The news broke before dawn.
PRESIDENT ELENA VALEZ CONFIRMED DEAD IN ASSASSINATION ATTACK.
The words flashed across the large television screen mounted on the concrete wall.
Elena stared at it in silence.
Her face filled the screen—smiling, composed, alive. Beneath it, footage replayed endlessly: the shattered glass, the screaming crowd, the blood on the marble floor.
Her blood.
She took a slow step back.
"That's not possible," she said hoarsely.
The man leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the broadcast with detached calm. He hadn't looked at her once since they arrived at this place—wherever this place was.
"They needed a body," he replied. "You gave them chaos. They chose closure."
The anchor continued speaking.
—sources confirm the President succumbed to her injuries en route to the hospital. A state of emergency has been declared. Flags across the nation will be lowered to half-mast—
Elena's knees weakened.
Dead.
Just like that.
Her office. Her guards. Her allies. Gone. The world had already moved on without her permission.
"No," she whispered. "They would never confirm it without proof."
He finally turned to look at her.
"They did," he said evenly. "Your head of security signed off. So did two cabinet members."
Her breath caught.
Betrayal slid into place like a blade finding its sheath.
"You're lying," she said, though the words lacked strength.
He crossed the room slowly, deliberately. Every step echoed.
"You were sentenced long before tonight," he said. "I just interrupted the execution."
Elena's chest tightened. Faces flashed through her mind—men and women who had stood beside her, sworn loyalty, smiled into cameras.
They had buried her before the sun rose.
"Why?" she demanded. "Why take me?"
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him.
"Because you're more useful alive," he said. "And because dead presidents don't scream."
Her hands curled into fists.
"This is kidnapping. Treason. You think this ends well for you?"
His expression didn't change.
"It already has."
He gestured toward the screen.
"The world believes you're gone. No search parties. No negotiations. No rescue."
The truth hit her harder than the gunshots had.
She was alone.
Completely.
"What happens to me now?" she asked quietly.
For the first time, something dark flickered behind his eyes—not pity, not cruelty.
Ownership.
"Now," he said, "you disappear."
The television cut to footage of crowds gathering in the capital—candles, flowers, tears.
Elena turned away.
Somewhere in the noise of mourning, the President of the Republic ceased to exist.
And in her place remained a woman with no country…
…and no escape.
End of Chapter 2