ALONE IN THE DARK

The alley swallowed Elena whole. Her shoes slapped the wet pavement, echoing between brick walls slick with rain. Behind her, the courtyard erupted in chaos, shouts, sirens, the crack of something electrical. Then a flash of blue light burst over the roofline.

She stumbled to a stop, chest heaving, her back pressed at a dumpster. Smoke drifted across the alley mouth like a ghost.

“Adrian…” she whispered.

No answer.

She peered around the corner. The courtyard was a haze of light and movement — black-clad men swarming, their flashlights cutting through the smoke. The hatch to the tunnel was still open. But Adrian Wells was gone.

Her fingers dug into the flash drive hidden in her palm. The tiny rectangle of metal felt heavier than it should — like a key to a door she didn’t know how to unlock.

Her phone buzzed. She snatched it up, praying.

A.W.: Run. Don’t come back.

Her breath caught. She typed back with trembling thumbs. Where are you?

No reply.

Her heart twisted. He’d saved her, again and been swallowed by the smoke. For all she knew, they had him. For all she knew, he was dead.

Another buzz. A different number. Unknown.

We see you. Give us the drive and you walk away.

She dropped the phone like it burned her. Panic shot through her veins. They were tracking her.

She stuffed the phone into a trash bin, yanked off her campus ID lanyard, and ran.

The city swallowed her quickly — neon signs, wet asphalt, the hiss of tires. She ducked into side streets, cutting through puddles, until the campus glow vanished behind her. Her hair clung to her face, rain and sweat mingling.

She slowed only when her lungs threatened to collapse. She leaned against a graffitied wall, clutching the flash drive. She was twenty-two, a broken student with a scholarship on the line. She had no training, no plan. And now she was carrying evidence that people were willing to kill for.

Her stomach churned. What am I doing?

She thought of Maya. Her friend was probably at their apartment, watching N*****x, oblivious. If Elena went home, she’d lead them straight there.

Her only safe option was to disappear.

She ducked into an all-night laundromat, its fluorescent lights buzzing. A handful of tired faces sat hunched over dryers, not paying her any attention. She slid into a plastic chair at the back, hands shaking.

Her reflection in the window startled her — pale, wild-eyed, damp hair hanging in strands. She barely recognized herself.

She pulled out the flash drive, staring at it. Adrian’s words echoed in her head: If anything happens to me, get it to Maya.

Her throat tightened. He had trusted her. After everything, he had trusted her.

She slid the drive into her pocket and opened a browser on the laundromat’s public computer. She typed “A.W. watchdog group university” but nothing came up. She tried an “illegal data collection campus dating app.” A flood of conspiracy forums and half-baked articles appeared. Nothing concrete.

Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since lunch. Her head throbbed.

The door chime jingled. She stiffened.

Two men entered — black jackets, wet boots. They didn’t look at her, but their eyes scanned the room. One of them spoke into a lapel mic.

Elena’s pulse jumped. She slid off the chair and slipped into the back hallway marked “Restrooms.”

The hall ended at a metal door labeled “Maintenance.” She pushed it open, heart hammering, and found herself in a narrow service corridor that led to a rear exit. She slipped outside into the rain again.

She ducked under an awning, pressing against the wall. The men’s voices drifted faintly through the door she’d just exited.

She closed her eyes, breathing hard. You’re on your own now.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She froze. She’d tossed the main phone, but she still had her old prepaid tucked in her backpack — a number almost no one had.

A message glowed on the cracked screen.

A.W.: Go to 143 Larch Street. Safe house. Knock three times.

Her heart lurched. He’s alive.

She typed back quickly. Is it really you?

Three dots blinked. Then: Prove it?

She hesitated. Then she typed: “You quoted The Tempest to me. Act V, scene 1.”

A pause. Then: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.”

Her eyes stung. It’s him.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and scanned the street. She was a dozen blocks from Larch Street. The men were still inside the laundromat. If she was quick, she could make it.

She pulled up her hood and ran.

The city at night blurred past — flickering streetlights, shuttered shops, the smell of rain on asphalt. She ducked through alleys, cut across empty lots. Every time headlights swept past, she flinched.

When she reached Larch Street, it was quieter — an old industrial strip, buildings abandoned or converted into cheap storage units. Number 143 was a brick building with boarded-up windows and a faded sign: “Nightingale Supplies.”

She approached the metal door, heart thudding. She knocked three times.

Silence.

Then the door creaked open a few inches.

“Password?” a voice asked softly.

She hesitated. “I—I don’t know the password.”

The door opened wider. Adrian Wells stood there, eyes shadowed, shirt damp with sweat. A cut marred his cheekbone.

“Elena,” he breathed, pulling her inside and shutting the door quickly.

She sagged against the wall. “You’re alive.”

“Barely.” He locked three deadbolts, then turned to her. “Did anyone follow you?”

“I don’t think so,” she whispered. “They were at the laundromat but I lost them.”

He exhaled, shoulders slumping. “Good. We don’t have long.”

The room was dim, lined with file boxes and old furniture. A single lamp cast a weak glow. He gestured to a chair. “Sit.”

She did, still trembling. “What happened back there? Who were those men?”

He crouched in front of her, eyes searching hers. “Not campus security. A private contractor hired to clean up the operation. They want the flash drive.”

She pulled it from her pocket and held it up. “This?”

He nodded. “That’s everything. Names, payments, experiment data. Enough to shut them down if we can get it to the press.”

She stared at it. “Then why didn’t you give it to the police?”

“Because the police are compromised. I told you — some of them are on the payroll. If this goes public the wrong way, it vanishes.”

She clenched her fists. “So what do we do?”

He looked at her, something like pride flickering in his eyes. “We expose them. Together.”

Her breath caught. “Together?”

“I can’t do it alone anymore,” he said softly. “They already know me. But you — you’re the one person they underestimated.”

Her throat tightened. “I’m just a student. I don’t even know what’s on this drive.”

He reached out, his hand brushing hers as he took the flash drive back. The contact sent a jolt up her arm — warmth amid the cold. “You’re more than that, Elena. You’re brave. You didn’t run. You could have left me.”

“I almost did,” she whispered.

“But you didn’t.” His eyes held hers. “You came here.”

For a moment the room seemed to shrink around them, the hum of the city fading. She saw the exhaustion in his face, the cut on his cheek, the haunted flicker in his eyes. Not just a professor, not just A.W., but a man fighting for something bigger than himself — and risking her in the process.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said, voice small.

“You can,” he murmured. “And I’ll protect you.”

Her heart twisted. “Why me, Adrian? Out of everyone, why did you…?”

He hesitated, then brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Because you reminded me what I was fighting for. Because you made me feel—” He broke off, jaw tight. “It doesn’t matter.”

The moment hung between them, electric, fragile.

A crash shattered it. The door shook violently someone ramming it from the outside.

Adrian jumped up, grabbing a small black case from the shelf. “They found us.”

Elena’s pulse spiked. “What do we do?”

He looked back at her, eyes blazing. “We run. But this time, we fought back.”

The door shook again, louder.

He tossed her a hoodie from a box. “Put that on. Blend in.”

She pulled it over her head with trembling hands. “Where are we going?”

He opened a trapdoor in the floor, revealing another tunnel. “Out the back. To someone who can help us.”

The door cracked, splinters flying.

He reached for her hand. “Ready?”

She swallowed hard. “No.”

His fingers tightened. “Good. Fear keeps you alive.”

They slipped into the darkness below as the door burst open above them.