Chapter 23 - Following the Letter

An hour later, Ayra held a license plate in her hands, turning it over as though its weight could reveal her mother’s intentions. 

It was wrapped in a protective plastic sleeve, its edges pristine despite its apparent age.

The numbers and letters were unfamiliar, but the very sight of it had Ayra marveling at how meticulously her mother had planned for everything eventuality. 

Every nook and cranny of the quaint cabin had something potentially useful to her stashed away. 

They had been detailed in her mother's journal, and the least of which was a veritable sack of cash wrapped in plastic. 

Simon's card was useless now. 

There was also a fake ID of a blonde haired, blue eyed version of herself, a blonde wig, and blue contacts.  

She glanced out the window of the cabin at the car she’d rented, its current license plate reflecting the midday sun. 

Her lips pressed into a firm line as she considered her next move. 

She wasn’t naive - her mother’s precautions were useful as far as she could see, and Ayra wouldn’t squander this advantage.

With steady hands, she swapped the plates. The process wasn’t as simple as the movies made it seem, but Ayra’s urgency sharpened her focus. 

When she was done, she stepped back, brushing her hands against her jeans and shaking off the slight cramp in her hands. 

"Thanks, Mom," she murmured under her breath.

....

For quite a while, the drive back to the main hubs of the city was uneventful. 

However, as Ayra neared the outskirts of the city, her heart sank at the sight of a police checkpoint ahead.

A line of cars stretched before her, their drivers subjected being scrutinized by officers standing by with clipboards.

Her breath hitched despite herself.

They were looking for her; she knew it.

Quickly, she touched up her disguise in the rearview mirror, her hands trembling. 

The blond wig was slightly crooked from the drive, and she hurriedly fixed it, tucking stray strands of her own hair beneath the cap. 

The blue contacts she had found in a dusty makeup kit from her mother’s belongings felt foreign and made her blink excessively. 

Her face, carefully dusted with foundation a few shades darker than her natural skin tone, now seemed almost ghostly in the reflection. 

She had even added a faint mole above her lip for good measure, as well as drawing out the line of the eye pencil applied on her brows. 

'Calm, calm,' she reminded herself. 'You are just another driver passing through, Ayra.'

The line moved slowly and Ayra's grip on the steering wheel tightened as she willed herself not to fidget or appear nervous. 

When her turn finally came, she rolled down the window with a small smile.

“Good afternoon,” the officer said, his voice clipped but polite. 

He leaned closer, studying her face with a deliberate slowness that sent her pulse racing. 

“We’re conducting routine checks.”

“Of course,” Ayra said, forcing her voice into a calm, even tone. She handed over the ID her mother had prepared for her. 

The officer glanced between the ID and her face. Ayra felt her palms grow damp. 

She could see another officer out of the corner of her eye, holding up a photograph on a tablet that looked suspiciously like her. 

They were comparing faces.

Fuck it all. 

“You’re heading into the city?” the officer asked, scrutinizing her closely. For all her 'disguise', she still vaguely looked like herself. 

“Yeah,” Ayra replied with a small smile. “Business trip. My boss wanted me to check out some properties downtown. The market’s been competitive lately, so we’re trying to stay ahead.” She allowed herself a laugh, hoping it sounded natural.

The officer’s gaze lingered a moment longer before he stepped back. “Alright, drive safe.”

“Thank you,” Ayra said, her voice a touch higher-pitched than she intended. 

She rolled up the window, resisting the urge to floor the gas pedal as she drove away at a controlled pace.

Once she was out of sight of the checkpoint, Ayra let out a shaky exhale, her hands trembling on the wheel. 

She pulled off at the nearest rest stop, parking in a secluded corner of the lot to catch her breath.

Her disguise had worked, but just barely, she felt. The blond wig and blue contacts had saved her, and perhaps the fake license plate too. 

The officers had been searching for a brown haired woman with hazel eyes - her true features. Ayra leaned her head back against the seat, relief flooding through her in waves. 

She had expected some form of scrutiny, certainly, but this was absurd. 

Ayra suspected Lucian had gotten involved in things to be able to mobilize people on such a large scale that even the way into the city was manned. 

Ayra steadied her breathing, gripping the steering wheel tighter. The lawyer’s address was tucked safely in her pocket. 

She drove on and soon the atmosphere shifted. The bustling streets were alive with people, but it wasn’t the usual chaos she remembered from her visits. 

It was more... Orderly in a way, and it felt like the whole city was out to get her. 

She adjusted her scarf to hide more of her face, her fingers twitching as they hovered near the steering wheel. 

At some point she began to feel like she was being followed but tried to convince herself that was imagining it. 

After all, the chances of someone recognizing her here, in this veritable sea of strangers, should be slim. 

And yet, every time she stopped at a light, her eyes darted to the faces of pedestrians, scanning for signs of recognition.

When she passed a group of police officers clustered near a patrol car, her stomach couldn't help dropping. 

They were engaged in what seemed like casual conversation, but she noticed their eyes sweeping the streets. 

One officer’s gaze lingered on her car just a second too long, and she almost had the urge to slam the accelerator and speed down the street. 

She finally parked two blocks from the lawyer’s office, pulling into a quiet side street shaded by trees. 

Taking a moment to breathe, Ayra leaned her head against the steering wheel, closing her eyes.

“It’s just... nerves,” she whispered to herself, trying to calm down. “I'm not a fugitive. I'm not being hunted.”

Well, she was not EXACTLY a fugitive. 

But as she stepped out of the car, every nerve in her body screamed otherwise. People were watching her. Or maybe they weren’t. 

Rational thought warred with paranoia, and she forced herself to walk with purpose, clutching her bag tightly as though it held her life.

The lawyer’s office wasn’t far. She kept her head down, her heart pounding like a war drum. 

When she reached the building, she paused to look up at its unassuming exterior. A simple gray structure, with a small brass plaque reading Landor & Associates.

Ayra stood there for a moment, letting the sight of it anchor her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was behind her, but when she turned, the street was empty.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.