The news came with no warning.
No knock.No letter.No voice on the phone.
Just a text.
From an unknown number.
"You should've signed the contract. Your sister's debt just came due."
Aara stared at the screen, hands still sticky from tape glue.
Her body was still sore from the fight with Vega.
Her voice still hoarse from the speech.
But none of that compared to the acid in her throat now.
Ayin.
She hadn't spoken to her in weeks.Their last conversation ended in yelling, slammed doors, and a stolen wallet.
Ayin had vanished.
Run off like she always did.
And Aara hadn't gone looking.
Because she thought — maybe hoped — that not caring would finally hurt less.
But Rae knew better.
He always did.
The address came next.
A warehouse.
Not Rae's usual location.
Too public.
Too exposed.
Which meant it wasn't a message.
It was bait.
Haru was already behind her, reading over her shoulder.
"It's a trap."
"I know."
"We don't go in blind."
Aara stood up.
"We don't go in quiet either."
Thirty minutes later.
They arrived on foot. No car. No backup.
Just a phone on silent and a blade taped under Aara's hoodie.
The warehouse was barely lit — flickering lights, rotting wood, heavy metal doors that hadn't been oiled in years.
Inside?
Empty.
Except for a single chair.
And a girl tied to it.
Ayin.
Bruised. Conscious. Pissed off.
Classic.
"Took you long enough," she snapped when Aara approached.
"You're welcome."
"I had it under control."
"You're tied to a chair."
"I was waiting for my chance."
"To what? Bleed slower?"
Haru checked the perimeter while they argued.
But Aara's attention stayed locked on her sister —on the split lip, the cut above her eye, the bruises that didn't look like accidents.
"What did you do?"
Ayin smirked.Even half-unconscious, she never knew when to stop.
"Borrowed from the wrong guy."
"You borrowed from Rae?"
"I borrowed from someone who works for Rae. I didn't know—"
"Of course you didn't."
"You think I asked to be kidnapped?"
"I think you've been asking for it your entire life."
Silence.
Sharp. Heavy.
Too familiar.
Haru broke it.
"We need to move. This place is wired."
"Explosives?"
"Cameras."
Aara cut the ropes, helped Ayin to her feet.
The girl hissed but didn't collapse.
Still had her pride, even if she'd nearly traded it for a quick fix.
Aara didn't look at her again.
Didn't say anything.
Because if she did, she might never stop.
Back at the apartment.
Ayin crashed on the couch. Didn't thank them. Didn't speak.
Just passed out.
Haru leaned in the hallway.
"You okay?"
Aara didn't look at him.
"She's alive."
"That's not what I asked."
"No," she said. "I'm not okay."
"You want to break something?"
"I want to end something."
That night, she didn't sleep.
She mapped out every warehouse tied to Rae Jin's network.
Cross-referenced names. Schedules. Patterns.
Haru watched her like a fuse watching a flame.
"You're planning something stupid."
"I'm planning something inevitable."
"You're not thinking clearly."
"I'm thinking honestly."
He crossed the room.
Voice low now.
"Let me go instead."
She looked at him.
Eyes bloodshot. Empty.
"If they want blood…"
"They don't get yours."
She opened her journal.
Wrote one line:
"They thought I'd run.But I learned to walk through fire before I ever learned to walk away."
Two nights later.
Aara walked into Rae's main operations building dressed like she belonged there.
Fighter's ID clipped to her hoodie. A staff badge she cloned from a stolen copy.
She made it all the way to the back room.
Where the money flowed.Where the cameras didn't reach.Where Rae kept the supply line for girls like Ashling.
Aara didn't ask permission.
She pulled fire alarms.
Dumped data drives into bleach.
Took every copy of every contract she could find and lit them on fire with a blowtorch from the maintenance closet.
And when the guards came?
She didn't run.
She stood in the center of the room with her hands up —not in surrender.
In completion.
By the time Haru found her, she was standing outside the building, smoke behind her, wind whipping through her hoodie.
She looked at him.
Didn't speak.
He didn't ask.
Just took her hand.
"I told you they don't get to keep me."
"No," he said.
"They get to bury me."
And then he kissed her.
No warning. No lead-in.
Just hands in her hair and mouth on her pain like he was tasting it —swallowing it —so it wouldn't consume her from the inside.
She didn't pull away.
Didn't stop him.
Because for the first time since this war began —
she didn't feel alone.