Chapter 4 – Shadow Lines

Chapter 4 – Shadow Lines

Content Warning

This chapter contains themes of stalking, intimidation, emotional vulnerability, and subtle R18 undertones. Some parts may be triggering for sensitive readers. Please proceed with caution.

Andra’s POV

The message from last night haunted me like a whisper that refused to leave my ears.

"You’re in too deep. Meet me tomorrow night if you want the whole truth. Don’t tell anyone. Come alone."

Alone.

Exactly how they wanted me—isolated, vulnerable.

But if there’s one thing journalism has taught me, it’s this: the truth doesn’t wait for the perfect conditions. You take it where you can find it, even if it means walking into the dark with nothing but your instincts.

Kinabukasan, I barely spoke in the newsroom. Celeste was in a constant tug-of-war with “higher-ups,” as she called them, and I could feel the pressure hanging over her shoulders. She didn’t ask about my lead; maybe she knew I wouldn’t tell her. Maybe she just wanted plausible deniability.

So I typed quietly, reviewed my notes, and pretended to be working on a harmless lifestyle piece about Makati’s booming café culture. Pero ang totoo, the envelope from the first source was still hidden inside my bag, at ramdam kong parang ticking bomb siya sa loob.

My phone buzzed.

Same unknown number. A simple message: 8 PM. Warehouse 12, South Harbor. Come alone.

By 7:30 PM, I was already driving through the near-empty streets leading to the Manila port area. The city lights faded the closer I got, replaced by flickering lampposts and the faint hum of the sea.

My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. I told myself I wasn’t scared. Just cautious. Pero sino ba ang niloloko ko? My pulse was racing so fast I could almost hear it over the hum of the car.

Warehouse 12 was an abandoned structure near the far end of the docks. Its paint had peeled away, rust ate at its gates, and graffiti sprawled across the walls like silent warnings.

I parked a block away and approached on foot, recorder hidden in my jacket, phone set to record audio. If this was a setup, at least may traces akong maiiwan.

Inside, the air smelled of salt and rust. The ceiling groaned with every gust of wind. Shadows stretched across the concrete floor, long and sharp under the single hanging bulb that flickered now and then.

I wasn’t alone.

From the shadows emerged a woman, mid-30s, wearing a plain hoodie and glasses. Her hair was tied back hastily, as if she had rushed here.

"You’re Enriquez?" she asked quickly, voice low, urgent.

"Yes," I said. "Who are you?"

She glanced over her shoulder before speaking. "Call me Mara. I work in the finance department of one of Montenegro’s subsidiaries. I don’t have much time."

She handed me a small USB, her hand trembling. "Everything you’re looking for is here. Wire transfers, dummy accounts, payoffs. It’s bigger than you think."

My breath caught. "Why are you giving me this?"

"Because I’m tired of watching them bury everything under money and power," she whispered fiercely. "But if they find out I talked to you, I’m finished. You have to be careful, Ms. Enriquez. You don’t know how far their reach goes."

Before I could press further, she froze—eyes wide, staring past me.

I turned.

At the far end of the warehouse, figures emerged. Two men in dark jackets, moving with a predator’s calm.

Mara shoved me. "Run!"

Panic exploded in my chest. I clutched the USB and bolted toward the side exit, my footsteps echoing against the hollow walls. The men shouted, their footsteps pounding after me.

"Stop!" one barked.

Like hell I would.

I shoved the rusty side door open and stumbled into the night air. The docks stretched wide, empty except for stacked shipping containers and the distant glow of the sea. My lungs burned as I sprinted, weaving between shadows, praying the darkness would swallow me whole.

Behind me, their footsteps grew louder.

Think, Andra. Think.

I ducked behind a container, pressing myself flat against the cold metal. My breath came in harsh gasps I struggled to quiet. The men slowed, their voices carrying.

"She went this way."

"Find her. Boss said no mistakes."

Boss.

The word sent a chill down my spine.

I inched backward, every nerve on fire, until I found a narrow gap between containers. Crawling inside, I forced myself still, every muscle rigid as the men passed just a few feet away.

Minutes dragged like hours. Finally, the footsteps faded.

I didn’t wait. I slipped out, hugging the shadows, until I reached the main road where my car waited. My hands shook as I fumbled with the keys, but somehow, I got inside and slammed the lock.

Heart hammering, I sped off, headlights cutting through the night.

Back in my apartment, I locked every door, every window, then collapsed onto my chair. My palms were raw from gripping the USB so tightly.

Mara’s voice echoed in my head. “It’s bigger than you think.”

I plugged the USB into my laptop. Dozens of files appeared, labeled with dates, account numbers, and initials. But when I tried opening one—password protected. Every single file.

Frustration surged. I didn’t have the key. Not yet.

But this was proof. This was leverage.

This was war.

I was still staring at the screen when a sharp knock echoed against my apartment door.

I froze. Midnight. No one should be here.

Another knock. Steadier this time.

I grabbed my recorder instinctively, clutching it like a weapon even if it wasn’t one.

Then—a voice.

Calm. Low. Too familiar.

"Ms. Enriquez… we need to talk."

My blood turned to ice.

Theodore Zayne Montenegro.

Of course it was him.