Part 3: Shadows Never Lie
"You don't just run from the past. You carry it. Like a ticking bomb."
Elena Voss stared out the cracked window of the train as it sped through the Carpathian night. Forests blurred into ink. A thin bandage clung to her forearm—Damien had wrapped it after Sarajevo, saying nothing, but his hands had trembled.
The USB drive pulsed like a secret in her coat pocket. She hadn't dared plug it in yet. Not without shielding. Not without being sure.
Across from her, Damien sat silent. Watching. As if he knew the walls between them were cracking.
"I know what you're thinking," he said at last.
"That I should've left you in that vault to bleed out?"
He smiled faintly. "No. That I should've kissed you."
She blinked.
And for a moment, the train disappeared. The gunfire. The betrayal. The blood on her hands.
All she could see were those storm-gray eyes.
Then she laughed. Bitter. Cold.
"You're not my type."
"That's funny," he said, leaning forward. "You're exactly mine."
Four Hours Later — Bucharest
They checked into the safehouse like strangers.
Two aliases. No luggage. No trust.
The building was old, abandoned above the second floor. Elena set up a laptop and signal blocker. Damien stood at the window, watching the street like a caged animal.
"Why did you lie?" she asked, eyes still on the screen.
"About what?"
"My brother. The virus. You said he helped design it."
"He did."
"You left out the part where he tried to deploy it."
Damien turned slowly. "He didn't."
She pulled up an encrypted log. The data had decrypted moments ago.
Test subject logs. Her brother's name. Dated after the alleged betrayal.
"Either he was experimenting... or someone forged these."
Damien approached. "Or they wiped his memory, then made him run tests thinking he was saving lives."
Elena swallowed. "And now they're doing it again?"
"Yes. Globally."
He placed a new folder on the table: dossiers.
Targets.
Politicians. Whistleblowers. Scientists.
All slated for "treatment."
Crimson wasn't just a memory erasure tech.
It was an execution method.
Midnight
A storm rolled in, shaking the glass. Elena sat on the floor with her gun beside her, staring at a photo of her brother as a boy. Smiling. Untouched by secrets.
Damien entered quietly. A fresh cut on his lip from the earlier fight. She didn't ask.
"Tomorrow we infiltrate the Zurich lab," he said. "They're manufacturing a new variant."
"And you think they won't be waiting?"
"They will. But they won't expect us to go in together."
She met his gaze.
"Enemies don't join forces."
"No," he said. "They kill each other."
Zurich — 36 Hours Later
The lab looked like a museum: marble floors, chrome walls, silent guards in tailored suits. Elena walked in first, a forged ID clipped to her coat, Damien close behind, posing as a private investor.
Security cleared them. Barely.
Inside, rows of machines whirred. Samples locked behind glass. Biohazard signs. And in the far corner, a terminal linked to the Crimson cloud database.
They had ten minutes.
Elena slid beside the terminal. Plugged in the spike drive.
"Five minutes," she whispered.
Then the alarms screamed.
Someone tipped them off.
Damien grabbed her arm. "Run!"
Bullets tore through the glass. Scientists dove. She yanked the USB, stuffed it in her coat, and followed Damien through the emergency exit.
Down a service tunnel. Into the underground garage.
A black van screeched around the corner.
Too late.
They were surrounded.
Capture
Hands zip-tied. Guns at their backs.
Elena spit blood from her lip and glared at the man in the suit.
He smiled.
"You should have stayed in Istanbul."
Damien leaned in.
"I'm guessing you're Orlov."
The man bowed mockingly. "And you must be the traitor."
"I prefer the term 'survivor.'"
Orlov turned to Elena. "You had a choice. You chose him. Why?"
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Damien spoke for her. "Because deep down, she knows I'm the only one who didn't lie to her."
Orlov drew a pistol.
"Pity. You could've had a future."
He aimed.
Then—
Boom.
The garage exploded.
Flames roared. Concrete rained down.
When Elena opened her eyes, Damien was dragging her across the floor, coughing blood, one arm shielding her from debris.
"You never stay where you're told," he gasped.
"Neither do you."
Escape
The drive survived.
Barely.
They limped into the woods outside Zurich, hiding beneath fallen branches as search teams swept the perimeter.
Finally alone, she turned to him.
"Why do you keep saving me?"
Damien looked at her, exhaustion and something else in his eyes.
"Because I'm trying to save what's left of me."
She stared at him.
Then, slowly, deliberately—kissed him.
Once.
Just once.
Before the world could take even that.