Zane

Oh! yesssss.... Right there!

The words echoed through my head as I woke up the next morning, and they kept popping up at will. I can still remember the satisfying moans that followed those words when her orgasm hit while I plunged into her. The alluring pose of her spine arched up against my hips had left me breathless. I chuckled, knowing I had more in store for her. I felt a slight tingling of emptiness as I noticed she was no longer beside me; she was gone.

The passionate feeling filled my head as I tossed off the tangled sheets that smelled like her and crawled out of bed. Ache rocked my body from the night before, but it was such a rewarding pain after all. The lush memory stayed with me as I wore my custom suit and slipped on the leather shoes. I didn't get rid of it even as I headed over to the penthouse elevator and all the way to my office wing.

Sienna. The subject of my thoughts...

She was already there when I arrived, sitting at the long glass table outside my office. Her chic-style blazer hugged her body, reminding me of how I had wrapped my arms around it hours before. She was flipping through a file like she hadn't spent the night moaning about my name. Like she hadn't fallen apart in my arms. I barely made it two steps inside before she looked up, pinning me with those hazel-knowing eyes.

"Morning, boss," she said in a light voice, but I caught the challenge beneath it, like she was daring me to acknowledge what had happened between us.

By the time I made it to my office, Sienna followed after me, and I could feel her pressing against me, threatening to crack the control I was holding onto by a thread. "Are we really going to pretend this morning didn't happen?"

I clenched my jaw, keeping my eyes on my laptop screen. "Is this you wanting more already?"

I heard her inhale sharply before she let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Wow," she muttered. "You really are an ass." I finally looked up at her. Her arms were folded under her breasts, lifting the flesh higher. Oh, Sienna, the things you do to me.

My phone buzzed, distracting me from my train of thought. I reached for it, and then everything shifted as I glanced at the screen. It was a single text from an unknown number. I scrolled down and found they had attached a photo, too. It was a shot of Sienna. Not since last night. Not from anywhere she should have been watched. But from this morning. Taken right here at my office.

My blood ran cold. I felt the shift in my expression before I heard her voice. "What?"

I looked at her. "You're being watched."

Her brows pulled together, but I could already see it. That flash of fear before she locked it down. "What do you mean?"

I turned the screen toward her, and she stiffened immediately. The photo showed her walking into the building, coffee in hand, unaware of the camera trained on her.

Then, below the image, a single message. She's not as safe as you think.

I rose to my feet, already dialing. Liam picked up the second ring. "We have a problem," I said. Someone had been watching her. I need extra security on her now."

Liam swore under his breath. "How close are they?"

"Close enough to get inside the penthouse."

"On it," Liam said, no questions, just action. "We will tighten the perimeter." I hung up, turning to Sienna. "My friends are coming. They will help keep you safe."

She shook her head, her arms crossing over her chest. "More guards? More eyes on me? I'm not some damsel in distress, Zane. I've survived this long on my own."

"And look where it got you. You need us, Sienna. "It is high time you stop acting like a brat," I shot back, trying not to lose my patience with her.

Her eyes blazed at me as she stepped closer. "I need my freedom, not a prison. You don't get to decide what's best for me."

"I know what you need, safety."

"You don't know me, Zane. You don't know what I did to keep myself safe. "You have no idea at all." Her lips parted, a flash of hurt crossing her face before she masked it.

"This is not me undermining you. This is a threat that they're watching you, Sienna. This proves it."

"And you think locking me up is the answer? You're suffocating me, Zane. I can't live like this, being controlled, waiting for the next attack."

I stepped toward her. "You don't have a choice. Not until we figure this out."

Though the angry tension between us was charged, all I could focus on was her vanilla fragrance pulling me in. I wanted to grab her right then and kiss her to erase the distance she was putting between us. But I couldn't. Not again. I turned away, my hands trembling with the effort to regain control.

"Get to your desk. "We will handle this," I said, making sure the tone conveyed authority.

She didn't move and didn't say a word. I felt her stare burning into my back for a few seconds before she turned, her heels clicking as she left the room, the door shutting with a soft thud.

I sank into my chair, holding my head in my hands, the photo of her filling my mind. The bastards were closer than I had thought, and Sienna was not safe. I needed answers to trace this back to its source. Perhaps it was time to dig deeper into Sienna.

Whatever had chased her from Baxters Corp. was going to provide a better clue to how the Carters had gotten so close. My fingers hovered over my laptop as I swiped the files for contact. When I found it, I picked up my phone and then dialed Sienna's former boss, Thompson Baxter. He had been her last employer before she landed at Atlas.

"This is Zane Calloway," I said in a gruff voice when he picked up after two rings.

"Mr. Calloway? What a pleasure."

"I need information about Sienna Carter. You worked with her. What can you tell me?"

There was a pause at his end before he broke into a laugh. "Sienna? You should stay the hell away from her, man. She's bad news. Always was, always will be."

My grip tightened on the phone. "Explain to me."

"Having you call me about her surely means she's started her trouble with you already. She's trouble, Calloway. Got me limping, for one. She took a swing at me with a club. When I tried to fire her, she said I was holding her back. Girl's got a temper, and a past she won't talk about. I heard rumors about some dangerous folks at her heels. She's either running from something or running it. Either way, she will drag you down with her."

"Oh, I see," I said. The image he was painting of her didn't fit the Sienna I knew. She was feisty, no doubt, but not violent. Or did it? Who was she, really? The victim had seen trembling in my arms, or was it the perpetrator that Thompson had just painted?

"You have a great reputation in this industry, Calloway. Do not let an ambition-hungry bitch ruin the hard work you have going for the Atlas," Thompson said, and I hung up without a word.

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Sienna had secrets, that much was clear, but Thompson's words gnawed at me. Was I wrong about her? Had I let my attraction blind me to the truth? I thought of her haunted eyes, the way she'd fought off that attacker at the alley. A victim, yes, but the mastermind? The thought twisted something inside me, and I hated that I couldn't untangle it.

֍ ֍

Liam burst through the door without knocking. He carried a laptop under one arm, his expression on edge. He didn't sit. "We've got a problem," he said as he slapped the laptop onto my desk, "A big one."

I glanced at the door, half-expecting Jason to follow. Sure enough, the door creaked open again, and there he was.

"Zane, Liam, what's this about?" Jason asked. He stood near the door, one hand on the frame, like he wasn't sure he wanted to commit to the room.

Liam didn't answer. He flipped open the laptop and lines of code scrolled past. Liam's fingers danced over the keys deliberately.

"What is it?" I asked, eyes on the green and red code lines.

"It's a Trojan," he said, not looking up. "Someone in IT let it in. Opened the gate, invited the bastard right into our system. Now they see everything our CCTV sees."

I leaned forward, the chair creaking under me. "Let it in?" I repeated. "Who did that shit?"

Liam's eyes flicked to mine, just for a second, but it was enough. Jason stepped closer into the office, "A Trojan horse? How bad is it? Are we talking about data breaches and financials? Down to our client lists?"

Liam didn't look at him. He kept typing, his fingers a blur, pulling up logs, timestamps, digital footprints that might as well have been hieroglyphs to me. "It's bad," he said.

I felt the room tilt, just a fraction, like the world had slipped off its axis. The accounts we didn't talk about, not with Jason. The ones who funded our darker operations, the ones who kept the gangs happy, the ones who kept us alive. I glanced at Jason. He was unaware of those accounts. He didn't know the cost of maintaining the machine.

"Who are they?" I asked calmly, but my hand was already reaching for the drawer where I kept the burner phone, the one that only rang when the world was about to burn.

Liam stopped typing. The silence was louder than his keystrokes had been. He turned the laptop toward me, the screen displaying a name and a user ID that had logged in minutes before the cryptic message from the unknown number.

"Martinez as Tommy Martinez, IT rookie?" I asked in disbelief. Tommy was the kind of kid who wore hoodies to work and thought he was untouchable because he could code. I had seen him in the break room, always with his earbuds in, nodding to music no one else could hear. Harmless. Or so I'd thought.

"Yes, that Tommy," Liam said, "He's the one who opened the door. Left a backdoor wide open for the Trojan to slip through. Logs show he accessed the system at 3 a.m. last night, way outside his shift."

Jason pushed his glasses up his nose. "Tommy? The kid with the skateboard? Why would he-"

"Doesn't matter why," I cut in. I stood, the chair scraping behind me, and crossed to the window. I could feel Liam's eyes on my back. "We need to talk to him. Now."

"Okay," Jason said, and left the office. Liam pushed back his seat and was about to step out when I stopped him.

"Wait a second" I said, nodding my head as a wicked idea crossed my mind.

"What?" Liam asked impatiently.

"Since we have our mark and know these fools are watching us, how about we give them a show of their lifetime? We wouldn't kill the movie but use it to get to them."

"I am lost, Zane. What are you planning?"

"Oh, Liam, we will use their style against them. They will see us coming, but will have zero idea when we will strike."

"Oh Zane... I think Damian and the others will love this one."

"Sure. It is time to meet in, the lounge."

"How about the chic PA?" Liam asked, glancing over to Sienna's wing.

"She will come with us, with Jason covering up as usual, only that he wouldn't be her only security. We are booking the entire space anonymously. "The patrons will be our men in disguise," I said with a deep grin.

"Texting the boys on the secret line," Liam said, tapping away at his phone.

I reached for mine, I glanced towards the glass partition towards Sienna's corner, and saw her with a friend. I texted her about coming to the lounge with me and the boys. There was no way I would leave her out by herself. For the plan to work, I needed to have her close in case the cartel plans didn't work.

When the text was delivered to her phone, she glanced my way briefly, then focused her attention on her friend again. I sighed, letting my head process the big plan for the evening. It was time to take back control.

Sienna.

"Get to your desk. We will handle this."

I mimicked Zane's orders under my breath, not hiding my disgust at the nerve he had shown, commanding me around like I was a child. I hated not being in control of my decisions as badly as I wanted to be rid of the men after me. The sick bastards watching my every move.

The door to Zane's office clicked shut behind me when I stepped off the sensors. I stood in the hallway feeling light-headed. I pressed a shaky hand against the cool wall to steady myself. I let out air through my mouth in wide puffs. I repeated the act a few more times, until the panic attack had passed, and I felt a grip on myself. I wanted to storm back in, scream at him that I would rather take my chances out there than be caged with him. But I didn't. I couldn't, because deep down, I knew he was right. He was the only one who could keep me safe. Somehow, the cartel was on my trail again. I had not been careful enough, as my father had asked of me. They must have caught my careless slips, and now I have to face the consequences of my actions.

Out of habit, my fingers twisted the locket at my neck. I was not some mastermind pulling the strings of the messy events I have had to endure for five years. I was a survivor, carrying the scars he would never imagine. My mind drifted to another man who had looked at me with that same desire to protect me. Ian Baldwin. My first love. The memory of my past hit me hard, pulling me once again to a time when I had just turned twenty, the cold night my world took another turn.

֍ flashback ֍

I stood on the side of a highway, my backpack slung over one shoulder. My heart had not stopped racing from the memory of that night while the flames swallowed our manor. I had been running for weeks, sleeping in bus stations, stealing food from unsuspecting stores.

The rumble of bikes grew louder and from the sound of their honks, I knew it was a pack of them. I should have hidden in the scrub brush, but I was too weak to move. They slowed as they passed, and my eyes caught their leather vests gleaming as they stared at me with curiosity. One of them pulled over and hopped off his bike and stepped closer to me.

"You look like you could use a ride," he said. He was older, maybe his late twenties. His voice felt dangerous in a way that made my pulse skip. "Name's Ian."

I hesitated, my thumb brushing the locket hidden under my shirt. My father's last words echoed through my mind. Trust no one

. But I was starving, and the road was endless. "Sienna," I said, the lie slipping out easy. I had stopped using my real name the day I ran.

Ian grinned, nodding his head toward the bike. "Hop on, Sienna. We're headed to Wyoming. Got room for one more."

I climbed on, my arms wrapping around his waist, the leather of his vest cool against my skin. The bike roared to life, and we sped off, the wind tearing through my hair. For the first time since that night, I felt something close to free. And that was how the biker gang of six guys, two women, took me in like I was one of their own. They called themselves the wild eye, a name that felt fitting for the way they lived wildly, and untamed.

Ian kept me close, his eyes lingering too long, his hand brushing mine when he passed me a beer. I didn't mind. He was a distraction and my protector and I needed both. He taught me how to pick a lock, how to spot a mark and blend into a crowd. The Wild eyes were petty thieves, shoplifting from gas stations, lifting wallets in crowded bars. I learned fast, my hands steady, my guilt buried deep. It was better than starving.

Ian and I fell into what was a reckless love. He would pull me onto his lap by the fire, his lips hot against my neck, whispering promises he swore to keep. I let him, because his touch drowned out the screams in my head, because his arms felt like safety, even if I knew they weren't. Because, despite the freedom, I knew the cartel was never far behind.

I had caught glimpses of men in dark jackets watching from across the street, a car trailing us too closely. When I pointed this out to Ian, he laughed it off and called me paranoid, but I knew better. They were hunting me, and I was a fool for thinking I could outrun them.

It all came crashing down at a mall in Cheyenne. Ian and I had gone to lift some cash from a department store. Our usual game was to flirt around, distracting the attendants, then steal. I was charming the cashier, my smile fake but effective, while Ian slipped behind the counter. But then I saw them enter, two men in suits, their dangerous eyes scanning the shoppers. My stomach dropped. I knew that look. I saw it the night my parents died.

"Ian," I hissed, grabbing his arm. "We need to go. Now."

He frowned, glancing over his shoulder. "What's got you spooked, babe?"

I didn't answer, just pulled him toward the exit, my heart pounding. But they were already moving, cutting through the crowd like sharks. I ducked into the women's restroom, shoving Ian toward the stalls. "Hide," I whispered. "They're here."

"Check the vents. You should be able to crawl through to the other end." He cursed, his boots scuffing the tile. I locked myself in a stall, my breath shallow as my trembling hands clutched my locket. The door to the restroom creaked open cautiously slowly and I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. Heavy footsteps echoed, stopping just outside my stall.

"Come out, little girl," a voice said. "We know you're here."

I didn't move, didn't breathe. Ian was silent in the next stall. The man kicked the door, and I stifled a scream. Another voice joined the first. "We have your boo."

My eyes darted upward to the vent above the stall was loose, just wide enough for me to squeeze through. I stood on the WC, my fingers shaking as I pried it open, the metal scraping against my skin. The men were arguing now, their voices muffled as they searched the other stalls. I hoisted myself up and crawled into the dark vent.

I moved as fast as I could, the metal cold against my palms. Behind me, I heard a crash, Ian's stall door giving way. He shouted, a sound of defiance cut short by a sickening thud. I froze, my heart in my throat, tears burning my eyes.

"Where's the girl?" the first man growled.

Ian gasped. "I don't know, fuck, let me go!"

I kept crawling, my body shaking with guilt. I should have gone back, but I was a coward. I shook off the feeling and continued to crawl through the vent. It sloped downward, leading to a service corridor.

Then I heard a single gunshot and that stopped my world for a split second. Ian. I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling a sob while my body curled in on itself in the tight space. Just like my parents, Ian was gone too. Because I had brought this curse with me, everyone who got close, tended to get killed.

I didn't know how long I was staying there, trembling as the echo of that shot rang in my ears. Eventually, I crawled out, dropping into a dimly lit corridor, my legs barely holding me up. I ran out the back exit, into the cold night. I looked up to the sky to watch the stars mocking me with their indifference as they shone brightly. I didn't stop running until I was miles away and just like the night my parents had died, I was hitchhiking to the next town, and my next life.

֍ ֍

"Excuse me, Miss Carter"

The words pulled me out of my head. I hastily snapped out of the memory of my haunting past, pulling myself back to Zane's hallway. I turned around to face the direction of the voice with a smile ready. "Yes Kate?" I said, reading the name tag on the lady's white T-shirt smartly tucked into a blue pant.

"I have been to your office out back after trying to reach you via the intercom," Kate said, eyeing me curtly.

"Oh, my bad. Sorry about that. "What is it?" I raised a brow in response.

"You have a guest in the lobby..."

My heart started to pound, but I swallowed, calming my nerves that were starting to act up. "Who is it?"

"Kate's tone came off with an edge, "Says her name's Belinda Adams. She's not scheduled for your appointment and Mr. Calloway's."

I sighed a relief at once, nodding my head. "Sure please. She is my friend. Thank you."

"Alright," the lady said, walking away.

I smoothed my pants as I checked my reflection in the glass partition. I glanced into the office and noticed Zane was on the phone. I walked away from his door to my corner.

"Belinda Adams" I smiled, remembering how we had bonded while I was on the run years back.

Sienna,

֍ flashback ֍

I had been sitting on a cracked plastic bench while my eyes darting to every shadow at the smelly bus station when my eyes caught it. The faded flyer was taped to the lamppost for a Volunteer Unit with Food and Shelter pecks. I tore it down and followed the address to the rundown community center on the edge of town. The volunteer unit was a patchwork of do-gooders and drifters, run by a Sister Margaret McCain, a missionary.

While I waited for my turn to be interviewed by the matron in charge, the previous night's event of Ian's scream still echoed in my ears, just like my parents. At twenty, I had the guilt of witnessing three people die, and it had left me soulless. Maybe I couldn't help my parents, but I could have helped Ian by crawling out. Without a second thought, I had left him to die in that mall restroom just to save my own skin while his blood stained the tiles. The guilt ate me up from the insides, numbing me to the hunger gnawing at my stomach and the fear that the cartel was a step behind me.

I had ditched Wyoming that night and after an hour at the bus station I had my hair tucked under a stolen baseball cap and a hoodie that hid my locket. If Ian was there, he would have been proud of me for putting my skills to work. I couldn't go back to pick-pocketing now that the bikers were no longer there to guide me through or could I apply for odd jobs and anything that required an ID, that would lead the cartel straight to me. I needed to disappear just as my father had warned.

When it was finally my turn, I was told the unit fed the homeless, handed out blankets, and offered cots in a drafty gymnasium for those willing to work. I signed up as Sarah Goldberg, a name I plucked from thin air, claiming I'd lost my ID in a fire. The kind Sister's eyes narrowed, but she didn't press further to my relief. "God sees the truth," she said, handing me an apron. "Work hard, and you will find peace."

I had nodded like a naïve homeless person she thought I was. Even though I knew that the peace she promised was a lie, yet the food and a bed were real. I kept my head down, washing dishes, sorting donations, avoiding eye contact. The other volunteers were a mix of college kids earning service hours, recovering addicts looking for redemption, and people like me, hiding from something. I steered clear of their stories, knowing that was a luxury I couldn't afford.

Belinda Adams joined the unit a week later. She was my age, maybe a year older, with a sharp wit and a laugh that could fill a room, her braided hair swinging as she hauled boxes of canned goods. She had this way of seeing people like she could spot the cracks we all tried to hide. I didn't want to be seen, but she didn't care. She had plopped down beside me during breaks, offering half her granola bar, talking about her dreams of moving to Los Angeles, finding a job in a fancy company. I would nod, giving her nothing, but she kept coming back, like she knew I needed her more than I had admitted.

I had kept away from trouble until one evening, about a year into my stay. I was taking the donation box to the office when my eyes caught a spooky-looking man loitering outside the center that morning, and instantly I knew that the cartel had found me again. Panic had been my shadow all day, whispering that I needed to run.

I held the donation box in my shaking hands, wondering what I was going to do. The center had over a hundred people on site and I couldn't bring them to their death. I glanced down at the wooden donation box, improvising my escape. It was padlocked, yet stuffed with crumpled bills and coins from locals who thought their spare change could save the world. It was nothing Ian and the gang hadn't taught me to pick.

I glanced over my shoulder, my pulse racing, then slipped a bent paperclip from my pocket. The foyer was empty since the other volunteers in the kitchen were prepping dinner. Ian had taught me how to pick locks, his hands guiding mine in a Wyoming motel room, his laugh warm against my ear. I flinched at the memory while I worked the clip into the padlock. It clicked open, and I lifted the lid, my fingers snatching a handful of the crumpled twenty-dollar bills.

"Sarah?"

I froze, the bills crumpling in my fist, my heart slamming against my ribs. Belinda stood in the doorway, her eyes wide in accusation. I dropped the money back into the box, slamming the lid shut, my face burning with shame.

"I didn't see anything," she said quickly, stepping closer, "But you need to be careful. The sisters here have got eyes like a hawk."

I stared at her in shock. "Why aren't you ratting me out?"

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Because I have been where you are. Running from something, stealing to survive. You don't strike me as a thief, Sarah. You're just... scared."

I wanted to deny her word and to tell her she didn't know me, but I couldn't. She saw me, and it terrified me. "Don't say anything," I whispered.

She nodded, her eyes softening. "I won't. But you owe me one, okay?"

I didn't get a chance to answer her as Sister Margaret's voice cut through the foyer. "Girls! What's going on here?"

Belinda turned to her, smiling brightly. "Just chatting, Sister. Sarah was just helping me with the donation box, checking if it was full."

Sister Margaret's eyes narrowed, her gaze flicking to the box, then to me. I stood frozen, my hands shoved into my pockets, the paperclip burning against my palm. "It's been tampered with," she said.

My stomach dropped, but Belinda didn't flinch. "Must have dropped outside," she said.

Sister Margaret didn't look convinced, but she didn't press. "This is not over. Let's get to the kitchen"

I followed her back to the kitchen, my head down, guilt twisting in my gut. Belinda stayed quiet, her shoulder brushing mine in silent support. That night, we lay on our cots in the gymnasium, but I couldn't stop staring at the ceiling and thinking of how she had protected me. Her loyalty made me feel safe.

She didn't owe me anything, but she'd protected me, just like Ian and my parents had. And like Ian, she would have to pay for it. I couldn't have her die either. Right there, I planned my escape from the volunteer, and it had to be the next day without saying goodbye to any of them. I couldn't anyway. Goodbyes were for people who stayed, and I was a curse, always having to run from my past.

While we went about the morning devotion the next morning, I trailed behind, calculating my escape. Belinda walked beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, her silence louder than any words. I couldn't look at her. She had seen me as the thief I had become, and I didn't deserve her loyalty.

We reached the narrow hallway leading to the dorms, but Belinda grabbed my arm, pulling me into a shadowed alcove beside a bulletin board. Her grip was as firm as her eyes blazing into mine and I braced myself for the accusations I had been dodging since the foyer.

"Spill it, Sarah. Why do you need it?"

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes, my hands fisting at my sides. "You wouldn't understand. I have to run from here Belinda."

"Then make me," she said, her arms crossed. "You're not leaving until you tell me what's going on. Who are you running from?"

I laughed and slid down the floor as my knees gave out. "You don't want my story, Belinda. It's a mess."

She crouched in front of me, her eyes level with mine. "Try me."

I looked at her hazel eyes and saw something I hadn't expected. It reeked of pain. She wasn't just some do-gooder volunteer. She was also carrying something heavy beneath the happy girl facade. And maybe that was why I felt she could be trusted.

"My parents were murdered," I said, "Three years ago. I was there, hiding in the attic when they arrived. These men with guns. They wanted something my father had. I don't even know what. They shot my mom, and then my father, and burned our house to the ground. I ran, and I didn't stop."

Her breath hitched, but she didn't interrupt, just sat there, listening as I told her about meeting Ian and our escapades with the other bikers. My voice broke as I described the gunshot in the restroom that killed him. I told her about my guilt and fear as the reason I had been looking over my shoulder.

"They're still after me," I whispered, my fingers clutching the locket but leaving that out of my confession. "Belinda, I stole the money because I needed to run again. I saw a man outside this morning, watching me. I can't stay here, Belinda. I can't. These people are really dangerous, and they don't mind burning this place down to get to me."

Tears streamed down my face and I buried my head in my hands. I waited for her to walk away or get Sister Margaret alerted, but instead, I felt her warm arms around me, pulling me into a hug. It felt like home.

"I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve that. None of it," she said, patting my back gently.

I clung to her, my sobs muffled against her shoulder, the first time I had let myself break since Ian's death. She held me until my tears slowed.

"You're not alone anymore, you've got me now." She said,

I shook my head, wiping my face. "You don't want to get mixed up with me, Belinda. I'm a curse. Everyone who gets close..."

"Stop," she cut me off, her hand squeezing mine. "You're not a curse but a survivor. And I'm not going anywhere."

I stared at her, my heart aching with something I hadn't felt in years. It was hope. "Why are you doing this? You don't owe me anything."

She exhaled, her gaze dropping to the floor, her fingers tracing the edge of her sleeve. "Because I know what it's like to lose everything," she said.

"My parents died six months ago in a car accident. Left me enough money to start over, but no amount of cash fills that hole, you know? I came here to figure out who I am without them. And then I saw you, trying so hard to be invisible, and I couldn't look away."

"I'm sorry about your parents," I said, noticing how our world may have been different, yet we carry the same emptiness.

She nodded, "Thanks. And I'm sorry about yours. About Ian. But you're not running alone anymore, okay? We will figure this out together. How about we start by knowing your real name?"

"Sienna" I said, not bothering to be careful at that moment.

"Nice to know, Sienna" She winked at me.

I didn't know what to say, so I just squeezed her hand. "Let's clean up before Sister Margaret comes sniffing around. And next time you need money, ask me. I have got enough to share."

I laughed, for the first time since that night in the safe house, I felt like I wasn't alone, like I could breathe without looking over my shoulder.

֍ ֍

The door creaking open pulled me out of my thoughts seconds before Belinda's delightful squeaks reached my ears and I jumped out of my seat, running straight into my friend's arms. "Oh Belinda!" I said, blinking back the teary memory of our friendship brought to my eyes.