Page 6 of Rafi

Yet I can’t regret my choices. Not when I look at the lives I’ve saved. Not when I remember the fear in their eyes, the hope I gave them when they thought there was none left. They didn’t deserve the hand that was dealt to them.

I stand up from the chair and walk over to the small table, picking up my phone. The need to understand what happened at the dock tonight surges within me. But more than that, my survival instinct has kicked in. I’m well versed in self-defence, but even I cannot outrun a bullet.

I don’t have time to mourn Sasha — but I can honor him by continuing the work we’ve strived so hard for. I tap my phone, opening the contact that’s been there for years, the one person I trust more than anyone else, even though I’ve never met him.

Luke.

He was given to me as nothing more than a name and a number on a scrap of paper, and he’s been with me from the start. When my father turned his back on me, he was the only one who didn’t. He understood my pain, he realized what I wanted, and he helped bring my dreams to fruition. He knows the stakes I deal in, the many dangers lurking around each and every corner, and he’s always had a knack for handling the fallout. He doesn’t need an explanation for everything, and he’s been there to handle my affairs every single time I’ve called.

I send him a simple message:“It’s time to move.”

I hesitate for a moment before hitting send. The seconds tick by, each one feeling like an eternity. Then my phone buzzes, and I exhale a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

Luke’s response:“I’ve got you. Stay safe. You’ll be up and running within twenty four hours.”

I close my eyes, feeling the smallest relief wash over me. It’s not much, but it’s enough for now. Luke is one of the few people I can rely on, and that’s more than most can say. He’ll quietly move everyone from the shelter. He’ll relocate our headquarters. He won’t leave a trace that we were ever there. If our operation has been compromised by anything related to Sasha, there won’t be anything left to find. We’ll beuntraceable.

I place the phone back on the table and turn my gaze to the city outside. The world is moving on, unaware of the storm roiling within me. I’ve spent so long running from my father’s shadow, but I know that I can’t outrun the consequences of my choices. And I can’t hide from the storm that’s coming.

I’ve made my peace with the fact that my relationship with Anton is over. That bridge is long burned, and no amount of wishing will rebuild it. But I won’t let him or anyone else take away the life I’ve fought for.

My father may think I’m a nuisance he had to toss aside in order to forget my mother ever existed, but at least this nuisance knows how to look over her shoulder. If I have to sell my soul to the devil to prove it, I will. Because that? That is my burden to carry. That is my cross to bear. And there’s nothing in the universe I want more than to prove to the world that I may be a spawn of the Aslanov name, but I’m not the monster everyone would have you believe I am.

The next morning,I scour the papers. My laptop screen glows with page after page of news reports, but there’s nothing. No mention of a shooting at the docks. No whisper of Sasha’s name. It’s as if the whole thing never happened.

I refresh the browser again, my hand trembling slightly on the mouse. Still nothing. My chest tightens as I lean back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. Did I imagine it? No. I can still hear the hollow thud of his body hitting the ground. Feel the weight of it in the moments that I was pinned beneath his blood soaked body. I washed his damn brain matter out of my hair, for fuck’s sake!

Yet doubt crawls in like a viper, coiling around my thoughts. I start to wonder if my mind, desperate to cope, has conjured some version of the truth that feels manageable. But then there’s the blood.

The smell hits me first. Metallic. Faintly sweet. The trashcan sits in the corner of the room, its lid closed but not enoughto seal the truth inside. My stomach churns as I approach it, lifting the lid slowly. The shredded, blood-soaked fabric stares back at me like an accusation. The sight grounds me, sharp and unforgiving, and I grip the edge of the can to steady myself.

Someone wants this thing to go away, I realize. Which means we’re dealing with some pretty heavy hitters here if they’re able to bury something like this. The same way they’ll bury the memory of Sasha. Life is fleeting. Sasha is proof of that. And I need to be more careful if I want to keep mine.

The new placewe’ve moved to is nothing like the last. The old textile factory crouches in the middle of an industrial wasteland, its rusting exterior cloaked in grime. Windows that haven’t shattered are clouded with years of neglect, and graffiti sprawls across the brick walls like angry scars.

Inside, it’s a different world. The walls are painted the kind of yellow that makes you think of wildflowers and sunlight, soft and inviting. I stand in the middle of the room, letting the warmth of it wash over me. My mind betrays me, drawing parallels between the color and Sasha’s grin, the way his face used to light up when he teased me. A pang shoots through my chest, sharp and unwelcome.

Luke’s voice from when we spoke on the phone earlier pulls me back.“Don’t get too comfortable. You’ll probably have to move again in a month.”

I’d bitterly thanked him for the pep-talk before I hung up.

I lean back in my chair, staring at the high ceilings and exposed beams, my thoughts wandering. Despite the chaos, there’s a small, fleeting comfort in knowing I’ve bought us some time.

But comfort is dangerous. Comfort dulls your edges, makes you forget how sharp the world can be. And I won’t make that mistake again.

5

RAFI

Leo sits hunched over his desk, surrounded by a chaotic sea of tangled wires and half-empty coffee mugs. Every inch of wall space is covered by screens, and my mind struggles to keep up with the constant barrage of data flashing across them. His fingers move like lightning across the keyboard, his head flicking between screens packed with streams of numbers and distorted images. The kid’s a genius — a certified hacker extraordinaire — but his workspace looks like an explosion went off in an electronics store, leaving nothing but the aftermath.

“Tell me you’ve got something,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. My ribs still ache from last night’s fight, but adrenaline has me upright. My mind is a loop, stuck on Maxine and the man sitting next to her.

Leo doesn’t glance up. “Good to see you too, Rafi. I’m fine, thank you. Hope you are, too.”

He doesn’t even glance in my direction as his fingers fly across two keyboards at once. If he bothered to look up, he’d see, beneath his obnoxiously tinted glasses, that I’m clearly not fine. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. Leo is, apparently, blind.Certifiably blind. I’m not sure how much of his condition is real, but that’s the excuse he gives for those ridiculous glasses.

I know I look worse than I did yesterday, and when I come to stand beside him, he flicks his gaze in my direction, his fingers never slowing down from their tap tap tap as he extracts the information I need. But his head is angled my way, somewhat curiously, and for the first time, I have to wonder just how blind he actually is.

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