They left the ranger station just after midnight, long before the sun could rise on their trail.
The road they took was unmarked—more a memory than a path—cutting through trees so thick, the headlights caught nothing but branches. Elena drove while Liam pored over the files Keller had given them, his face set in lines of grim focus.
"His real name's not what I thought," Liam muttered, tapping the screen. "Goes by Mason Trask now. Military background, dishonorably discharged. Became muscle for hire, then freelance. Someone's paying him a lot to keep tabs on you."
"Someone?" Elena's voice tightened. "You mean—"
Liam looked up. "I mean we might not be dealing with one monster. We might be dealing with a network."
Elena's fingers gripped the wheel. "Then we burn it down."
—
They arrived at a small town just outside the city—sleepy, forgettable. The kind of place no one asked questions. Liam guided them to an old laundromat with a busted neon sign and no working security cameras.
Inside, behind a false panel in the manager's office, was a secure line. A favor from a friend of a friend. Liam dialed.
It rang once. Twice.
A woman's voice answered: "Say the name."
Liam's jaw twitched. "Ronan."
Silence.
Then: "Goddamn. Thought you were dead."
"Not yet."
She gave them a location—an abandoned post office on the edge of industrial district—and instructions. "One shot at this. You spook them, and you're both ghosts."
—
That night, Elena and Liam watched from a rooftop across from the post office. Rain threatened again, a low growl in the sky.
Below, figures moved—men in black coats with earpieces, guns under their jackets. One of them lit a cigarette, revealing his face.
Elena's breath caught. "That's him."
Mason Trask. Leaner than she remembered, more tired. But the eyes were the same—cold and clinical.
Liam handed her an earpiece. "You ready?"
She nodded. "Let's light the signal."
He hit a button on his phone. Down below, an SUV in the lot burst into flames—just as planned. Panic erupted. Shouts. Guns drawn.
While the chaos unfolded, Liam and Elena moved—fast, quiet, through a side entrance. Their goal wasn't Trask.
It was the laptop on the desk.
The proof.
The names.
—
They were nearly out when Trask stepped into the hall, gun raised.
"Well, well," he drawled. "The little runaway. And the soldier-boy."
Elena didn't flinch. "This ends now."
"You don't get to decide that."
"No," Liam said quietly, stepping forward. "I do."
One heartbeat.
Two.
Gunfire shattered the silence.
Trask dropped, a dart lodged in his neck. Tranquilizer. Liam had lied when he said he only brought bullets.
They didn't wait for backup. They ran.
—
By dawn, they were miles away. The laptop sat between them in the back of a stolen sedan, humming softly.
Elena opened it.
Names, photos, account numbers.
Trafficking, coercion, intelligence leaks. A network that had tried to erase her, and nearly buried Liam with her.
She looked at him, trembling but steady.
"We're not just running anymore," she said. "We're exposing them."
Liam nodded. "This is war now."
And in the rearview mirror, smoke still rose from the city behind them.
They didn't speak for the first hour on the road.
Elena kept her eyes on the trees blurring past, jaw clenched tight. Liam drove with a steady grip, his knuckles white on the wheel. The laptop sat on her lap, silent and dangerous—a bomb made of truth.
Finally, when they were deep in the forest again and the signal on their phones had long died, Liam pulled off into a dirt trail no wider than the car. It led to a small, abandoned lookout station—one of many he'd marked on a digital map long before he ever met her.
He killed the engine.
Silence fell like snow.
Elena stepped out, stretched, and leaned against the hood. "Do you think he saw my face?"
Liam didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was low. "He saw both of us."
She nodded. "Then we're out of time."
Inside the shelter, they sat close—knees touching on the floor while the laptop glowed between them. It felt surreal. After all the hiding, the running, the fear… they were holding evidence that could shatter something big.
Elena clicked through folders: surveillance photos, transcripts, payoffs, names.
Her own photo appeared.
She froze.
It was dated two weeks before she ran.
Her address. Her schedule. The name she thought no one knew.
She turned to Liam. "Did you know about this?"
"No," he said immediately. Then softer: "But I should've guessed how deep this went."
"You said you didn't know why they were after me."
"I didn't—not the whole picture. I thought it was just Trask." He rubbed his eyes, then met hers. "This is bigger than I imagined."
A long pause passed between them.
She reached out without thinking, her hand brushing his. "We can't go to the police with this."
"No." His hand turned under hers, their fingers lacing. "But I know someone we can go to."
He leaned back against the wall. She stayed close.
"Tell me something true," she whispered, eyes on the ceiling.
Liam looked over. "I used to be someone else. Before everything. Before Ronan. I had a name I don't use anymore."
"Tell me it."
He hesitated.
"Matthew," he said finally. "Matthew Liam Rourke. But Liam's the name that stuck."
She smiled a little. "Liam suits you better."
A beat passed.
"Your turn," he said.
Elena swallowed. "My real last name isn't Bennett. It's Sorrano."
His eyes flicked to her. "The whistleblower case?"
She nodded.
"I thought you disappeared after the trial."
"I did." She met his gaze. "But apparently not well enough."
He reached for her hand again. "We disappear together now."
And for once, that thought didn't scare her.
It comforted her.
—
Outside, the forest whispered. Inside, two fugitives lay on a floor littered with secrets and slept for the first time without fear—if only for a few hours.
Because tomorrow, the real war would begin.