Ghost Convoy

The SUV’s cabin was all shadow and low hum. Liora kept her eyes on the blur of passing lights, refusing to meet Varian’s gaze.

“You live close?” he asked.

“Far enough you don’t have to bother,” she said.

“Not the answer I asked for.”

She looked at the tinted glass instead. “Drop me at Holloway and Fifth.”

“Address.”

She almost gave him a fake one, then remembered who she was talking to. “Prospect Towers. Apartment 4C.”

Varian tapped the partition, murmured to the driver.

The city rolled by, all neon bleeding into wet pavement. Liora caught sight of another SUV in the mirror—then a second one behind that.

“You brought friends,” she said.

“Not friends,” Varian replied. “Shadows.”

Her brows pulled together. “Shadows?”

“People who make sure bullets don’t find you twice in one night.”

“I didn’t ask—”

“You don’t ask for insurance, Liora. You either have it, or you don’t wake up.”

The words hung between them until the driver slowed. Prospect Towers loomed ahead, its peeling paint and flickering lobby light looking worse than usual under Varian’s eyes.

They pulled to the curb. The two SUVs behind them rolled to a silent stop, engines idling, windows black.

“Stay in the car,” Varian said, stepping out first.

She followed anyway. “I can walk myself upstairs.”

“You can try.”

Two men from the trailing SUVs emerged—both tall, both wearing dark coats that concealed more than just bad intentions. They flanked Varian without a word.

Liora fought the urge to roll her eyes. “What is this, a parade?”

“It’s called not letting you die in a stairwell,” he said, taking the lead toward the building.

Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of mildew and fried onions. The elevator wheezed in protest as Varian pressed the button.

“You always travel with an entourage?” she asked.

“Only when the target’s valuable.”

“Target?”

He didn’t answer.

The elevator groaned its way to the fourth floor. Liora fished her keys from her bag, but Varian took them before she could object.

“Excuse me—”

“Checking the door,” he said, fitting the key into the lock. He opened it slow, scanning the dim one-room apartment before stepping inside.

“Clear,” one of the men in the hall murmured.

Liora shoved past him. “Welcome to my palace.”

It was small—barely a kitchen, a couch that had seen better centuries, a bed separated by a bookshelf. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the details that gave her away.

He noticed everything.

His gaze caught on the fridge first—covered in crayon drawings of flowers, crooked hearts, and stick figures labeled in shaky handwriting: Me and Mommy. One had a taller figure with messy hair and the word Daddy? written faintly in pencil.

Her throat tightened.

Varian moved toward the counter, where her answering machine blinked red. He pressed the button without asking.

“You have… seven new messages,” the mechanical voice said, followed by the first one:

Miss Sable, this is billing from St. Catherine’s Hospital. We need to discuss your outstanding balance—

She lunged for the machine, but Varian caught her wrist. The next message played:

This is Dr. Patel. Wren’s latest test results are in. Please call me immediately.

“Who’s Wren?” he asked.

“My business,” she snapped, yanking her arm free and hitting the delete button until the machine went silent.

His eyes stayed on hers, unblinking. “I didn’t see a kid at the diner.”

“She’s not here.”

“Where is she?”

“You don’t get to know that.”

Something in his jaw shifted. “You’re hiding someone from me.”

“I’m not hiding anyone from you, Varian. I’m protecting someone from you.”

A knock at the door broke the tension.

One of the shadows leaned in. “Sir, we’ve got movement outside.”

Varian straightened. “Define movement.”

“Two men. Hooded. Hanging back across the street. One just made a call.”

Liora’s pulse spiked.

Varian turned to her. “Pack a bag.”

“I’m not—”

“Now, Liora.”

She stayed rooted. “If they’re after me, you’ll lead them right to—” She stopped herself.

His eyes narrowed. “Right to what?”

Before she could answer, glass shattered in the kitchen.

Something small and black landed on the floor—rolling once, twice.

Varian’s arm was around her before her brain registered the shape.

Flash-bang.

A burst of white light swallowed the room. Sound collapsed into a high-pitched scream in her ears. She felt herself dragged toward the door, her feet stumbling over the floor.

The hallway was a blur of motion—his shadows moving like wolves, weapons drawn. One shoved her toward the elevator; another barked into a radio.

Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Varian’s voice—calm, controlled. “Bring the car around. We’re leaving. Now.”

Her vision cleared just enough to see the fridge—its drawings fluttering from the blast of air as the door slammed shut behind them.

She didn’t have time to grab a single one.