “Fuel,” he said. “And coffee, if the gods are kind.”
Inside, the shop smelled of stale bread and petrol fumes. A sleepy attendant glanced at them, muttered a greeting in Hungarian-accented Slovenian, and went back to his radio. The song playing was old, a love ballad warped by static. It made the place feel even more abandoned.
Nina poured coffee from a rusted dispenser while Adrian paid in cash. When he turned, she noticed the limp had worsened. He caught her look.
“I’ve had worse.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I meant it yesterday, too.”
She handed him a cup. “You ever think about stopping?”
He studied the steam rising between them. “Stopping what?”
“Running. Fighting. Whatever this is.”
He shook his head. “If I stop, everything catches up.”
She wanted to ask what everything meant—faces, debts, ghosts—but the door creaked open behind them. Two men entered, in uniforms of a local road-maintenance crew, orange vests streaked with mud. One of them glanced their way a beat too long before heading to the fridge.
Adrian’s voice barely moved the air. “Finish your coffee.”
She obeyed. He set his cup down, paid for fuel, and they walked out together, casual, unhurried. In the mirror, she saw one of the men step outside, pretending to light a cigarette while watching their car.
When Adrian started the engine, she said, “He’s calling someone.”
“I know.” He accelerated hard. “We’ve got ten minutes.”
They left the main road for a gravel track that cut through low hills. The sun climbed higher, a pale disc behind the haze. Fields stretched endlessly on either side, dotted with rusting machinery and scarecrows that looked too human from a distance.
Nina watched the countryside blur past. “How many people do you think still believe you’re dead?”
“Enough,” Adrian said. “It’s the ones who never believed that worry me.”
He reached for the dashboard, adjusting the radio to a dead channel. The static filled the car like white rain. “They use signal pings to track me. Silence buys time.”
“So we’re ghosts again,” she murmured.
He glanced at her. “Getting good at it?”
“Not sure if that’s a compliment.”
“It is,” he said, and for a moment the tension broke; a ghost of a smile touched his mouth before the next bend swallowed it.
By noon, they reached a ridge overlooking the border valley. Below them lay the Mura River, winding silver through marshland, and beyond it, Hungary—a patchwork of fields fading into haze. The checkpoint bridge was a kilometre east, a cluster of concrete huts and idle trucks.
Adrian killed the engine. “We can’t cross there. Too exposed.”
“So we swim?”
“There’s an old irrigation gate half a kilometre upriver. Smugglers used it before the wars. We’ll use it again.”
He stepped out of the car, scanning the horizon through a small pair of binoculars. “They’re not behind us yet,” he said. “But they will be.”
Nina joined him, wind tugging at her hair. The air smelled of river mud and diesel. For the first time since the city, she felt space—open, endless, frightening.
“Do you ever miss it?” she asked quietly. “Home?”
“This is home,” he said without looking at her. “Everywhere I can’t stay.”
They drove down toward the river on a dirt road overgrown with grass. The sound of the tyres was muffled, the landscape holding its breath. As they neared the old dam, Adrian slowed, frowning.
“What?” she asked.
“Drone,” he said. “Left of the trees.”
She followed his gaze—saw a glint of metal hanging in the air like an insect. It hovered, turned, and began drifting their way.
Adrian gunned the engine. The car bounced down the embankment, mud spraying from the tyres. “Hold on!”
The drone accelerated, light flashing beneath its belly. Nina ducked as it swooped low, the high-pitched whine drilling through the air. A second later, a loud crack echoed—something detonated near the rear bumper, throwing gravel against the windshield.
“Adrian!”
“Seat belt!”
He jerked the wheel, plunging the car into the shallows of the river. Water surged over the hood. The drone arced back for another pass, sensors blinking red.
Adrian grabbed the pistol from the console, flung open his door, and aimed through the rain of spray. One clean shot. The drone jerked mid-air, spiralled, and vanished into the water with a hiss.
Silence rushed in behind it—just the gurgle of the river and their breathing.
Nina stared at the ripples. “That wasn’t police tech.”
“No,” he said. “That was mine.”
She turned. “Yours?”
He met her eyes, rain streaking his face. “Someone inside the Circle still has my toys.”