LOGINHey loves! Lady P❣️ here 💕 We're 12 chapters in, and everything just changed. Jephta is alive. The file is a lie. Sebastian admitted he lied. And the network has found them. "Who are you?" "I'm your brother." Where do we go from here? · Can they escape before the network closes in? · Can Elara trust Jephta? · Can she trust anyone? Drop your predictions below! 💛 Vote, comment, share. Every like keeps this story alive. See you in Chapter 13! Your girl, Lady P❣️
They reached the cabin just before dawn. Marie killed the engine and they sat in the dark for a moment, listening. The trees were thick around them. No lights. No sound. Nothing but the wind moving through the branches and the slow, shallow breathing of the man in the back seat. Jephta got out first. He disappeared toward the cabin with a gun in his hand and came back two minutes later and nodded. Marie got out. Maya got out. Together they carried Sebastian inside. Elara didn't help carry him. She wanted to. But her legs were shaking and her hands were shaking and she knew if she tried to take his weight she would drop him, so she walked behind them instead, holding the door, watching his head loll against Marie's shoulder, watching the blood soak through the bandages and drip onto the floorboards in a thin, steady line. The cabin had one room. A wood stove. A cot. A shelf of dusty supplies. Marie got the fire going while Jephta laid Sebastian on the cot, and then Marie came over w
The door opened under her hand before she was ready. She had meant to pause. To breathe. To think. But her fingers had already turned the handle and the door had already swung inward, and the room was already opening up in front of her, and he was already there. He stood by the window with his back to her. For one long, suspended moment, she thought it was Sebastian. The height was the same. The way he held his shoulders was the same. The line of his neck, the cut of his hair, the shape of him against the dull grey light coming through the curtains — all of it was Sebastian. But Sebastian was behind her, in the car, bleeding. So this wasn't Sebastian. He turned. Elara's breath stopped somewhere in her chest and refused to move. Her hand was still on the door handle. Her feet were still on the threshold. Her whole body had locked, the way a rabbit locks when it sees the hawk. He had Sebastian's face. He had Sebastian's jaw, Sebastian's brow, Sebastian's unreadable eyes. But unde
Elara didn't make it far. She got to the end of the parking lot before her legs gave out. She sat down on the curb, the cold concrete biting through her dress, and she stared at the empty road in front of her. Her hands were shaking. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. The paper was still crumpled in her fist, the words burned into her mind. You killed my brother. She didn't know what to do with that. She didn't know how to process it. She just sat there, on the cold curb, with the wind biting at her skin and the weight of everything pressing down on her. She heard footsteps behind her. She didn't turn around. She knew who it was. "Elara." Marie's voice was quiet. "You should come inside. It's freezing." "I know." "You'll get sick." "I know." Marie didn't argue. She didn't tell her to get up. She just sat down on the curb beside her, her gun on her lap, her eyes on the road. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Elara stared at the paper in her hand. Marie watche
Elara didn't speak on the drive back. She sat in the back seat with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes fixed on the window, watching the city lights streak past her like something she'd never see again. The leather of the seat was cold against her legs, and the smell of Maya's perfume — something floral, something expensive — hung in the air between them. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the distant wail of a siren somewhere behind them, fading, fading, gone. She couldn't stop thinking about him. The man by the door. The man who looked like Sebastian. The man who had called her little sister. She'd heard the words and then she'd run, because she didn't know what else to do. She still didn't know what else to do. But that wasn't the only thing she couldn't stop thinking about. She couldn't stop thinking about Valentina's voice. The way she'd said Sebastian's name. The way she'd smiled when she said, "He's always close. He always is." The way she'd looked at Elara
The gala was everything Elara hated. The music was too loud, the laughter too forced, the smiles too wide. The room was full of people who had everything and deserved none of it, and Elara stood at the edge of it all, a glass of champagne in her hand that she had no intention of drinking. She had been here for twenty minutes and had counted forty-seven lies. The woman in the red dress? She wasn't in love with her husband. She was in love with his money. The man by the bar? He wasn't laughing at the joke. He was laughing at the man who told it. The couple by the window? They weren't holding hands because they cared. They were holding hands because they were afraid of what people would say if they didn't. Elara had grown up in rooms like this. Not the gold and the silk and the champagne. But the gambling dens and the back alleys and the desperate, sweaty rooms where her father had lost everything he'd ever loved. The lies were the same. The lies were always the same. "You're doing i
The car engine grew louder, tires crunching against gravel, and Elara felt her blood turn to ice. They'd found them. Marie moved first, her gun already in her hand, her body blocking the door. "Get him up. Now." Elara didn't move. She couldn't move. Her legs were frozen, her hands were shaking, her mind was racing through every possible escape route and finding nothing. They were trapped. The safe house was isolated. The nearest town was twenty minutes away. There was nowhere to run. "Elara!" Marie's voice cut through the fog. "Get him up!" The words snapped her out of it. She grabbed Sebastian's arm, pulling him upright, his body heavy and limp against hers. He groaned, his eyes fluttering open, unfocused and distant. "What's happening?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "They found us." She wrapped her arm around his waist, taking his weight. "We have to go." Maya was at the window, peering through the boards. "Three vehicles. At least eight men. Armed." "Can we fight th







