Steam curled through the bathroom, fogging the glass panels and coating the tiles in a thin sheen. The soft hum of the heater filled the silence as warm water cascaded over Lira's skin. She stood beneath the showerhead, eyes closed, letting the heat ease the ache in her limbs and the weight pressing on her chest.
When she was done, she wrapped a towel around herself, grabbed her clothes, and made her way to the locker room. She then changed into her white tank top and black pants. The tank fit snugly, outlining the lean muscle she'd built over the years. Her biceps flexed slightly as she ran a towel through her damp hair, drying the waves as best she could. Her black leather jacket hung on one arm, ready to throw on.
When she stepped into the corridor, Elias was already waiting, leaning against the wall near the lockers. His light brown hair was still slightly damp, tousled in a way that looked both careless and annoyingly good. He wore a plain white T-shirt, the fabric clinging just enough to hint his frame.
His gaze landed on her.
For a moment, his mind flickered back—back to the first time he saw her. She'd been smaller then, thinner, almost fragile. All soft edges and wide, uncertain eyes. But that image vanished just as fast. Now, standing in front of him, she was quite mature. Her presence was solid. Yet she still had that look in her eyes… that part of her still hadn't faded.
His eyes lingered, just briefly, on the long, damp strands of her wavy hair clinging to her collarbone.
"What?" she asked, arching a brow.
"I'm starving," he said casually.
She tilted her head. "Yeah… actually me too."
"Alright then—my treat," he added, gesturing toward the exit.
"The usual place?"
He nodded. "Let's go," as he turns toward the door.
From a distance, they looked like a couple—matching outfits, casual, effortless, like it had always been that way.
Outside, the night air was cool and clear. They walked side by side toward the lot where their motorcycles were parked, standing quietly under the glow of the streetlights.
Lira pulled on her leather jacket, the fit snug around her shoulders, then swung a leg over her bike. Just as she was gripping the handlebars, Elias called out, "Wait."
She turned—and he was already beside her. A helmet was placed gently over her head.
"You always forget this," he said, adjusting the strap with a sigh. "Safety first."
She blinked at him, flustered, but masked it quickly with a grin "Oops. The last to reach pays."
Without waiting, she revved her engine and sped off, her laughter trailing behind.
Elias stared after her, dumbfounded. "I literally just said I'd pay…"
He climbed onto his larger black motorcycle, pulled his helmet on, and shook his head. "She never listens..."
Beneath the visor, a smile tugged at his lips.
And with a deep growl of his engine, he chased after her—vanishing into the night.
On the other side of the city, far from the glow of streetlights and neon signs, a man stood in the center of a dark, hollow room. His black hair was slicked back, his sharp black suit a stark contrast to the grime-clad walls. A single harsh light was directed straight at a man chained to a chair, casting a cold, stark glow over the space.
The captive's face was hidden beneath a coarse black fabric hood. Chains rattled softly as he shifted, his breaths ragged beneath the suffocating darkness and the relentless beam above. The man in the suit's cold, obsidian eyes never left the blurred figure beneath the harsh light. In his gloved hand, he held a worn, creased file — filled with information, and a photograph of the very man chained before him.
Suddenly, the captive broke the silence.
"I- I've told you everything I know," the chained man rasped, voice thick with fear and desperation. "I don't know where it is…"
The man in the suit said nothing. He remained perfectly unmoving — calm. Deadly.
"Hmm…" he finally murmured, his tone disturbingly casual.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek black phone, its screen casting a faint glow across the shadowed room. For a moment, silence hung heavy — thick, oppressive — broken only by the sharp beep as he dialed.
Without shifting his gaze, his eyes stayed fixed on the man —
The call connected.
"Helooow? helloow ? came a small voice through the speaker — innocent, unsure.
Beneath the hood, the captive's body twitched.
A pause.
Then, panic.
He ended the call abruptly, slipping the phone back into his pocket before the captive could speak. The man writhed violently in the chair, chains clanking as desperation boiled over into raw fury.
"No—no, don't! Please, not her! You don't have to do this!" His voice cracked, torn between anger and pleading.
"Leave my family out of this. Monster!" he spat, trembling with rage.
But the man in the suit remained unmoved, his voice cold and steady.
"You have a three-year-old daughter. And a wife who picks her up at exactly 4:15 PM. Same car, same route, every weekday. It's almost… routine."
A strangled, bitter cry rasped from beneath the hood.
"You bastard! I told you everything! You have to believe me!"
"But not the first time I asked." He stepped closer, crouching beside the man. "You hesitated. Lied. Twice." The captive could feel the cold weight of his presence pressing down like a shadow tightening around his throat.
"I really don't know where it is," the captive gasped, voice shaky and edged with panic. He swallowed hard, struggling to keep the terror from breaking through — but it was there, thick and raw beneath the surface.
The man in the suit straightened slowly, exhaling like a cold wind brushing off his jacket. The room seemed to grow colder — more final.
"Well," he said, voice smooth as silk but sharp as a knife, "you should've started with the truth."
Without another word, he turned and strode away, footsteps echoing coldly in the silence.
"No—don't leave me!" A raw, fractured howl tore through the stillness — "Aaaaah!" — echoing off the cold concrete walls, a desperate sound swallowed by darkness.
But the man in the suit never looked back. He stepped out, the heavy door sliding shut behind him with a final clang. Outside, the sharp cry was swallowed by the steady rhythm of waves and the whispering wind.
The faint scent of salt hung in the air — revealing they were far from shore, in the middle of the sea. The room he'd left was nothing more than a cold, hollow container aboard a private ship.
He moved toward the ship's railing, the cold sea breeze tugging at his suit jacket. The dark horizon stretched endlessly before him, a seamless blend of ocean and sky.
From his pocket, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a quiet flick of his lighter, and took a slow drag. Smoke curled upward, vanishing into the mist that clung to the night air.
He exhaled, eyes fixed on the nothingness ahead.
"I miss you. Still."
The words hung in the cold air, unanswered—like they always were.