The streets were empty now, save for the occasional dripping puddle reflecting the city's neon glow. Alisha kept close to Marco, her steps measured, every instinct screaming that the fourth man or someone allied with him was still watching.
"This neighborhood," Marco muttered, "used to be abandoned warehouses and shipping containers. Now it's a playground for those who think they can hide in plain sight."
Alisha's eyes scanned the dimly lit streets. She didn't see anything… and that was worse.
They rounded a corner and paused. Ahead, a small café, neon sign flickering weakly: Caffé Lume. The door was open, steam curling from within. Empty. Too empty.
"Safe?" she asked.
"Maybe," Marco said, his eyes narrowing. "Or maybe bait."
Before she could respond, movement flitted across the street–a shadow slipping from one alley to another.
Alisha's heart pounded. "It's him. The fourth man?"
"Not yet," Marco said. "Look closer."
She did. Two figures emerged from the shadows, moving deliberately toward them. Men in dark jackets, masks pulled low over their faces. They weren't just going to observe, they were here to provoke, to corner them.
Marco's hand rested on hers for a brief, grounding moment.
"Split," he whispered. "You go that way," he gestured toward the café's back door, "I'll draw them forward."
"No," Alisha said instantly. "We—"
"ow," he commanded.
There was no time to argue. The men were closing in, weapons barely visible in their hands. Marco surged forward, drawing their attention. Alisha bolted toward the café, adrenaline and fear propelling her steps.
Inside, she ducked behind the counter, pressed flat against the cool wood. Her breath came fast, shallow. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to hide–but she didn't know where the danger would come from next.
Outside, she heard the scuffle. The sharp thwack of boots against wet pavement. The muffled grunt of men thrown off balance. Then Marco's voice, low and commanding, cutting through the rain:
"You want me? Come and take me."
Alisha's pulse raced, but she forced herself to focus. She had the flash drive. That information could end everything or start a war. Whoever was after them would kill to get it.
Movement inside the café caught her eye. A reflection in the glass–a third figure. Quick, silent. Watching. Waiting.
Her stomach dropped. Another trap. Someone had anticipated their escape route.
She slowly crouched lower behind the counter, trying to steady her breathing. The café smelled of burnt coffee and stale pastries, the kind of scent that lingered long after closing hours. Somewhere in the kitchen, a refrigerator hummed softly, the sound oddly loud in the tense silence.
Her mind raced.
Think, Alisha. Think.
If someone was already inside, it meant they had been followed longer than she realized. That meant the ambush outside wasn't random. It was coordinated and was a distraction.
But from what.
Marco had drawn the first two attackers away, but that meant he was fighting blind, unaware that another threat waited inside the café.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag where the flash drive was hidden.
She needed to warn him.
Carefully, she lifted her head just enough to peek over the counter.
The café's dining area looked empty.
Chairs were stacked on tables, shadows stretching across the tiled floor. Rain tapped softly against the windows, blurring the city lights outside.
But something felt wrong.
The place was too still.
Too quiet.
Her eyes drifted toward the hallway leading to the kitchen.
And that was when she saw it.
A faint shift of movement.
Someone standing just out of sight.
Watching.
Her pulse jumped.
They know I'm here.
Alisha slowly slid her hand toward the heavy ceramic coffee pot sitting on the counter beside her. It wasn't much, but it was something.
If they came closer, she wouldn't go down without a fight.
Another sound echoed outside—Marco shouting something she couldn't quite make out, followed by the dull thud of bodies hitting wet pavement.
The fight was still happening.
And she was trapped inside.
The shadow near the hallway moved again.
This time closer.
Deliberate.
A step forward revealed part of a man's shoulder, dark coat slick with rain. He hadn't rushed in. He wasn't panicking.
He was patient.
Like a hunter waiting for prey to reveal itself.
Alisha's heart hammered against her ribs.
He knows I'm hiding.
The man's reflection appeared briefly in the glass of the pastry display case.
Tall.
Still.
Watching the room like he had all the time in the world.
She held her breath.
If she ran now, he would see her.
If she stayed, he might come closer.
Every option felt like walking into a trap.
Outside, the scuffle ended with a heavy crash.
Then silence.
The kind of silence that made her stomach twist.
Marco…
She didn't know if he had won.
Or if the attackers were already on their way inside.
Her thoughts spiraled until a hand brushed her shoulder.
She whipped around, heart leaping—
Enzo.
"Follow me," he whispered. "Quickly."
Relief hit her so suddenly it almost made her dizzy.
They moved through the narrow kitchen, ducking into a storage corridor. Every shadow seemed alive, every sound amplified. Footsteps behind them. Closer.
"Marco?" Alisha whispered, panic in her voice.
"He's fine," Enzo said. "But we don't have time to check."
The corridor opened to a service alley behind the café. Rain hammered down, turning the cobblestones slick. Alisha's shoes slipped, sending her crashing against a dumpster. She scrambled up, Enzo's hand steadying her.
And then she saw it—a black van, engine running, doors sliding open. A figure inside, tall, cloaked in black. The fourth man.
He stepped out slowly, deliberately, the rain tracing his silhouette like ink on glass.
"You've done well to survive this long," he said, voice low and deliberate. "But games have rules. And you, my dear, are about to learn which ones you've broken."
Alisha froze. Her grip tightened around the flash drive.
Enzo stepped in front of her, weapon raised. "Back away."
The fourth man chuckled softly, a sound without warmth. "Do you think that will help?"
Marco's voice echoed from the street behind them.
"Alisha! Run!"
The world seemed to tilt. Gunshots cracked. Rain spat like needles. Enzo pushed her toward the van as the fourth man's movements blurred faster than she could track.
She barely had time to get inside before the doors slammed shut. The engine roared, tires spinning as the van shot forward into the storm-soaked streets.
Breathless, trembling, she sank against the wall. The flash drive felt impossibly heavy in her bag, her mind racing.
Marco's voice came through the earpiece Enzo had clipped to her.
"Good, hold on. I'm coming."
The city outside was a maze of lights, shadows, and unseen enemies. But inside the van, Alisha realized something: she was alive. For now.
And that was all that mattered.
But the fourth man wasn't finished.
Somewhere in the city, plans were unfolding. Traps being set. Allies being revealed—and betrayed.
Alisha's fingers tightened around the flash drive. She would not be another piece moved across someone else's board. Not anymore.
She would survive.
And she would fight.