They left, before the sun had the chance to rise.
Zayaan wiped the coordinates onto a scrap of paper, then painted over the wall...again like the numbers were never there. Precaution. Habit. Maybe guilt.
Arwa hadn't said much after finding them.
She just stood there a moment too long — fingers still at the wall, lips parted slightly, like the memory was so close it hurt to breathe.
He watched her in the rearview mirror now. She wasn't looking at the road. Wasn't looking at anything.
Just… listening to something only she could hear.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
"Not sure yet," she replied, and he appreciated the honesty.
The coordinates led to the edge of the city — a place that looked like it used to matter once. Old railway infrastructure, mostly forgotten. The kind of place people didn't visit, just passed through.
Zayaan parked at a distance.
They walked the rest of the way, boots crunching gravel...the silence between them punctuated...only by wind and the occasional bird too early for its own good.
Then she stopped.
"I've been here before," Arwa said, voice low. "I don't remember how. But my body does."
Zayaan scanned the surroundings. There wasn't much — a rusted-out signal box, a partially collapsed shed, weeds reclaiming train tracks like they never left.
Arwa walked toward the signal box.
It looked empty. Abandoned. Until she reached for the metal panel near the base — and her fingers went straight to a latch hidden beneath the grime.
Click.
She blinked. "I didn't think. I just… knew."
The hatch opened with a reluctant groan.
Inside wasn't much — a box. Wrapped in oilskin. Taped shut.
She pulled it out with steady hands, despite the slight tremble in her shoulders.
Zayaan watched her. Didn't interrupt.
Arwa peeled the tape. Unfolded the cloth.
Inside: a flash drive. A silver chain with a single pendant — cracked, but familiar. And a photograph. Slightly burned at the corner.
It was her. Younger. Eyes less guarded. Standing next to someone whose face had been scorched by fire or time — or deliberately removed.
Her hands curled around the photo before she could stop them.
Zayaan leaned closer. "You think that's—?"
"I don't know." Her voice was tight. "But I think they were part of the forgetting."
She looked at the pendant in her palm. Then up at Zayaan.
"I need to plug this in," she said. "But not here."
He nodded. "Back to the safehouse?"
"No." She shook her head. "They knew I'd find this. I need somewhere new."
Zayaan hesitated. "You sure you want to know what's on that drive?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "I don't want to. But I have to."
He nodded again. "Then we move. Now."
And just like that, the chase shifted. Again.
Not away from something. But toward it.