Chapter 26: The Safe Hours
They didn't speak much during the drive.
The city had begun its slow fade into that uncertain, gray hush just before morning — when even the lights seemed to hold their breath. Arwa sat in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the window, not watching anything in particular. Just… there.
Zayaan stole glances when he could.
The way her fingers rested in her lap, curled just slightly — like she was still half-ready to brace for impact. The way her reflection in the glass didn't quite match the stillness of her body.
Like her mind was running ahead, trying to piece it all together faster than memory would allow.
"We're almost there," he said quietly.
She nodded. Didn't ask where.
He turned down a narrow service road lined with crumbling walls and flickering street lamps. At the end of it was a gate — rusted, dented, painted over too many times to count. He keyed in a passcode. The lock clicked.
Inside, the old textile mill had been gutted — now converted into a safehouse Zayaan only used when everything else had failed.
Like now.
He killed the engine. For a second, neither moved. The silence felt heavier indoors, like the walls were holding secrets too.
"This place isn't on any grid," he said. "No cameras. No access points. We'll be invisible here for a while."
Still, Arwa hesitated before stepping out of the car. Something about too much stillness, too much quiet — it didn't feel like safety. Not yet.
Inside, he switched on the backup lights — low amber strips that ran along the ceiling like veins. A thin cot. Some food. A burner terminal. No windows.
But the air was dry. And warm. And nobody knew this place existed.
She sank onto the cot without a word. Pulled her knees up to her chest. Rested her chin there.
Zayaan watched her for a moment...then crouched nearby, careful not to crowd her.
"Back there..." he said, gently, "when you said you were never meant to be a subject… what did you mean?"
She didn't answer right away. But her jaw flexed.
"It's starting to come back in pieces. Feelings before facts. Like my brain knows, but my memory doesn't trust it yet."
A pause.
"But that phrase on the wall… it wasn't a message to me. It was about me. Like someone left it behind knowing I'd eventually see it. Or you would."
Zayaan leaned back slightly. Let her keep talking. He knew that tone — like she wasn't just remembering, she was discovering it out loud.
"I think I wasn't supposed to survive whatever they did," she said. "I think someone helped me… and buried me inside my own mind just deep enough to keep me safe."
Zayaan's brows drew together. "Someone on the inside?"
Arwa gave a small, bitter laugh. "Maybe. Maybe not. But if they erased me to hide something, and now I'm remembering…"
She looked at him, eyes sharper now.
"Then we're not just running. We're a threat."
Zayaan felt it too. The shift. The moment when fear stops being the loudest thing in the room.
"You said earlier they made you forget us," he said. "What if remembering that is part of the signal too?"
Arwa blinked. Her voice was a little quieter when she spoke next.
"I remember hands. Yours. Holding mine. I remember… crying. But not the bad kind. The kind that happens when you finally feel safe after not being safe for a long time."
Her voice cracked.
Zayaan didn't touch her. Didn't need to. The space between them pulsed with something gentler than before. Something alive.
He nodded slowly. "We'll find the rest."
She nodded back.
For now, it was enough.