Hotel Malakai loomed above Zina like a silent predator pristine, polished, and soaked in too many secrets. The same hotel her father had stayed in the night before he died. The same hotel that claimed their security cameras "malfunctioned."
She stood at the marble steps and took a breath that didn't reach her lungs.
10:02 AM.
Late. Not by much but she wanted to see if he would wait.
The doorman greeted her with that same polished smile that made her skin crawl. "Welcome back, Miss Dalhatu."
She froze. Welcome back?
"I... haven't been here before."
The man tilted his head, still smiling. "Of course, ma'am."
She walked past him, heart pounding.
SUIT 509
The elevator dinged open. Each floor passed in cold silence. She half expected the doors to open into a trap.
But when they did, it was quiet. Normal. Chilling.
She knocked once.
The door opened almost immediately and there he was.
Aurelian Royce.
Still immaculate in a dark charcoal suit. No tie today. Just a black shirt with the top two buttons open calculated casual. Dangerous charm.
"You came," he said.
"I'm not here for breakfast," she said flatly. "Let's talk."
The suite was massive. Too clean. Sterile. Like someone had wiped every memory out of it. Except for the one thing he left out intentionally the hotel room key card that belonged to her father.
"You kept it?" she asked.
Aurelian nodded. "They didn't even know it fell. Your father dropped it during our last conversation."
Zina's spine stiffened. "So you were the last person to see him alive?"
"Yes," he said. "But I wasn't the one who killed him."
She picked up the key card slowly. It still had her father's initials scratched onto the back. I.D. Ibrahim Dalhatu. Her throat burned.
"Talk," she said. "Now."
Aurelian walked to the window, his silhouette cutting through the morning sun. "Your father was closing in on something dangerous. Not just local corruption global laundering networks. Black Ember Corp was just a mask. Behind it are people who don't have names. Only power."
He turned to her. "I tried to warn him. I begged him to back down."
"And when he didn't?" she asked bitterly.
"I offered to help him disappear. He refused. Said he couldn't run while the truth was still buried."
Zina looked down at the card again. "Then what happened that night?"
Aurelian's voice dropped. "He left this hotel alive. He called a contact to leak the documents. But he never made it. Someone intercepted him. Someone close."
A memory crashed into her like a wave.
She was nine, sitting cross-legged in her father's study while Senator Gambo laughed heartily over a chessboard. He had brought her chocolate, called her "my little justice queen," and taught her how the knight moves in an L-shape.
"Power isn't in how many people you defeat," he had told her, lifting a rook,
"It's how silently you remove those who stand in your way."
She had giggled then.
But now, that memory felt like a warning disguised as warmth.
"You're saying he was involved?" she asked quietly.
"I'm saying your father trusted the wrong friend," Aurelian replied. "And it cost him his life."
Zina clenched her fists. Senator Gambo had been her father's political ally and her childhood godfather.
"You're not giving me proof. You're giving me pain," she said.
"I'm giving you motive," he replied. "Now give me your legal mind. We'll need it."
A knock interrupted them.
Zina glanced at Aurelian.
"I wasn't expecting anyone," he said cautiously.
She reached into her bag and pulled out her mini recorder not a gun, but almost as deadly.
Aurelian peered through the peephole and stiffened. "Room service. But… I didn't order anything."
"Let them in," Zina said coolly.
The door opened. A cart was rolled in. Silver domes, polished dishes, untouched food.
The waiter didn't speak. Just nodded and backed out, head low.
Too low.
Zina's eyes narrowed. "Something's off."
She lifted the lid off one of the plates instead of food, there was a burner phone, vibrating silently.
One message.
"YOU HAVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT TO DROP THE CASE OR JOIN HIM."
Aurelian stepped beside her. "They're watching us now."
Zina pocketed the phone, her pulse wild but her voice calm. "Still think you can keep me safe?"
He met her gaze. "No. But I can fight beside you."
There was a beat of silence between them the kind that doesn't ask permission, just lingers. Zina saw something human in him then. Not just a fixer or an informant. A man with blood on his hands and a war in his eyes.
Her voice softened just slightly. "If I fall, don't run."
"I won't," he said. "Not from this. Not from you."
Zina walked toward the window, her reflection staring back at her with quiet fury.
This wasn't about survival anymore.
It was about war.
And she was done being hunted.