Chapter 7: The Hunt

The dim glow of a flickering bulb barely illuminated the suffocating room where Ethan sat bound and fuming. Shadows stretched across the peeling walls the air thick with the scent of damp wood and sweat. The tight ropes bit into his wrists cutting off circulation his fingers tingling with numbness. His jaw ached from clenching too hard but he welcomed the pain. It kept the rage burning.

"Damn you Elezbeth" he spat under his breath, his voice hoarse but venomous. "You won't survive this time. And before you take your last breath I'll make sure you beg for mercy."

His words echoed in the silence swallowed by the heavy stillness of the room. His chest heaved frustration mounting. How? How had she done this to him? Ethan was no fool he had power, men at his command a name that commanded fear. And yet here he was. Bound. Helpless. Outplayed.

The silence was unnerving. Too deep. Too deliberate.

Then suddenly

Boom. Boom. Boom.

A thunderous knock more like a battering ram than a request for entry shattered the quiet. The very walls trembled the force rattling the frail wooden door.

Ethan's pulse quickened.

He knew who it was. But more importantly what were they about to do to him?

Before he could process the door didn't creak open.

It exploded.

The impact was deafening.

The wood splintered shards flying through the air like deadly shrapnel. Dust clouded the room curling in thick suffocating tendrils. The force of the blast sent the single lightbulb swaying violently casting eerie flickering shadows across the intruders.

Three men stepped in.

No words. No hesitation.

They moved with chilling precision their dark suits immaculate despite the chaos they had just unleashed. Their eyes cold and unblinking locked onto Ethan with something between amusement and quiet menace.

Liam's men.

The unrelenting enforcers of his empire.

Ethan stiffened. He had been expecting them. Dreading them.

One of them knelt his fingers barely grazing the ground before he produced a blade sleek sharp gleaming under the weak light.

A knife?

Ethan barely had time to react before snip.

The blade sliced clean through the ropes binding his wrists.

His arms fell free. Pins and needles shot through his stiff limbs but the relief was short-lived.

Before he could so much as flex his fingers two hands clamped down on him.

Rough. Merciless.

Two of the men seized him, hauling him to his feet as if he were no more than a ragdoll. Ethan's body protested the sudden movement his muscles sore his legs weak from being forced into stillness for too long.

The third man the tallest, the one who had cut his restraints smirked.

Mocking. Taunting.

"You've been busy haven't you, Ethan?" His voice was calm, laced with amusement. Too calm. Like a predator toying with its prey.

Ethan glared but remained silent. Words wouldn't save him here.

The man stepped closer, his breath barely stirring the air between them. "Sir is very curious about what you've been up to." A pause. Then, with deliberate ease "So you'll be coming with us. No questions."

Ethan's fists clenched.

No questions.

Because questions wouldn't change his fate.

His gaze flickered toward the doorway, where the guards he had stationed outside his men, his protection, his assurance of power lay crumpled against the pavement.

Unmoving.

Unconscious.

Some of them still had their hands on their weapons. They hadn't even gotten the chance to draw.

Ethan's stomach twisted.

He had underestimated her.

That bitch.

Elezbeth had done this.

How?

How had she outmaneuvered him? She was desperate, on the run, hunted yet she had turned the game against him. She had left him tied and humiliated in his own home his own sanctuary, his own domain.

His breath came in harsh bursts anger simmering beneath the surface, but he forced himself to stay composed. Panic meant weakness. Weakness meant death.

One of the men tightened his grip on Ethan's shoulder. A warning. A command.

Move.

They didn't wait for him to comply. They yanked him forward dragging him out of the ruined room through the wreckage of his own furniture past the shattered remains of the door.

The night outside was thick with tension. The streetlights cast long, haunting shadows over the fallen bodies of his guards. Some moaned weakly twitching as they struggled against the darkness threatening to pull them under. Others didn't move at all.

Ethan forced himself to look ahead.

The sleek black car awaited its tinted windows giving no indication of what lay inside.

But he knew.

Liam.

The men shoved him into the back seat, slamming the door shut behind him. The interior was cold unnervingly pristine. The only sound was the low steady hum of the engine.

Ethan exhaled slowly forcing his pulse to steady.

He knew where they were taking him.

And he knew that in Liam's empire, resistance wasn't just futile.

It was suicide.

The Ghost in the Market

Zara moved through the village streets with an air of deliberate calm her pace neither hurried nor sluggish her gaze unassuming yet keen. The market was alive with noise the bickering of merchants, the chatter of buyers, the occasional bark of a street dog but beneath that symphony of daily life a different rhythm pulsed. A rhythm only she could hear.

She was being watched.

She didn't need to turn her head to confirm it. She felt it in the way the air shifted in the weight of an unseen gaze pressing against her back. This wasn't paranoia. It was experience. And experience had taught her that the difference between suspicion and certainty was the thin line between survival and capture.

She adjusted her scarf tightening it around her neck, concealing just a little more of her face. Her fingers brushed against the locket resting against her skin a gift from Hannah something she had worn for months without question. Now doubt crept into her mind.

If they were tracking her how?

She kept walking blending into the movement of the crowd her expression unreadable. The narrow alleys of the market branched off in countless directions offering pathways that twisted and turned like a labyrinth. A perfect place to lose a tail. But she couldn't afford to run. Running was an admission of fear. Running told the hunter that the prey knew it was being hunted.

She wouldn't make that mistake.

A small café sat at the corner of the bustling square its wooden door slightly ajar the scent of coffee thick in the air. It was an unusual spot for women this was a place where men gathered where deals were made where gossip brewed stronger than the tea. A woman alone here would attract attention.

But sometimes hiding in plain sight was the safest choice.

Zara stepped inside.

Conversations dipped for a moment as heads turned assessing the anomaly of her presence. Then just as quickly, the chatter resumed though she could feel the occasional glance lingering on her. Ignoring them she walked to a table near the window one that allowed her a clear view of the marketplace. The glass reflected the shifting figures outside offering her a second set of eyes without turning her head.

A waiter approached.

His steps were confident too controlled as if he were more aware of her than he should be. Her instincts tensed but her expression remained neutral.

"What would you like?"

"Coffee" she answered her voice steady detached.

The man nodded and walked away. Zara exhaled slowly resisting the urge to check over her shoulder. Instead she reached for her phone and pulled up the live feed from the cameras she had planted earlier. The footage flickered across the screen grainy but clear enough.

No one was following her. No sudden movements. No one standing still for too long.

And yet…

Something was wrong.

She set the phone down wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic of the coffee cup when a shift in the crowd outside caught her eye.

A man.

Tall muscular his posture rigid yet fluid like someone accustomed to command. He wasn't shopping. He wasn't browsing. He was scanning. Searching.

For her.

Zara forced herself to remain still taking a slow sip of coffee as she analyzed his movements. He wasn't looking directly at her not yet but his focus was sharp. He had a phone in his hand.

He's tracking something.

Her grip on the cup tightened. How had they found her? How had they known where to look? She had been careful. Methodical.

And then it struck her.

The locket.

Her pulse spiked though her expression never wavered. The necklace Hannah had given her the one she had worn every single day without question. She had never thought to check it. Never even considered the possibility.

They had taken the real one. Replaced it with a replica.

And for months she had unknowingly carried their eyes around her neck.

Beneath the table her hand slipped to her wrist unfastening the bracelet she wore with practiced ease. If they were tracking her through the locket there was a chance they had bugged other items too. A smart enemy never relied on a single trick.

With a slight tilt of her wrist she let the bracelet slip from her fingers the silver band falling soundlessly to the wooden floor. A moment later she nudged it with her foot sending it rolling toward the narrow opening of a nearby shop window.

A diversion.

She stood adjusting her scarf as she stepped away from the table.

Outside the market carried on as it always did voices footsteps the clinking of coins exchanging hands. But she felt the shift immediately. The man had seen her move. He was adjusting his course.

She didn't hurry.

Speed wasn't the key to escaping a hunt. Misdirection was.

Zara wove through the crowd with calculated ease pausing at stalls running her fingers over bolts of fabric pretending to admire trinkets. She let herself become part of the background something unremarkable.

And still the man followed.

He wasn't moving toward her directly but she could see the pattern his gaze sweeping his phone in his grip checking something every few seconds.

Testing her location.

He wasn't just following her.

He was confirming a signal.

A fresh wave of anger curled inside her, but she pushed it down. Now wasn't the time. Now was the time to act.

She veered toward a clothing shop one catering specifically to village women. The doorway was small the inside packed with shelves and fabric. She stepped inside without hesitation grabbing a scarf a dress anything that would change her silhouette.

A woman behind the counter glanced up, mildly curious but unconcerned.

Zara smiled. "Trying something new."

The woman gave a small shrug. "Fitting room is in the back."

Perfect.

She stepped inside pulling the curtain closed behind her. With quick practiced movements she stripped out of her outer layer replacing it with the new clothes. Her hands moved swiftly tying the scarf differently using makeup to alter the lines of her face. Not too much just enough to make a casual glance pass her by.

Outside she heard voices.

Male. Sharp.

The man had followed.

"My wife is inside. Let me through," he was saying.

Zara smirked. He was lying. He had no wife here. But he was desperate to get in.

The shopkeeper didn't sound convinced. "No men allowed in the fitting rooms."

A pause.

A flicker of hesitation.

And that was all Zara needed.

She stepped out, adjusting the scarf as she moved past him. He didn't even glance at her.

He was too busy arguing with the shopkeeper to notice the woman he had been hunting had just walked right by him.

She didn't stop moving.

Didn't check over her shoulder.

She walked at the same measured pace she always had weaving back into the market slipping through the crowd. Her disguise wasn't perfect but it didn't have to be. It only needed to work long enough.

Long enough to get her out.

She made her way toward the village outskirts her pulse steadying now that she was free of the immediate threat. But she knew this wasn't over.

The locket had been compromised. That meant they had been watching her all this time. That meant every move she had made had been under surveillance.

She needed to disappear.

For good.

By morning she would retrieve her diary the only thing that truly mattered.

And then, she would leave this city forever.