She sat on the edge of the motel bed-if one could even call this sun-faded, stiff mattress a bed-still fully dressed, knees pulled up, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The neon sign outside blinked through the thin curtains in a sickening red pulse that seemed to match her heartbeat: too fast, too loud, too wrong.

She had survived a tail.

She had survived armed men chasing her through the city.

And she had survived the moment Donovan-Donovan Hale, the black-sheep heir to one of the most powerful corporate empires in the country-stepped out of the shadows and told her she was marked for death.

But she could not survive her own thoughts.

Her brain had always been her friend. Numbers, routines, predictable systems-those things felt safe. Comforting. She could look at a spreadsheet and know exactly where she belonged.

But tonight, her mind felt like an enemy.

Every shadow outside the window looked like a silhouette with a gun. Every footstep in the hallway sounded like a mercenary moving into position. Every hum of the ice machine felt like another SUV pulling up outside.

She checked the door lock again.

Then the deadbolt.

Then the chain.

Donovan watched her from across the small room, sitting in the single chair like he had no intention of sleeping either. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin. His dark hair fell loosely over his forehead, but his eyes-sharp, intelligent, unsettlingly aware-never left her.

"You're trembling again," he said quietly.

"I'm not," she murmured.

"You are."

She curled her fingers into fists. Sure enough, her hands were shaking. Embarrassment washed over her in a hot wave. She didn't like being watched, much less evaluated like she was one of his father's profit analyses.

But Donovan wasn't judging her.

There was something else in his eyes-something that made her chest tighten. Concern? Guilt? Responsibility? She wasn't sure.

"You're handling this better than most people would," he said, voice low. "Trust me. I've seen seasoned executives crumble with far less on the line."

That didn't make her feel better. Not even a little.

"I don't want to be... handling anything," she whispered. "I want my life back. I want my job. My apartment. My boring little routines. I want..." Her voice cracked. "I want yesterday."

The room fell silent.

Donovan slowly rose and walked to the small refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to her before sitting back down, still studying her with a strange intensity.

"You can get yesterday back," he said softly. "But not without getting through today first."

She swallowed hard. "And today involves... what? Running forever?"

"Not forever," Donovan said. "Just long enough to expose what's on that drive."

He said it so casually-what's on that drive-as if it wasn't the only reason she was breathing right now. As if it wasn't the reason hired killers had chased her through the city.

She set the water aside and stared at the carpet.

"I still don't understand why I got it," she whispered. "Why me? Why send evidence of-of all that-" She couldn't say the words. Murder. Bribery. Laundering. It didn't feel real. "Why not send it to a journalist or an attorney? Somebody who actually knows what to do with something this dangerous?"

Donovan's jaw tightened.

"We don't know it was sent," he said after a moment. "Everyone in the building uses flash drives daily. It could've been dropped, misplaced, or handed to you because you look forgettable."

"Forgettable?" she repeated, offended and oddly relieved at the same time.

"In a good way," he said quickly. "I mean-harmless. Invisible. Nobody notices you, Kira. And right now, that's an advantage."

She pulled her knees closer to her chest.

"Except someone did notice," she whispered. "Someone knew exactly where I worked. Someone knew my name."

Donovan shifted, leaning back in the chair. "That's the part that worries me."

Her breath hitched.

"W-worries you how?"

He looked at her with a seriousness that made her stomach drop.

"Kira... those mercenaries weren't sent to recover the drive," he said. "They were sent to silence the person who held it."

She felt the blood drain from her face.

"You mean-they wanted to kill me, not just retrieve evidence?"

He nodded once.

The room suddenly felt too small. Too hot. She struggled to breathe, the air thick with fear.

"Kira," Donovan said quietly, "I need you to listen to something, and I need you to take it seriously."

She looked up, body trembling.

"You are not safe. Not at work. Not at home. Not anywhere in your old life. This isn't about the flash drive anymore-they know your face. They know your name. And they know you saw something you weren't supposed to."

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to fall apart.

"I don't want this," she said. "I didn't ask for any of this."

"I know."

He didn't try to touch her. Didn't try to comfort her physically-he seemed to sense she was too close to breaking. But his voice gentled, softened in a way that made her chest ache.

"But you're in it," he said.

Silence stretched between them.

Then Kira suddenly stiffened.

"Donovan," she whispered. "What if they followed us here? What if they're coming right now?"

Donovan exhaled. "They won't."

"You don't know that."

"Actually," he said with a faint smirk, "I do. I jammed the motel's Wi-Fi signal and cut the cameras before we entered. As far as my father's mercenaries are concerned, this building is a dead zone. Nobody checked in. Nobody exists here."

She blinked.

"You... cut the cameras?"

"Please don't ask how."

"Donovan," she whispered, "are you some kind of criminal?"

"I prefer the term 'disappointment to the family.'"

A nervous laugh escaped her. She didn't know whether to trust him, fear him, or lean on him. Maybe all three.

But she knew one thing:

He wasn't lying about the danger.

He wasn't exaggerating.

He wasn't pretending.

He was the only person standing between her and a violent death she had never imagined was possible.

And that terrified her in ways she couldn't articulate.

–––––––––

Minutes passed.

The room fell quiet again except for the hum of the broken AC unit rattling in the wall like it was about to fall out.

Kira finally lowered her feet to the floor. "I want to look at the drive again," she said weakly. "Maybe there's a clue. Something that explains who sent it."

Donovan shook his head immediately. "Not tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because you're exhausted. Your hands are shaking. You're-"

"I'm fine," she said too quickly.

"You're not," he replied calmly. "And if you look at the drive in your current state, you'll miss something important."

She opened her mouth to argue-but stopped.

He was right.

Her mind felt scrambled, foggy, fragile.

So she sank back into the bed, hugging a pillow like a shield. Not to sleep, but to keep herself from dissolving.

Donovan stood and walked to the window, peeking through the curtains with the wariness of someone who had done this a thousand times.

His entire body stiffened.

Kira's breath caught. "What? What is it?"

"Stay still," he said quietly. "Don't move."

Her heart plummeted.

Donovan lowered the curtain and turned to her, expression grave.

"Kira... someone just pulled into the parking lot."

Her pulse spiked.

"How many?"

"Three," he said. "SUV. Blacked out. No lights."

Her voice cracked. "Wh-what do we do?"

Donovan moved toward her, his voice low, steady, terrifyingly calm.

"We stay quiet," he whispered. "And we pray they're not here for you."

He didn't finish the sentence-

Because the sound hit them both at the same time.

A soft, deliberate knock on their door.

Kira's entire world froze.

Donovan's eyes snapped to hers.

And then, in a breathless whisper, he mouthed-

RUN.

The knock didn't come again.

That was what made it worse.

The silence that followed felt too intentional, too calculated-like the person outside was listening, waiting, sensing the fear on the other side of the thin motel door.

Kira's breath stuttered, her hands instinctively clutching the blanket as though it could shield her from bullets. Her pulse hammered at the base of her throat so violently she felt dizzy.

Donovan moved like he'd done this a hundred times-silent, precise, predatory. He crossed the room with fluid steps, grabbed her elbow, and guided her toward the bathroom.

"Inside. Now."

She stumbled, her knees weak but her instincts finally kicking in. This wasn't a nightmare. This wasn't paranoia.

It was happening.

She slipped into the bathroom, barely breathing, but Donovan didn't let go of the handle.

He didn't close the door.

"W-why aren't you hiding with me?" she whispered, voice cracking.

"Because someone needs to greet them," he said quietly. "And it sure as hell won't be you."

Her stomach dropped. "Don't open it."

"I won't," he murmured. "Unless they force me to."

Before she could respond, the soft sound came-a faint click from the lock outside. Not a knock. Not a voice announcing itself.

A tool.

Picking the lock.

Kira's body turned to ice.

"Oh my God," she breathed, covering her mouth.

Donovan's jaw hardened. He pushed the bathroom door mostly shut, leaving nothing but a sliver for him to see through.

"Kira," he whispered, "stay behind the tub. Keep your head down. Don't move unless I come for you."

Her heart clutched painfully. "Donovan-"

"Do it."

There was no room for argument, no space for fear to win. She ducked behind the old enamel tub, crouching low, her body folding into a trembling knot. She felt small, exposed, helpless in a way she had never known.

She had run spreadsheets, balanced budgets, color-coded files for years.

She had never run for her life.

Another click. A soft metallic snick. The door's deadbolt shifted.

They were in.

Kira pressed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from whimpering. She couldn't see them, but she heard everything-boots crossing the carpet, slow and heavy, the weight of practiced killers.

Two voices. Male. Low.

One dragged his foot slightly. The other breathed through his nose like he had a cold.

She memorized these things without meaning to.

Donovan's voice came next-calm, strategic, almost bored.

"You boys lost?"

Kira froze.

He was provoking them.

"You're in the wrong room," Donovan went on. "Unless you're here to fix the AC. In which case, you're late. And terrible at your jobs."

A sharp, cold voice cut through the room. "Donovan Hale."

He didn't reply.

"You really think you can hide from your father?" the man growled.

Donovan chuckled. "Hide? I'm right here."

Kira covered her ears, barely breathing, as another set of boots entered the room-the third man.

Three of them.

Three armed mercenaries.

Her heartbeat thrashed against her ribs so violently she thought she might pass out.

"Where is she?" another man demanded.

Kira's nails dug into her palms.

She.

They were here for her.

Not the flash drive.

Not anything else.

Her.

Donovan sighed-deep, exaggerated, mocking. "Which 'she' are we talking about? I know a lot of women."

The sound that followed was sharp-a fist connecting with flesh.

Kira's whole body jerked.

Donovan grunted but didn't fall. She knew he didn't fall because the man cursed at him again, frustrated.

"Try again," the man hissed.

Donovan spat blood onto the carpet.

"You're going to have to be more specific," he said.

"You see, the problem with being charming is the amount of women who-"

A gun cocked.

Kira buried her face in her knees. Please don't shoot him, please don't shoot him...

The cold voice growled, "The accountant. The one with the drive."

Kira wanted to disappear. Melt into the floor. Stop existing.

But Donovan's tone didn't waver. Not even a little.

"Never heard of her."

A heavy thud slammed him against the wall.

Kira flinched so hard her teeth chattered. The mercenary's voice dropped to a hiss.

"You're going to tell us where she is."

"Even if I knew," Donovan said smoothly, "you idiots couldn't handle her."

A sharp, biting crack echoed-the sound of a gun whipping across skin.

Kira squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping free. Donovan was doing this-baiting, provoking, absorbing pain-to keep them away from her.

It was working...

But her terror made her dizzy.

Suddenly another sound entered the room-violent, unexpected.

A crash.

Furniture splintering.

A grunt of pain.

Then chaos.

Kira's head snapped up. Donovan wasn't just provoking them-he was fighting. A body slammed into the television. The lamp crashed to the ground. Someone swore loudly. Two men barked orders at each other, stumbling.

Donovan growled-low, furious, dangerous.

"You should've stayed home tonight," he panted.

Gunshots exploded.

Three shots.

The bathroom mirror cracked from the sonic shock, lines fracturing across the glass like spiderwebs.

Kira clamped her hand over her mouth to stop her scream.

Dust drifted from the ceiling. The tub trembled beneath her. The room shook with violence.

Donovan yelled out-one short, sharp sound of pain.

Then-

A body hit the ground hard.

Silence.

Kira felt her soul leave her body.

No. No, no, no-

She rose to her knees, trembling, reaching toward the bathroom door.

"Donovan?" she whispered.

No answer.

Her throat tightened. She crawled across the tiled floor and pressed her ear to the door, listening for breath, footsteps, anything.

Still nothing.

Tears blurred her vision.

"S-say something," she whispered. "Please..."

Then she heard it.

A soft, strained breath on the other side.

"Kira... stay there."

She froze.

It was him.

He was alive.

Then her relief shattered-because boots dragged across the floor. One of the mercenaries was still conscious.

A cold voice rasped, "She's here. I heard her."

Kira's blood turned to ice.

Donovan swore. "Don't you touch her."

But the man was moving toward the bathroom door-stumbling, injured, but determined.

She backed up, pressing against the bathtub, terror crawling through her veins.

"Open this door," the mercenary hissed, "and I'll make it fast."

Kira trembled, staring at the thin wooden barrier that stood between her and death.

The door handle twitched.

Then twisted.

Then-

SLAM.

The door shook violently as the man threw his shoulder into it. The hinges groaned. Dust fell from the frame.

Kira screamed.

The man hit the door again, harder.

The wood splintered.

Cracks spidered near the handle.

He was nearly through.

Donovan's voice erupted, furious and sharp.

"Get AWAY from that door!"

A thud. A crash. A punch. Another struggle.

The mercenary snarled, "You can't stop me, Hale-she's as good as dead-"

More gunshots.

Three? Four?

Kira wasn't sure. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't think.

Then the entire motel room fell silent.

Utterly, terrifyingly silent.

A long, agonising moment passed.

Then another.

And another.

Kira's ears rang from the gunfire.

Her hands shook uncontrollably.

Smoke drifted under the bathroom door.

The silence stretched until it felt like it would suffocate her.

Finally-slowly-the door handle turned again.

Once.

Twice.

Someone pushed the door inward.

It opened just a crack.

Just enough to reveal-

Donovan.

Barely standing.

Bleeding from his forehead, a cut across his cheek, a bruise forming on his jaw.

Chest heaving, eyes sharp, wild, electric with adrenaline.

But alive.

He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Then he met her gaze with something fierce-something protective and overwhelming.

"Kira," he rasped, "we need to go."

She stared at him, barely whispering, "Are... are they-?"

He shook his head. "Not dead. But unconscious. And more will come."

Her knees gave out. He caught her before she hit the floor, one arm steadying her, the other gripping the doorframe as though he needed it to stay upright.

"We don't have time," he murmured, pulling her close. "We have to move. Now. Before they send backup."

She swallowed a sob. "I can't-I'm shaking-I don't know if I can-"

"You can," he said, voice low, steady, unbreakable. "Because I'm not letting you die tonight."

He helped her to her feet.

Guided her into the room.

But when she looked down- she froze.

Because on the carpet, next to the unconscious mercenary-

Was something that turned her blood cold.

A phone.

Still connected.

Still on a call.

The screen lit up with one chilling word:

"CONNECTED: H.A.L.E. SECURITY OPS – LIVE."

They had been broadcasting everything.

And now-

Chapter 6 THE FIRST THREAT

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