Page 21 of All The Pretty Little Lies

“We’re almost at the warehouse,” Zaire remarks. “Get the door open.” He ends the call after this last order. Zaire whistles low before glancing over at me. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

I shrug, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety in my stomach. "I've had a lot of sleepless nights to plan."

A sly grin tugs at his lips, pulling at the corners in a mischievous display. He teases, "You mean when you weren't playing the charming Romeo and scaling up Vesper's balcony?" I roll my eyes, choosing to ignore his playful jab. My fingers quickly tap out a message on my phone, reaching out to Vesper for some much-needed distraction from this conversation. I barely knew the girl outside of the briefest interactions at school until being thrust into her trajectory this week, but I can’t deny that screwing over my family and saving her isn't purely an act of heroism. Despite our brief acquaintance, something about Vesper draws me in like a moth to a flame. I can't resist her magnetic pull. And with Dmitri looming as a potential husband for her, it would be a travesty in more ways than one if they were to marry. My reasons for wanting to save her may be selfish, but I can't help but want her for myself. The few stolen moments we shared in that classroom have ignited a fire inside of me that refuses to be extinguished.

Be ready. Reset your phone and leave it behind. There’s a new one waiting for you in the car.

Zaire takes a sharp left, and suddenly we're on a narrow, potholed road that winds through an industrial district. Abandoned factories loom on either side, their broken windows staring at us like hollow eyes. The car fishtails slightly as we take another turn, and then I see it: our warehouse, a hulking concrete structure covered in graffiti and ivy. The large baydoor opens when we pull into the drive. Zaire parks his car, and we both exit, heading towards our work area. The interior of the warehouse is a stark contrast to its dilapidated exterior. Banks of computer monitors cast a blue glow over sleek metal tables covered in maps, documents, and an arsenal that would make our father proud. And there, in the center of it all, stand Alexander and Talon.

Alex is hunched over a laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard. His usually perfectly styled blond hair is a mess, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Talon, on the other hand, looks like he's gearing up for war.

“Is the safe house online?” I ask Talon as we approach.

“Security is up. All clear.” He nods to a couple of bags on the table next to him. “Clothes are in there.” Zaire and I both grab a bag, and strip down, discarding the clothes we left with onto the ground and changing into the black t-shirt, and jeans from inside the bag. Zaire leaves his clothes on the ground, but I neatly pack mine away.

“We look like a fucking K-pop group,” he remarks at our matching clothes.

“I kind of like it,” Talon smiles back at him.

Zaire and I huddle around Alex's workstation, the tension palpable in the air. The warehouse echoes with the hum of servers and the rapid-fire clicking of keys as Alex's fingers dance across the keyboard. Suddenly, his head snaps up, eyes wide behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

"The car just left the Rossi estate,", his voice tight with excitement and nerves.

A collective intake of breath fills the room. This is it. The moment we've been preparing for has finally arrived. Everything has been planned for down to the second. I feel a rush of adrenaline course through my veins, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a caged bird desperate for freedom.

"Alright, people," Talon's deep voice reverberates through the space. "It's showtime."

We move with practiced efficiency, a well-oiled machine born of countless hours of preparation. Zaire and I head for the first car, a nondescript gray sedan that wouldn't look out of place in any suburban driveway. Talon takes the second, a black SUV with tinted windows. Both vehicles carefully selected from an impound lot two days ago, chosen for their unremarkable appearance and easily replaceable parts.

As I slide into the passenger seat of our car, I can't help but marvel at the intricate web of deception we've woven. Talon's meticulous work on swapping the plates, combined with Alex's digital wizardry in wiping them from the impound database, has bought us precious time. It's a delicate house of cards, but it's the best chance we have. Alex appears at the window, handing Zaire two small bundles before running back to Talon. Zaire opens the packages and hands me one. Inside, lies an earpiece. I slip it into place.

“Soundcheck. Everyone good?” Alex asks via the earpiece.

“Who’s ready to fuck shit up?” Talon squawks into the receiver.

“I’ll take that as an affirmative from Talon. Zaire? Oscar?”

“We hear you,” Zaire answers for us.

The warehouse door groans open, revealing the gritty industrial landscape beyond. Zaire guns the engine, and we peel out onto the cracked asphalt, Talon following close behind in the SUV. The morning sun glints off abandoned factories and rusted chain-link fences as we navigate the maze of back streets, keeping our distance from main roads and traffic cameras.

I glance at my brother, noting the hard set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. Zaire has always been the more collected one, the ice to my fire. But now, I can see the cracks in hiscomposure, the weight of what we're about to do pressing down on him.

"You okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods curtly, eyes never leaving the road. "Just thinking about what comes after. There's no coming back from this, Oz."

The gravity of his words settles over me like a heavy blanket. We're not just risking our lives today; we're burning bridges, cutting ties with everything and everyone we've ever known. Our family, our future, our very identities – all of it will be ash by sundown.

But then I think of Vesper, of the fire in her eyes and the strength in her spirit. I think of the world my uncle wants to create a world where families like ours rule with an iron fist and people like Vesper are nothing more than pawns. The resolve hardens in my chest.

"I know," I say, my voice steady. "But it's worth it. We have to do this."

Zaire's lips quirk up in a half-smile. "You really have fallen for her, haven't you?"

I feel heat rise to my cheeks but don't deny it. There's no point in hiding it from my twin. "She's different. Strong. She doesn't deserve the life they've planned for her."

"None of us do," Zaire mutters, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.

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