Episode 25: Blood on the Rain
The storm swallowed everything.
The roar of rain. The slam of their boots on flooded asphalt. The pounding of Aaniya's own heartbeat—wild, frantic, refusing to slow. It all bled into one deafening symphony as they ran through the night like hunted animals.
Suleman's grip on her wrist was iron, unrelenting, dragging her through the maze of alleys and broken streets. She stumbled, slipped on slick concrete, but he never let her fall. His strength was terrifying, his silence even more so.
Every breath scorched her lungs. The cold cut like knives through her soaked clothes, but the chill inside her wasn't from the storm.
It was from that voice. That face.
You going to kill me? Again?
The word still echoed, clawing at her skull like a curse. Again. What did that mean? What had Suleman done? What was he hiding from her?
"Where… where are we going?" Her voice cracked, ripped raw by the wind.
No answer. Just the hard line of his shoulders, tense and unyielding.
"Suleman!" She tried again, louder this time, desperation cracking through the fear. "Who was that man?! What did he mean—"
"Not now." His voice sliced through the storm, low and lethal. The tone left no room for argument, but her blood boiled anyway.
"Not now?" Her words tumbled out in a breathless, broken rush. "I almost died back there! He—he knew you, Suleman! He—"
"Enough!" The roar that ripped from his chest made her flinch. For a heartbeat, even the rain seemed to falter.
She stared at him, breath shaking, her chest heaving like it might split apart. His face was a mask of fury—raw, jagged, barely leashed. Lightning cracked overhead, throwing him into harsh relief, every edge of him carved in stone.
His eyes—dark, burning—locked on hers. "You want answers?" His voice was rough steel, vibrating with something dangerous. "You'll get them. But not while we're running for our lives."
Before she could speak, the night shattered with a gunshot.
Bang!
The sound tore through the storm like a blade. Aaniya screamed, ducking instinctively as shards of brick sprayed from the wall beside her.
"Move!" Suleman's hand slammed against her back, shoving her forward. "Go!"
She stumbled into motion, her feet splashing through ankle-deep water as bullets hissed past like angry hornets. Another shot cracked the dark, ricocheting off metal with a high-pitched scream.
"They're following us!" Her voice was a raw gasp.
"Keep running!" he barked, his own voice steady, deadly calm. The kind of calm that terrified her more than the storm, more than the bullets. Because it wasn't human—it was war.
They veered sharply into another alley, shadows swallowing them whole. Suleman yanked her into a recessed doorway, pinning her against the cold, wet wall with his body. His breath was hot against her ear, harsh from the run.
"Don't make a sound." The command vibrated through her, a dark hum beneath the storm.
Her pulse thrashed. She could feel the strength coiled in him, the heat of his chest pressing against hers, his arm like a steel band across her waist. Every nerve in her body screamed, tangled in terror and something she couldn't name.
Footsteps pounded past the alley mouth—three… four sets. Voices barked orders in the distance, sharp and urgent. She couldn't make out the words, only the tone—hungry, hunting.
Suleman's body was a wall of fire against her shivering frame, his breath grazing her temple. She squeezed her eyes shut, counting heartbeats, praying the storm would swallow them whole.
Seconds crawled by like hours. Then—silence. The footsteps faded. The voices died.
Only the rain remained.
Suleman eased back, but not far. His hand slid from her waist, fingers lingering for a fraction of a second that stretched too long, burned too deep. Then he stepped away, and the cold slammed back into her bones.
"Come on." His voice was clipped now, all business. "We need a car."
She pushed off the wall, legs trembling so badly they barely held her weight. "Where are we going?" she asked, her voice small, breaking under the weight of everything unsaid.
"Away from here." That was all he gave her before they were moving again.
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They found the car three blocks down—black, sleek, rain-slicked like a panther crouched in the dark. Suleman wrenched the door open and all but shoved her inside before sliding in behind the wheel.
The engine roared to life, tires spitting water as he gunned it down the empty street. Neon lights smeared across the windshield, a kaleidoscope of color bleeding into the black.
Aaniya sat rigid, her hands shaking in her lap, blood mixing with rain on her skin. Her wound throbbed now, screaming for attention, but her mind couldn't focus on the pain.
Only on him. On the silence that pressed between them like a blade.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.
"Who was he?" Her voice was soft this time, a thread of sound almost drowned by the storm.
Suleman's jaw clenched, muscle ticking like a live wire. His eyes stayed on the road, but his hands gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles gleamed white.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet. Deadly quiet. "A ghost."
The word chilled her blood more than any shout could have.
She swallowed hard, her throat raw. "What did he mean by again?"
His breath hitched. Just barely. But she caught it.
Lightning flashed, carving his profile in harsh lines—the hard set of his jaw, the shadows carving his cheekbones, the darkness simmering in his eyes. For a heartbeat, he looked less like a man and more like something forged in fire and secrets.
Then his voice came, low and final, shutting every door she tried to pry open.
"Not now."
Before she could speak, the rear window exploded.
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