Amara Escape

The storm had swallowed the city whole. Rain poured from the sky in relentless sheets, turning the streets into rivers of silver and shadow. The wind howled through the alleys, tearing through the night like a beast hunting its prey.

Amara ran.

Her breath was ragged, her limbs trembling, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. The world blurred around her, distorted by the rain and the panic clawing at her chest. Her soaked clothes clung to her skin, her shoes splashed through puddles, and every heartbeat felt like a hammer against her ribs.

She didn't know where she was going. She only knew she had to go.

The moment Victor's men had started circling her, she had felt it—the invisible noose tightening. The university, her tiny apartment, even the streets she had once called home—they weren't safe anymore. Nothing was.

She had thrown her few belongings into a bag, grabbed her coat, and fled. Her body ached, exhaustion weighing her down, but terror pushed her forward. The sound of her own frantic breaths filled her ears, drowning out the rain, the cars, the distant voices that weren't calling for her but still felt like a threat.

She turned a corner too fast, slipping on the slick pavement. Her hands scraped against the ground as she caught herself, but she barely felt the pain. Her fingers trembled as she pushed herself up, gasping, shaking.

Then she saw it.

Her old house. The place where it had all begun.

For years, she had avoided it, afraid of what it would do to her. But now, standing before it in the storm, she realized something:

It was still here.

Victor had told her it was sold. That it was gone. But the windows were still boarded up, the iron gate still rusted, the overgrown vines still wrapped around the porch. He had lied.

Her stomach twisted, fury and betrayal tangling into something unrecognizable. What else had he lied about? What game was he playing?

She took a step forward, her breath coming in sharp bursts. And then, the past crashed into her like a wave.

Flashback: A Boy Turned Monster

She had been twelve when she first noticed him watching her.

Back then, he had been nothing more than a boy with sharp eyes and an expression no child should wear. He had appeared in her life like a shadow, lurking just beyond the edges of her world, stepping in only when it suited him.

She had tried to ignore him. Tried to pretend he wasn't there. But then the others came.

The boys at school had whispered about her—about the professor's daughter with her delicate features and her haunted eyes. They had thought she was soft, breakable, something to play with.

But they never got the chance.

Because he had made sure of it.

The first time a boy had grabbed her wrist and laughed, the boy in the shadows had broken his nose. The second time, he had left bruises on the attacker's ribs that lasted for weeks. The third time, he had nearly drowned one of them in the lake.

And then, he had turned to her and said, "You're mine, Amara. They don't get to touch what's mine."

She had hated him for it. She had wanted to scream, to fight, to run. But a part of her—a small, terrible part of her—had felt something else, too.

Safe.

Present: The Rain Keeps Falling

Amara gasped, shoving the memory away. Her fingers dug into the iron gate as she tried to steady herself, but the past wouldn't let go.

She had fought him for years, resisted the claim he had placed on her. And still, he had followed her through life like a ghost, appearing and disappearing, leaving destruction in his wake. He had never been gentle, never been kind. But he had always been there.

And now, when she needed him the most—when the world was closing in around her—he was gone.

Tears blurred her vision, mixing with the rain as she stumbled backward. Her body ached, her breath came in shallow gasps. She was drowning—in the storm, in her own mind, in the weight of everything she had lost.

She reached for her phone with trembling fingers, scrolling to the number she wasn't even sure was real. The only person who had ever seen her, truly seen her.

She hit call.

The line rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

No answer.

Her breath hitched. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and tried again. Her fingers were slick with rain, her pulse erratic.

Nothing.

She let out a shaky sob, pressing the phone against her forehead as if it could somehow make him hear her. Where was he? Why wasn't he here?

A scream built in her chest, but she choked it down. She was alone. Again.

The phone slipped from her grasp, landing in a puddle with a soft splash. She stared at it for a moment, watching as the screen flickered, the last remnants of hope dying with it.

And then, finally, she broke.

She collapsed onto the porch, burying her face in her hands as the storm raged around her. She sobbed—deep, wrenching cries that tore from her throat, shaking her entire body. The wind howled. The rain kept falling. And Amara Lenz, the girl who had fought so hard, finally let herself grieve.

She had nothing left to fight with. No more pride. No more strength.

Only the rain, the night, and the ghosts of a past that refused to let her go. The sound of tires cutting through the flooded street barely registered in her haze of despair. The low hum of an engine purred against the silence of the storm. But then—

Headlights.

A sleek black car came to a slow stop in front of the house. The glow of its lights cut through the downpour, illuminating her crumpled figure on the porch.

No one stepped out.

Amara's breath hitched, her soaked body shivering as she forced herself to look up. Through the misted windows, she could barely make out a figure sitting inside. A pair of dark, piercing eyes locked onto hers.

Watching.

Waiting.

Her pulse stuttered. She didn't need to see his face to know who it was.

It was him.

Her throat closed. The weight of the past, the pain, the longing, all crashed into her at once. She wanted to move, wanted to run to the car, to demand why he had stayed away, why he had ignored her call. But her body refused to move.

The storm roared around them, thunder shaking the sky, but neither of them looked away.

Then—

The car door never opened. No words were spoken.

Instead, the engine rumbled again, and just like that, the car began to pull away.

Amara lurched forward, her lips parting in protest, but the words never came.

He was leaving.

Just like he always did.

And she was still alone.