Chapter 2: The Flight into Darkne

The city of Veyrith blurred past in streaks of gold and shadow as the transport vehicle sped through the narrow, winding streets. Karima clutched the seat as Haytham maneuvered the old machine with practiced ease, avoiding roadblocks and swerving past startled pedestrians. The alarms of the Crown estate still wailed behind them, and the distant glow of fire illuminated the skyline—a burning reminder that her world had just collapsed.

She pressed her hand against her chest, her breathing uneven. "My father—"

"He's gone," Haytham cut in, his voice sharp but not unkind. "They'll have him in the High Council's custody by now."

The weight of his words sank into her stomach like stone. She turned toward him, her voice rising. "And we're just leaving him?"

Haytham exhaled, his grip tightening on the wheel. "If you get caught, too, then everything he did to protect you will be for nothing. You have to stay free."

The words stung, but she knew they were true. Her father had sacrificed himself so she could escape. If she was captured, there would be no one left to fight for him.

The streets opened into a broader avenue, where towering spires cast long shadows against the pavement. The capital was alive even in the late hours, people moving about their business, unaware of the coup unfolding in the estate just miles away. The Council had orchestrated this perfectly—silencing opposition before the people could even suspect a change in power.

"Where are we going?" she asked, forcing her thoughts into the present.

"There's a safehouse on the city's outskirts," Haytham replied. "It's not much, but it'll buy us time."

Karima turned to look out the window, her mind racing. "Who are you, really?"

Haytham hesitated. Then, without taking his eyes off the road, he answered, "Someone who owes your father a debt."

That wasn't an answer. But she didn't have the strength to push further.

The vehicle came to a stop outside an old, abandoned factory on the far end of the city. Rusted metal gates loomed in front of them, and the distant hum of machinery filled the air. Haytham turned off the ignition and surveyed their surroundings before stepping out.

"Come on," he urged.

Karima followed him inside, her shoes crunching against gravel. The factory smelled of oil and dust, but as they moved deeper, it became clear this was no ordinary ruin. The inside had been repurposed—makeshift living quarters lined one wall, with crates of supplies stacked in corners. Weapons, maps, and communication devices lay scattered across a central table.

"You've been here before," she noted.

Haytham nodded. "This is one of many."

She crossed her arms. "You're not just a diplomat."

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "You figured that out fast."

Karima narrowed her eyes. "What do you actually do?"

"I work for those who oppose the Council," he admitted. "Your father wasn't just an ambassador. He was part of something larger, something the Council saw as a threat. That's why they moved against him."

She swallowed hard. "So, what now?"

Haytham leaned against the table, arms crossed. "Now, we figure out our next move. The Council won't stop with your father. They'll come for anyone connected to him—including you."

A chill ran down her spine. "Then we strike first."

He raised an eyebrow. "Brave words."

She met his gaze, her determination hardening. "I won't just run. My father didn't raise me to be a coward."

A slow smile touched Haytham's lips. "Then it looks like we're in this together."

As the weight of her situation settled over her, Karima realized she had a choice: fade into the shadows, or step into the fight.

She had already lost everything. She had nothing left to lose.

And that made her dangerous.