Chapter 11: The Safe House...

The city lights blurred outside the car window, streaks of neon against the dark. My pulse still pounded from the chase, my fingers clenched around the cold edges of the metal box.

Adrian drove fast, weaving through the empty streets, his expression unreadable. He didn't say a word, but his grip on the steering wheel told me everything—he was tense, thinking two steps ahead, calculating our next move.

I stole a glance at him, his profile illuminated by the dim glow of the dashboard. The way he controlled his breathing, the way his jaw tightened—it was clear.

We weren't safe yet.

I swallowed hard, my thoughts returning to the photograph in my lap.

John stood beside a stranger, a leather-bound folder in his grasp. The emblem on the folder sent a cold shiver through me. I had seen it before—in the ledger inside this box, the same symbol repeated over and over next to names, dates, and large sums of money.

John hadn't just stumbled onto something dangerous.

He had been involved.

But how deeply?

And now, whoever had come after him was after me.

After another ten minutes of silent driving, Adrian turned down a narrow street lined with abandoned warehouses. He pulled up in front of a rusted garage door, then grabbed his phone, scanning the area with careful precision.

"Stay in the car," he muttered, then slipped out, gun in hand.

The second he was gone, the silence closed in.

I gripped the box tighter, the metal cold against my skin. My body ached from the fall, my ribs sore from the way I'd slammed against the stairs. The pain grounded me, but the fear… the fear was worse.

I glanced at the rearview mirror, half expecting to see headlights appear at the end of the street. But the night was empty.

Too empty.

A moment later, the garage door rumbled open. Adrian stepped out of the shadows and motioned me forward.

I hesitated before pushing the car door open, stepping into the cold night air. Every instinct screamed that this wasn't over—that we were just delaying the inevitable.

Inside, the warehouse smelled of dust, oil, and rusting metal. A single flickering light bulb cast long shadows across the concrete floor. Against one wall sat an old leather couch, a battered wooden table, and a metal shelf filled with unmarked boxes.

I swallowed. "This is a safe house?"

"It's safe," Adrian replied. "For now."

He secured the door behind us, double-checking the locks before finally turning to face me. His face was unreadable, but his dark eyes burned with something unreadable.

"Show me what's in the box."

I hesitated before walking over to the table, flipping open the lid. The ledger, the photographs, the flash drive—each item felt heavier than before.

Adrian reached for the ledger first, flipping through its yellowed pages. His sharp eyes scanned the entries, his jaw tightening.

"This isn't just financial records," he muttered.

I leaned over, my stomach twisting as I scanned the names and numbers scribbled inside. Then, my eyes landed on something that made my breath hitch.

A familiar name.

Charles Whitmore.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"What?" Adrian asked, catching my reaction instantly.

"My father," I whispered. "That's my father's name."

Adrian's gaze snapped to me. "You're sure?"

I nodded slowly, my heart thudding. "He's been dead for years… why would his name be here?"

Adrian didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached for the flash drive and pulled out his laptop from his duffel bag. His face remained unreadable as he plugged it in, waiting for the files to load.

A few seconds later, a list of documents appeared on the screen.

One of them was labeled with a date.

The night my father died.

My breath caught.

Before I could tell Adrian to open the file, a loud bang echoed outside.

I froze.

Adrian's gun was in his hand instantly, his body shifting into a defensive stance. He moved toward the window, carefully peering into the darkness.

Then, another sound.

Footsteps.

I stiffened, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Adrian's expression darkened. "We're not alone."

I gripped the edge of the table, my mind racing. We had run. We had barely escaped. But somehow, they had found us.

Again.

Adrian moved fast, switching off the single light hanging above us. The warehouse plunged into shadows.

"Get down," he murmured.

I obeyed, dropping behind the table, clutching the box tightly. My heart slammed against my ribs as I listened.

Silence.

Then—

The slightest creak of the door handle.

Someone was out there. Testing the lock.

Adrian stepped closer to the door, his finger on the trigger. I could feel the tension radiating from him, his focus razor-sharp.

Then—

A loud crash as the door was forced open.

A shadow moved in the doorway.

Adrian fired.

A sharp grunt followed, and the figure staggered backward.

Then, another set of footsteps pounded against the pavement outside.

A second attacker.

"Go!" Adrian barked.

I scrambled to my feet, clutching the box, my thoughts racing. There was no way out.

No safe exit.

Adrian moved first, shoving over a metal shelf to block the entrance, then grabbing my wrist. "Back door—move!"

I ran.

The air was thick with dust, my breaths coming fast as we raced toward the back of the warehouse.

Another gunshot—too close.

A bullet whizzed past, hitting the metal wall beside me.

I ducked, my pulse a wild, erratic drumbeat.

Adrian yanked open the back exit, scanning the alley beyond. A single black car was parked nearby, engine still running.

"They knew we'd come here," I whispered, the realization sinking in like a stone.

Adrian's grip on my wrist tightened. "Then we don't give them what they want."

Without warning, he pulled a small knife from his belt and slashed open the box's lining.

Inside—hidden beneath the false bottom—was a key.

My breath caught.

"What the hell is this?" I whispered.

Adrian didn't answer right away. His gaze flickered from the key to me, his expression grim.

"It's not over," he muttered. "Not even close."

A fresh wave of fear and determination surged through me.

Whoever was after us thought this box was the key to something. But this? This actual key—this was something else.

Something bigger.

And for the first time, I realized…

John knew.

He had always known.

And now, it was up to me to figure out the rest before it was too late.