Stephanie didn't flinch. She already knew who it was.
She didn't need to listen. Not anymore.
She stood up, took a long, slow breath, and zipped her backpack shut. There was no hesitation in her movements—only resolve.
She didn't leave a trace.
As she stepped toward the door, she paused for a moment. Her eyes scanned the space one last time. There was warmth here. Safety. But it had come at a cost—a cost Samuel never deserved to pay.
Swallowing hard, she reached into her hoodie and pulled out a sheet of paper. Her handwriting was rushed, shaky, almost illegible. She dropped the note on the neatly folded guest bed, grabbed her bag, and quietly slipped out into the thick darkness of the city's sleeping streets.
Morning came slowly.
Samuel stirred awake in the room he shared with Simon. The sun hadn't fully risen yet. His thoughts went straight to Stephanie. Something didn't feel right.
He rubbed his eyes, puzzled. Then got up, calling her name gently.
"Stephanie?"
No answer.
He knocked on the guest room door and slowly pushed it open.
Empty.
His eyes fell to the bed where a note lay. He rushed to it, snatched it up—and froze.
Thank you for everything. —S
"What the hell…" he whispered, blinking, his chest tightening as reality set in. She was gone.
Samuel staggered back a step, ran a hand over his face, then stormed back into his room. Simon was just getting dressed, his shirt halfway on.
"Simon…" Samuel's voice trembled. "She's gone. Stephanie. She left."
Simon looked up, surprised, then sighed as he finished buttoning his shirt. "Gone? What do you mean—just like that?"
Samuel held out the note, his hands shaking. "She didn't even say why. Just this. That's all she left."
Simon read it, then looked up at his friend. "Honestly, Sam... maybe it's for the better. You know she's in over her head. Maybe she finally realized dragging you into her mess wasn't fair."
Samuel turned sharply, his jaw clenched. "You think I care about what's fair? She's in danger, Simon. You don't disappear into the night when you're safe—you run when someone's after you."
Simon paused, then gave a reluctant nod. "You really think she's in trouble again?"
"I know she is," Samuel said. "Something's wrong. Terribly wrong."
Just then—a knock at the door.
Samuel's breath caught. He didn't wait. He raced across the living room, praying it was her.
He flung the door open.
Two large men in black stood at the entrance. Broad shoulders. Sunglasses. Silent.
Samuel stiffened. "Who the hell are you?"
One of them flicked open an ID badge with sharp precision—but too fast, like a magician hiding a trick.
"We're looking for someone," the second man said flatly. "A girl. Maya Johnson. She was here."
Samuel frowned. "You've got the wrong address. There's no Maya here."
"She goes by other names," the first man added. "We need to come inside."
Samuel blocked the doorway with his body. "Not without a warrant. Who are you with?"
The man flashed the ID again.
This time, Samuel looked closer. The lamination was off. The font—wrong. The seal wasn't even aligned.
It was a fake.
"You're not with the police," Samuel said, voice low and steady. "And you're not coming in."
The second man smiled slightly—then shoved Samuel hard, sending him stumbling back into the apartment.
"Hey! Get out!" Samuel shouted, regaining his balance.
Simon, hearing the commotion, ran in from the bedroom. "What the hell's going on?!"
Before he could finish, one of the men turned and delivered a violent kick straight to Simon's midsection. Simon flew back like a ragdoll, crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground, groaning in agony.
Samuel dove to his side. "Simon!"
The two men closed in. "Where is Maya Johnson?"
"I told you, I don't know anyone by that name!" Samuel yelled.
The man closest to him grabbed him by the collar and lifted him to his feet. "Don't lie to us. She stayed here. You helped her. You're going to take us to her—or you'll both suffer."
Simon let out a pained, muffled cry, his voice strained. "Sam…"
The men dragged Samuel to a chair. One of them cracked his knuckles. "We'll ask one more time. Where is she?"
Samuel's lips bled from a punch. "The only girl who slept here… her name is Stephanie."
The men exchanged a look.
"That's the name she's using now," one of them said. "But her real name is Maya Johnson."
Samuel's mind reeled. He'd never heard that name. Maya? What else hadn't she told him?
"You have 24 hours," the man continued coldly. "Bring her to us… or face the consequences. And don't even think about involving the police."
The two men turned and left—calm, quiet, like nothing had happened.
Samuel crawled over to Simon, who was writhing in pain.
"My… ribs…" Simon gasped. "I think… something's broken."
Samuel hauled him up with every ounce of strength he had and called a cab, rushing him to the hospital before his friend passed out from the pain.
Across town, in the afternoon, Stephanie sat alone on a worn-out chair in a dusty hotel room. Her hoodie was pulled low over her face, and a burner phone sat in her trembling hands.
She stared at the missed call again. Then finally, she dialed back.
The phone rang once—twice—and then a voice picked up, desperate and breathless.
"Maya? Oh, my God—Maya, is that you?"
"I'm sorry…" Stephanie's voice cracked. "I didn't want to bring my mess to your doorstep. I had no choice. Don Jack knows where I am."
The woman on the other end inhaled sharply. "Maya, are you safe? Where are you?"
"I can't say. But it's worse than I thought. If he knows, that means they know."
There was a beat of silence. Then the woman's voice dropped into a whisper.
"You're not safe. You were never supposed to stay there this long. You need to go home."
"I know," Stephanie said. "I'm ready to return. But not yet. I need to see you. One last time."
"You sure about that?" the voice asked, hesitation heavy.
Stephanie looked out the cracked window. Her eyes glistened with guilt and fear.
"I don't think I'll ever be sure of anything again. Meet me at Parkway Suites. Room 402."
Inside the hospital, Simon lay motionless on the bed, bandaged and bruised, his breaths shallow, one side of his ribs tightly wrapped in gauze.
Samuel sat beside him, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands.
It had been hours since they arrived. Hours of waiting. Of praying. Of questioning everything he thought he knew.
A soft groan broke the silence.
Samuel looked up instantly.
Simon's eyes fluttered open, dazed. "Sam…"
"I'm here," Samuel said quickly, leaning in. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."
Simon grimaced in pain, trying to shift. "Feels like I got hit by a truck."
"Two of them," Samuel muttered bitterly. "In black suits."
Simon gave a weak chuckle, then winced. "Okay… don't make me laugh. It hurts to breathe."
Samuel hesitated before asking quietly, "Do you think… she knew?"
Simon blinked. "Knew what?"
"Who those men were. What they wanted. That they were looking for her."
Simon turned his head slightly, groaning. "You think she set us up?"
"I don't know what to think anymore," Samuel said, his voice tight. "They called her Maya. Maya Johnson. Said it was her real name."
Simon stared at the ceiling. "And you're just finding this out now?"
"I knew nothing, Simon. Nothing. She let me hold her. Sleep under my roof. I gave her everything I could, and she didn't even tell me her real name."
Simon didn't speak.
"I'm such an idiot," Samuel muttered. "She ran before they got there. She knew they were coming. And she didn't warn us. She left a note like she was going on vacation."
Simon turned his head slowly toward him. "Maybe she was protecting you, Sam."
"By disappearing? By leaving you in the hospital?"
"Look…" Simon struggled to sit up a bit, wincing. "That girl… she's been running long before she met you. From Don Jack. From her family. From herself, maybe. You tried to give her peace. But she was never going to stay."
Samuel's eyes darkened. "And now those men—whoever the hell they are—gave us 24 hours to find her. Or they'll come back."
Simon swallowed. "Then you need to decide. Are you going to run, too? Or go after her?"
Samuel didn't respond. Not right away.
He stared out the hospital window, into the city beyond.
"She's not just some random girl, Simon. She's in deeper trouble than she let on. And if those men weren't with Don Jack... then who the hell are they?"
Simon closed his eyes. "You're not walking away from this, are you?"
Samuel exhaled slowly. "Not until I know the truth."
"You mean you want to go after her?" Simon asked.
"How can I go after her when I don't even know where she is? I've called her several times. Her line is switched off."
"Samuel, please. You have to stop. You have to walk away. Enough damage has been done. You know the truth already—she's trouble. Going after her will only make it worse."
"I understand," Samuel replied. "It's my fault. I brought all of this upon us. And you're right… I have to walk away."
It didn't take long. Simon slipped back into sleep.
Samuel pulled out his phone again.
He tried Stephanie's line. It went straight to voicemail.
He tried again. Still nothing.
He took a breath, then typed a message:
I don't know who you really are, but I hope you know what you're doing. You left us bleeding. I deserve the truth. Please.