Chapter 7

The safe house was burning. Flames licked at the night sky, casting an eerie orange glow on the faces of my team. Panic tightened its grip on my chest. We'd been so careful. How could they have found us? 

Cleo, we have to move now. Ben's voice, usually calm and collected was sharp with urgency. His hand gripped my arm, pulling me towards our escape route, a battered black SUV hidden in the shadows. We piled in, the engine roaring to life. Tires screeched against the pavement as we sped away from the inferno, the acrid smell of smoke stinging my nostrils.

My heart pounded against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the backdrop of the city's awakening. They knew, somehow they always knew. My hand trembled as I reached for my comms. We have a situation, safe house compromised, repeat compromised. Static crackled in response, the silence deafening.

We were on our own. Cape Town, usually bustling with life, was a ghost town at this hour. The only sounds were the insistent growl of our engine and the screech of tires as Ben navigated the winding streets with expert precision. My eyes darted from one darkened alleyway to the next searching for any sign of pursuit. They're on us.

2 SUVs heavily armed. My breath caught in my throat. We were outgunned, outnumbered. Our only advantage was speed and Ben's knowledge of the city's underbelly. Street lights blurred into streaks of white and orange as we hurtled through the darkness.

The rhythmic thump of my pulse echoed the baseline of dread that thrummed through my veins. We were running out of time, running out of road. A high pitched whine sliced through the air, followed by the sickening crunch of metal on metal. 1 of their vehicles had rammed us, spinning us towards the unforgiving concrete wall that lined the narrow street. Gunfire erupted, the staccato bursts echoing off the buildings.

Each shot a hammer blow to my already frayed nerves. Maya screamed as the back window shattered, showering her with glass. Hold on. Ben roared wrestling the steering wheel. He somehow managed to right the vehicle, sending us careening down a narrow alleyway, barely wider than our SUV.

The air inside the vehicle was thick with the stench of cordite and fear. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. We were trapped, cornered like rats in a maze designed for our demise. This was it. This was how it ended.

The alleyway dead ended in a small deserted courtyard. We were surrounded, our escape route cut off by the enemy SUVs that now boxed us in, their headlights like the eyes of predators closing in for the kill. Men emerged from the vehicles, their faces obscured by shadows and balaclavas, their weapons trained on our vehicle. Their silence was more terrifying than any war cry. No way out.

I'm sorry Cleo, I should have known better. Despair washed over me, cold and numbing. We had failed. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the inevitable, but the expected hail of bullets never came. Instead, a low vibrated through the air, growing louder, more insistent, until it morphed into a deafening roar.

My eyes flew open. The courtyard bathed in the harsh glare of headlights was no longer empty. A figure stood between us and our attackers. Tall and imposing, he seemed to materialize from the shadows. His silhouette outlined against the flickering gaslight of a nearby lamppost.

Subject 13, the asset, the wild card we were transporting. He stood motionless, arms outstretched, his eyes closed as if in deep concentration. And then, all hell broke loose. The ground shuddered beneath us, the air crackling with an unseen energy. The enemy vehicles, mere tons of metal and glass, were tossed aside like children's toys.

One moment they were there, the next they were a mangled heap against the far wall. Their occupants thrown clear. My breath hitched in my throat. This was not the power of sin. This was something else entirely, something ancient and terrifying.

The courtyard fell silent. The only sound the ragged gasps of our breaths and the metallic groans of the wrecked vehicles. The air crackled with residual energy, the smell of ozone sharp and acrid. Subject 13 turned to face us, his expression unreadable in the flickering light. He moved with an unnerving grace.

His eyes no longer the vacant orbs I remembered, blazing with an inner fire. Are you alright? His voice, a low rumble sent shivers down my spine. I stared at him speechless. My mind struggling to reconcile the broken man we had extracted with this being of raw power.

This was no ordinary asset. This was something far more ancient, far more dangerous. He was not a subject. He was a warlock. Ben recovered first.

His hand moving instinctively towards his weapon. Who are you? His voice was laced with suspicion. His eyes narrowed. I believe I just saved your lives.

His tone was laced with quiet amusement. Maya, her face pale, scrambled out of the SUV, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. What what was that? She stammered gesturing towards the wreckage. I remained rooted to my spot.

A strange mix of relief and apprehension washing over me. He had saved us. Yes. But at what cost? What was the true extent of his power?

And what was his agenda? The whispers of doubt began to take root in my mind, whispering that we had traded one danger for another, far more insidious. We need to get out of here, I said, my voice regaining its usual authority. The adrenaline that had surged through me moments ago was quickly replaced by a bone deep weariness. Follow me.

He led us through a labyrinth of narrow alleyways, his long strides eating up the ground with an almost predatory grace. We followed in stunned silence, our footsteps echoing on the cobblestones. He stopped before an unmarked door, his hand resting on the worn brass handle. This will take us to a safe house, one they won't find. Trusting him was a gamble, but at this point, what other choice did we have?

The safe house was a dimly lit apartment above a spice shop. Its air thick with the scent of cinnamon and cloves. It was small, cramped, but it felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of the night. We gathered around a rickety table, the flickering gas light casting long shadows on the walls. Subject 13, his back to us, stared out the window at the cityscape.

They've been watching you for weeks. I felt a chill crawl down my spine. Who? He turned, his gaze locking with mine. They call themselves the Covenant, a secret society dedicated to controlling the flow of magic in this world.

They fear your work, Cleo. They fear what you might uncover. His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. The Covenant, A name whispered in hushed tones in the darkest corners of the organization. My work had always been dangerous, but this, this was a whole new level of threat.

Why are you helping us? Why risk your own neck? Subject 13 turned his gaze to Ben, his expression unreadable. I have my reasons. Let's just say I owe sin a debt.

A debt? You think saving our lives pays off what they did to you? He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his pocket and tossed a small silver object on the table. It clattered against the wood landing face up.

My blood ran cold. It was in sin identification badge, but it wasn't just any badge. It was mine. My name, my face stared back at me, a chilling reminder of my shattered life. What is this?

I whispered, my voice barely audible. Subject 13's eyes met mine. A flicker of something akin to regret in their depths. I'm sorry, Cleo, but things are not always what they seem. He took a step toward me, reaching out as if to touch my face.

I flinched away, my heart pounding against my ribs. You're one of them. I breathed, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. You're working for sin. He paused, his hand hovering in mid air.

Not anymore. And then with a blinding flash of light and a deafening roar, he was gone, vanished into thin air, leaving us alone with our questions, our fears, and the chilling realization that the lines between enemy and ally had become blurred beyond recognition.