The rain hit the pavement in sharp, rhythmic slaps, masking the hurried footsteps of the woman weaving through the empty alleyway. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her pulse a hammer against her ribs. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, as if the thin fabric could shield her from the nightmare chasing her through the streets of London.
She risked a glance over her shoulder. Nothing but shadows. But she knew better.
The woman had been following her since the tube station. She was careful—never too close, never too obvious—but Claire had spent years learning how to spot a tail. And this one was good.
She turned a corner, slipping into the recessed doorway of an abandoned shop. Heart pounding, she pressed herself against the cold, damp wood, willing herself to disappear into the night. The street beyond was silent except for the rain. Had she lost her?
A footstep. Slow. Deliberate. Just around the corner.
Her breath caught in her throat. She reached into her coat pocket, fingers wrapping around the cool steel of her knife. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
The footstep came again, closer this time. A shadow stretched across the rain-slicked pavement, distorting as the figure moved into view.
Then—nothing. The shadow stopped moving. Silence stretched thin in the air.
She clenched her jaw, gripping the knife tighter. Then a voice—low, amused, too damn close.
“You always were good at running, Claire.”
The blood drained from her face. She knew that voice. Knew it too well.
Slowly, she turned, her body rigid with dread. And there she was, leaning casually against the opposite wall, the dim glow of a streetlamp casting wicked angles across her face.
Isabelle.
Her stomach twisted. She had spent years making sure this moment would never happen, burning every bridge, covering every track. But Isabelle had found her anyway.
“You look good,” Isabelle murmured, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Healthy. Not the wreck I expected.”
Claire’s fingers flexed around the knife. “How did you find me?”
A smirk tugged at Isabelle’s lips, but her eyes stayed cold. “You’re not as invisible as you think, love.”
Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. The rain drummed against the pavement, the only sound in the thickening tension.
“Tell me,” Isabelle said, stepping closer. “Did you really think you could run forever?”
Claire took a step back. The doorway behind her felt too small, too suffocating.
“I had to,” she whispered.
Isabelle tilted her head. “Had to?”
A flicker of something—pain, regret—flashed across Claire’s face. But it was gone as quickly as it came. She steadied herself, lifted her chin.
“If I stayed, I’d be dead.”
Isabelle’s smirk faded. “And now?”
Claire gripped the knife tighter. Her heartbeat thundered. Her answer would decide whether she walked away from this night—or disappeared forever.
The rain kept falling, washing away the blood that had yet to spill.
Isabelle took another step forward, her boots splashing through a shallow puddle. The tension in the air crackled like static, an invisible thread pulling them closer despite the years, the hurt, the fear.
“I never wanted this,” Claire murmured, barely above a whisper.
Isabelle’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone just as fast. “Neither did I.”
A gust of wind sent the rain in diagonal sheets, the cold biting through Claire’s coat. Her fingers trembled around the knife’s handle, but she didn’t let go.
“Then why are you here?” Claire asked.
Isabelle exhaled sharply, running a hand through her rain-damp hair. “Because I need you to come back.”
Claire barked out a bitter laugh. “That life is dead to me.”
“Then why are you still looking over your shoulder?” Isabelle countered. “Why are you still running?”
Claire had no answer. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. But in that silence, something else flickered—an old ache, an unspoken truth.
Isabelle stepped even closer now, inches away. “You and I both know this isn’t over.”
Claire’s breath hitched. “It never is.”
A raindrop trailed down her cheek like a phantom touch, and she shivered. Whether from the cold or the way Isabelle was looking at her, she wasn’t sure.
“You’re coming with me,” Isabelle said, voice low, certain.
Claire shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
They stood there, frozen in time, two women bound by a past too tangled to unravel. And somewhere beneath the weight of betrayal, of survival, of unspoken things—there was something else.
A choice.
Claire swallowed hard. “What if I say no?”
Isabelle’s lips curved just slightly. “Then I guess we see how far you can run this time.”
The night stretched on, the rain unrelenting, and Claire knew—whatever happened next, there was no escaping Isabelle now.
A sharp click echoed through the alley. Claire barely had time to react before a searing pain bloomed across her side. She staggered, eyes wide, her hand flying to the wound.
Isabelle stepped back, a gun in her grip, barrel still smoking. Her expression didn’t waver.
Claire gasped, struggling to stay upright. “You—”
“I warned you.” Isabelle’s voice was soft, almost regretful. “This was never a choice.”
The world blurred at the edges. Darkness clawed at her vision as the rain kept falling, washing the blood from her fingertips.
The last thing she saw was Isabelle’s face—unreadable, inevitable.
Then, nothing.
