Entangled in Darkness

CHAPTER 18: WHISPERS OF DANGER

"No... don't leave,–"

The roar of the storm competed with the staccato bark of gunfire, each raindrop a stinging bullet on Maverick's exposed skin. The rainforest floor beneath her was slick with mud and blood, her own and another's. A woman lay crumpled against a moss-covered tree trunk, vibrant green eyes fading like dying embers.

Panic seized Maverick, clawing at her throat and constricting her lungs. She tried to crawl, hands digging uselessly into the mud, but her body felt anchored, heavy and immovable. It mocked her desperate whimpers, her silent screams.

Every ragged breath the woman took was a struggle, each word a pained gasp. It sent a bolt straight through Maverick's heart.

Blood.

Her fingers were pressing tightly against the wound.

"Don't leave me—please,–"

The words, choked and weak, were washed away by the downpour. Sobs escaped Maverick's lips, stolen by the ravenous storm. Her vision blurred, tears and rain mingling in a salty symphony of despair.

"Please,–"

Gasping, Maverick jolted upright, the echo of a scream trapped in her throat. Cold sweat clung to her skin, mimicking the clammy grip of fear around her heart.

The scent of smoke and rain lingered, a phantom memory etched into her nostrils.

Another nightmare.

They were coming closer, these fragments of a buried past, flashes of blinding light and deafening silence, a choked gurgle that refused to form a name.

Maverick slammed her eyes shut before looking at the bedside table. The red glow of the digital clock seared into her retinas.

5:46 AM.

The numbers mocked her, taunting her with the promise of a dawn that held no answers.

She let out a shaky breath, the sound lost in the cavernous emptiness of her apartment. It was barely more than a room, sparsely furnished with the necessities for survival: a simple queen-sized bed, a single chair that leaned precariously, and a table scarred by countless instant meals. No warmth adorned the sterile white walls, and no personal trinkets hinted at a life beyond the next mission.

Just a reflection of the void she'd created within herself.

Sleep had been a fleeting visitor, leaving her with the bitter dregs of nightmares swirling in her mind. Flashes of blinding light, the stench of burning metal, and a woman's choked cry, a name forever trapped on the tip of her tongue. Fragments of a past she'd buried so deep even the shadows struggled to unearth.

Pushing herself upright, the cold floor sent a jolt through her body, a welcome distraction from the turmoil within. Moonlight streamed through the grimy window, painting the room in ghostly silver. In this spectral light, even the shadows seemed harsher, more defined, mirroring the growing unease that gnawed at her.

Days had bled into each other since her meeting with Thorne. Each sunrise promised whispers of Damian, and hints of Sinclair's involvement, but only brought a deafening silence.

The lack of information was a barbed wire fence around her, amplifying the anxieties that writhed within her like hungry predators. Even the muffled sounds of Andrea's life next door, a comforting constant in her self-imposed isolation, offered no solace tonight.

Memories, once faint flickers in the darkness, were coalescing, forming a jagged picture of a life she desperately tried to ignore. Each nightmare brought them closer, sharper, demanding acknowledgement. But with clarity came a chilling fear.