The man from the restaurant.

Aurora’s POV

I stumbled after him. My head wasn’t even attached to my body. We ran down the street, toward the car.

The second he slammed the door shut, I exploded.

“Dad, what have you done? What have you done?” I screamed, tears already flooding my face.

“Calm down,” he barked, eyes wild as he started the engine. “It’s gonna be fine. We’ll be fine.”

“No! You shot him! You shot him, Dad, he’s dead! The man is dead!” I sobbed, gripping the dashboard like it could hold me together.

He didn’t answer. He just drove, fast and sharp, weaving through streets like he was a pro driver.

“Turn back! Please, we have to go back!” I peered behind, at the mess we had left. “Someone has to help him. We have to take him to the hospital.”

“We can’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “They’ll be looking for us. We don’t have time.”

They? I didn’t even know who they were. All I knew was that blood had spilled, and my father, my quiet, gentle father, was the one who pulled the trigger.

When we reached the apartment, he jumped out before the car fully stopped. I followed, stumbling up the stairs, still crying, still begging for answers.

Inside, he moved like a man possessed. Opening drawers. Pulling out bags. Clothes. Cash. Papers. He opened a shoebox and pulled out two plastic cards.

“Dad,” I said, my voice trembling. “What is this?”

He didn’t look at me. “ID. New names. Yours and mine.”

I stared at the cards like they were in another language. “I—I don’t understand.”

He zipped up a duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We have to leave. Now.”

“No! This is my life, Dad!” I stepped back, shaking my head. “I have friends. I have a boyfriend. I have a job. You can’t just—we can’t just vanish!”

“They’re going to come for us,” he said, finally turning to me. “Those men, the ones with the guy I shot, they’re not just going to let this go.”

“So we go to the police!”

He laughed, a laugh that had no humor. “The police won’t help us. They’re in this too.”

My throat clenched. “What did you get into?” I whispered.

“I did what I had to do to keep us safe. And I need you to listen to me now.”

I shook my head, tears still coming,. “I don’t want to go.”

He came closer, grabbing my arms gently, steadying me.

“Rora. Look at me. I’m your father. Do you trust me?”

I hesitated. Then, quietly, “Yes.”

“Then come with me.”

We left everything behind. I didn’t even have time to grab my photo album—the one with Mom’s handwriting on the inside cover.

We drove for hours. The city lights faded behind us. The sky turned darker, quieter.

Eventually, we pulled into a small lot off a dirt road. There was a man waiting there, leaning against an old car. Dad told me to stay put.

I watched them talk from the window. The man looked nervous, twitchy. Dad demanded something. The man hesitated, they argued.. Then another guy appeared from the shadows, he was a tall man, he didn’t say a word, just looked at my dad for a long second, then turned and walked away.

I didn’t know what that meant, but I felt as if something would go terribly wrong.

Eventually, the first man handed Dad a thick envelope. Money, I guessed. Dad shoved it into the duffel and came back to the car.

“Who were those men?” I pried.

He let out a deep sigh. “They are men I do business with, Rora. You have nothing to be worried about…”

I chuckled. “Oh really? I have nothing to be worried about?” Tears welled up in my eyes as I laughed. “I’m fleeing the city where I lived all my life with a new identity,” I flashed the ID in front of him, “I didn’t say goodbyes, not to my friends, not to my best friend or my boyfriend. I didn’t take anything. Nothing of mine, nothing of Mom’s. I couldn’t even say goodbye to her…” My voice broke. “There’s a man dead, shot…” My words faltered, and I broke into a heart-wrenching sob.

He parked the car and pulled me into a hug. I relaxed into his arms and cried. I didn’t know for how long I stayed there.

“I know you have a lot of questions, Rora, and I’m going to answer them. But I want you to know that we are okay. We’re good, I promise,” he said in a soft whisper, starting the engine again.

But we weren’t.

Not even five minutes down the road, we saw it—a roadblock.

Not police. Worse.

Two black SUVs blocking the dirt road. Lights off. No markings.

“Stay in the car,” he said.

He opened the glove box and pulled out a gun.

“Dad,” I reached for him.

He looked at me, eyes soft for the first time all night. He bowed his head. “No matter what happens, stay down. I love you, Rora.”

My eyes watered. “Dad!”

He stepped out of the car.

And that’s when they came.

From the trees. From the sides of the road. More cars. More men.

We were surrounded.

And all I could do was sit there, shaking, watching everything fall apart.

Again.

Dad’s last words rang in my ear: I love you.

He said that always, but there was something in the way he said it this time. There was a note of finality to it.

No.

I flung the door open and bolted out into the night.

I knew this was it.

My legs moved before a thought could catch up, and I ran toward him, screaming his name. “Papá! Please!” My heels hit the pavement hard, the cold air hit my skin through my thin dress. I barely felt it. I just saw him—his shoulders slouched, standing there with a gun, trembling, the barrel lowered as if even he didn’t believe he could fire it.

“Get back, Aurora!” he yelled, voice shaking. “Stay in the car!” He fell to his knees, with a defeated look in his eyes.

But I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. It was too late. I dropped to my knees before him, tears streaking down my cheeks, grabbing his coat, sobbing like I had never sobbed before. “Please, I beg you, don’t do this. I’m sorry. Don’t hurt him. He’s all I have.”

Doors opened in sync, shadows stepping out like death itself had arrived.

Then I saw him.