Chapter 30 - More than a Gas Station

"Believe it or not, I don’t want to see you hurt," he said quietly. His words hit Ayra harder than she expected, leaving her momentarily speechless. 

She wanted to argue, to push him away, to remind him that he was the reason she was running in the first place. But the words wouldn’t come. 

Not when his touch was so careful. His voice so steady, and his actions so at odds, with the image of him she’d built in her head. With the literal monster she had pegged him for. 

Confused, she remained silent for the remainder of the treatment.

"All done," Lucian said, sitting back on his heels as he finished wrapping her arm in a neat bandage.

Ayra glanced down at his work, then back at him. "Thank you," she mumbled. Then wanted to hit herself upside the head. Why mumble the thanks?!

Lucian simply nodded, standing to return the first-aid kit to its place. Ayra watched him move, her mind racing with emotions she couldn’t quite name. 

She hated that she felt grateful to him. She hated the way his kindness had stirred something deep within her. A flicker of warmth she had no idea what to do with.

It had been easier when everyone treated her like a pawn or a problem to be solved. Lucian’s care didn’t fit into that narrative, and it left her feeling raw. 

Exposed. She had no idea how to deal with that. 

She decided, then, to simply keep herself busy with something and looked around the building. 

The gas station seemed abandoned, its surroundings swallowed by silence; except for the occasional gust of wind stirring up dust against the weathered walls. 

Neither she nor Lucian spoke, a strange sort of silence blanketing them. A minute later, Ayra thought she heard faint murmurs. 

They were low and distant, but enough to set her nerves on edge.

Lucian’s posture stiffened, and his hand drifted to the firearm holstered at his side.

“They’re here,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ayra froze and swallowed nervously. 

“What now?” she asked. 

Lucian didn’t answer. He crossed the room swiftly and led Ayra out of the station’s main area and toward the storage room. 

The room was dimly lit. It was stacked with dusty shelves holding old cans of oil, cleaning supplies, and a few cobwebs clinging to the corners. 

Ayra followed cautiously, her nerves on edge. Outside, muffled voices echoed faintly in the distance, too far to make out words but close enough to send chills down her spine.

Lucian stopped abruptly. Ayra turned to look and found him scanning the floor intently. 

She watched as he knelt and pressed his hand to the concrete surface, running his fingers over what appeared to be faint lines etched into the ground. 

With nary a word, he pulled a knife from his pocket and slipped the blade into a nearly invisible seam. 

With a sharp jerk, he lifted a small panel and revealed a sleek fingerprint sensor.

“What is that?” Ayra asked. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her. 

“A way out for now,” Lucian said, his tone low. 

Ayra blinked, surprised. She'd thought he would have snapped at her to stay quiet. She hadn't really expected an answer. 

Lucian pressed his thumb against the sensor, and the faint sound of a mechanism clicking echoed in the confined space. 

Slowly, the ground beneath them shifted, a section of the floor sinking down and sliding away to reveal a narrow staircase.

Ayra stared, slack jawed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Lucian didn’t respond immediately, his focus on checking the surrounding area outside one last time. 

“Safe houses aren’t just for show. Let's go.” He gestured for her to follow. 

The staircase descended into an underground haven. The basement was the polar opposite of the dingy gas station above. 

Warm yellow lighting illuminated the space, revealing smooth walls painted in neutral tones. 

A compact modern living area unfolded before them, complete with a plush gray couch. A low wooden coffee table, and a television mounted on the wall. 

To their right, a compact kitchen gleamed with stainless steel appliances, and a hallway led to what appeared to be bedrooms and a bathroom.

It looked good, but it didn't seem lived in. There was a light layer of dust over the furniture.

“Is this…yours?” Ayra asked in surprise.

“One of many,” Lucian replied and closed the trapdoor behind them with a grunt. 

The room seemed to seal itself seamlessly, leaving no trace of the entrance. “It’s stocked and secure. We’ll be safe here.”

Ayra couldn’t help but feel a flicker of relief, though it was quickly replaced by unease. It was only the two of them trapped underground after all. And she did not quite trust Lucian yet. 

Yes, he seemed different from her expectations, but that did not mean he was a good person. Good people did not become the director of the Orrery Consortium. 

“How many of these do you have?” she asked awkwardly, trying to just fill the silence.

Lucian smirked faintly, looking as though he'd seen through her worries. “Enough. And don't worry; if I had wanted to do anything to you, I would have done so ages ago.”

It was not particularly comforting.

Lucian gestured toward the hallway. “The first room on the left is yours. There’s a shower inside and clothes in the wardrobe. Rest, clean up. Sleep if you want.”

Ayra hesitated, glancing at him. His face was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the exhaustion in his eyes. 

She nodded silently and made her way to the room, pushing open the door to find a cozy space. 

A neatly made bed sat against the far wall, dressed in crisp white sheets and a soft gray blanket. 

A small desk with a lamp occupied one corner, and the en-suite bathroom was compact but spotless, with a glass shower stall and fresh towels folded on the counter.

She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Ayra leaned against it as the adrenaline that had kept her going for hours began to wear off in earnest. 

She turned on the shower, the sound of running water filling the silence, and peeled off her dirt-streaked disguise. 

The blond wig landed in the corner, followed by the stained jacket and jeans she’d worn for what felt like days.

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the grime and tension as Ayra scrubbed her skin. 

She lingered longer than she intended, savoring the rare moment of peace. When she finally stepped out, she wrapped herself in one of the soft towels and opened the wardrobe. 

Inside, she found simple yet comfortable clothing: a pair of black leggings and an oversized navy-blue sweater that smelled faintly of lavender.