Chapter 2: Shadows in the Hallway

Adrian's heart pounded like a drum as he backed away from the door. The knocking grew louder, more insistent. He glanced around the room, searching for an escape route. His apartment was small—a single bedroom, a tiny kitchenette, and a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. There were no secret passages, no hidden doors. Just four walls and a window that overlooked a five-story drop to the alley below.

He grabbed his phone again, his fingers trembling as he tried to call Melissa once more. Still no answer. Frustration bubbled inside him, but there was no time to dwell on it. The sound of wood splintering echoed through the hallway as the men outside forced their way in.

"Mr. Carter," the deep voice called again, colder this time. "We don't want to hurt you. Open the door."

Adrian clenched his jaw. He wasn't naive enough to believe that. Whoever these men were, they weren't here to negotiate. They wanted the file—and they wanted him silenced.

He moved quickly, shoving his laptop into his backpack along with the USB drive. If he could get out alive, he might still have a chance to expose the truth. But first, he needed to survive.

The door burst open with a deafening crash, sending shards of wood flying across the room. Adrian ducked behind the couch, gripping the pen-knife tightly in his hand. Two figures stepped inside, their movements precise and calculated. They scanned the room with sharp eyes, their black suits blending into the shadows.

"There!" one of them barked, spotting Adrian crouched behind the furniture.

Adrian didn't hesitate. He lunged toward the kitchen, grabbing a chef's knife from the counter. The blade gleamed under the flickering light as he turned to face his pursuers. His mind raced. He wasn't a fighter—he was a journalist, a man of words, not weapons. But desperation had a way of bringing out instincts you didn't know you had.

"Stay back!" he shouted, brandishing the knife. His voice wavered, but the threat was clear.

The two men exchanged a glance, then advanced slowly, their hands raised in mock surrender. "You're making a mistake, Mr. Carter," one of them said, his tone calm but laced with menace. "We're here to help you."

"Help me?" Adrian spat, his grip tightening on the knife. "By breaking into my apartment? By threatening me? Don't insult my intelligence."

The taller of the two men sighed, as if dealing with a stubborn child. "Put the knife down. You don't understand what you've gotten yourself into. This isn't a game."

Adrian's mind flashed back to the contents of the Black Files—the names, the experiments, the secrets that could topple governments. He knew exactly what he'd gotten himself into. And he also knew that putting the knife down meant signing his own death warrant.

Before he could respond, the second man lunged forward, moving faster than Adrian expected. The knife clattered to the floor as strong hands grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. Adrian struggled, kicking and thrashing, but it was no use. These men were professionals.

"You should never have seen that file," the taller man said, stepping closer. His cold eyes bore into Adrian's. "Now you'll pay the price."

And then everything went black.