Page 13 of Escape

The random guys, the nights out, the constant noise—it’s like I’m trying to fill a void I don’t even want to name.

Why do I keep running away from Owen, why do I keep him at arm’s length?He has never done anything else than look out for me. He doesn’t deserve the way I am treating him of late.

I stop just outside the station entrance, the rumble of trains below vibrating faintly underfoot. People move past me in hurried streams, their faces blurring into a faceless crowd.

I pull my jacket tighter, the weight of my bag pressing into my side.

What am I even trying to prove? That I’m not... broken?

The knot in my chest tightens, and I swallow hard, forcing the questions back down where they belong. This isn’t the time.

Mel

I’m sorry.

I send off the message to Owen and then slide the phone into my handbag. I take a breath, step forward, and join the flow of people descending into the station.

I need to get a grip. I can’t lose him as well. I won’t be able to handle that. Not him.

Chapter 6

Mel

The meeting room isstale and without windows. The artificial light hurts my eyes. I shift in my chair, eyes flicking to the clock. Over an hour in, and we’re still running in circles. Logistics, budgets, local staff, a whole lot of talking. No actual decisions.

I twirl my pen between my fingers, barely listening, until Stephen speaks up.

"I just don’t think we can fully trust them," he says. He leans back in his chair, arms folded, as if he’s just cracked some great truth.

I blink.

Stephen, who has never set foot outside the London office. Stephen, whose biggest risk in the field was a late train to Canary Wharf.

A few nods around the table. Someone mutters about security concerns.

"You never know where their loyalties really lie," Stephen adds, clearly enjoying the limelight his pearls of wisdom brought him.

My grip tightens around my pen.

"Yeah, exactly," Pam, anotheroffice veteranwho has never been to the field, chimes in. "At the end of the day, they’re looking out for themselves first."

Something hot flares in my chest. My pulse pounds in my ears.

Arif’s face flashes in my mind. His lopsided grin. The way he used to joke about my terrible Russian. The empty look in his eyes when he took his last breath in my arms.

The chair scrapes back before I even realise I’ve stood up.

"Arif looked out forus," I snap, my voice slicing through the room.

Silence. Stephen’s face goes slack, his mouth half open like he’s just realising he might have said something stupid.

"He gave hislifefor us," I say, breath shaking. "But yeah, sure. Let’s sit here and talk about how they can’t be trusted."

No one meets my eye. Stephen shifts uncomfortably, looking down at the table like he wishes he could disappear into it.

My hands tremble, anger buzzing under my skin.

"Say his name," I demand, voice rising. "Go on.Say his bloody name!"

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