The city lights blurred past as Ayla gripped the wheel, her pulse quickening with every second. The man beside her exhaled sharply, his body sinking into the seat, but his posture remained tense—ready. He kept glancing at the side mirror, watching the road behind them as if expecting a car to appear from the shadows.
Ayla clenched her jaw. What the hell did I just get myself into?
"Start talking," she said, her voice steady but edged with suspicion. "Who the hell are you, and why did I just help you?"
The man ran a hand through his damp hair, still catching his breath. "Just keep driving."
Ayla scoffed. "Not how this works, buddy. You hijack my car, get me involved in your mess, and expect me to just shut up and drive?"
He turned to her, his dark eyes locking onto hers for the first time. Up close, she noticed the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, the slight tremor in his fingers. Not fear. Adrenaline.
"I don't have time for explanations," he said. "Just—trust me. If you stop now, we're both dead."
Ayla's grip on the wheel tightened. The weight of those words settled in the air between them. She didn't trust him—why would she? But something about his urgency, the raw intensity in his voice, sent a chill down her spine.
She checked the mirror. No headlights trailing them. Not yet.
"Fine," she muttered, pressing harder on the gas. "But this better be worth it."
He didn't answer. He just turned his gaze back to the window, watching the city rush past like a man running out of time.
And for some reason, Ayla had the sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.
Ayla kept one hand firm on the wheel, the other hovering near the gear shift, ready for anything. The man beside her was still catching his breath, but she didn't miss the way his shoulders stayed tense, his fingers twitching slightly against his lap. He wasn't just relieved to have escaped—he was still waiting for
something.
For someone.
"You're bleeding," she muttered, barely glancing at him. A small tear in his hoodie revealed a fresh scrape along his arm.
He exhaled sharply. "It's nothing."
"Who were those guys?"
His jaw tightened. "People I don't want to see again."
"Not an answer."
Silas shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking between the side mirror and the road ahead. "Look, I just need to get out of the city."
Ayla frowned. "Out of the city?" That was a red flag. If this were just a random mugging or a bad deal gone wrong, he'd lay low—not leave.
Silas ran a hand over his face. "They know who I am. Staying here is a death sentence."
Ayla's grip on the wheel tightened. They know who I am.
Her eyes darted to him. "They know who you are?"
Silas clenched his jaw. Damn it.
Before she could press him, a pair of headlights flickered in the mirror.
Her stomach dropped.
The black sedan from before.
It was closing in.
Ayla's heart pounded as she flicked on her turn signal, then didn't turn. Instead, she
hit the gas, weaving through the light city traffic. The sedan sped up to match.
"Hold on," she muttered.
Silas swore under his breath. "Damn it, Wellington's guys don't quit."
Ayla's hands froze on the wheel.
She felt the blood drain from her face, but she forced herself to stay focused. The name Wellington—it was burned into her memory. Connected to her father.
She swallowed hard. "What did you just say?"
Silas tensed. "I said they won't quit."
"No. Before that."
Silence.
Then he looked at her.
Ayla's stomach twisted. Who the hell was this guy?