Whisper in the Night

Chapter 27 : Kidnapped

Kaira's POV:-

The digital clock on my desktop glowed 7:30 PM, its numbers a stark red against the encroaching darkness outside. I hadn't looked up in hours, a relentless current of tasks pulling me deeper into the work. It wasn't productivity; it was an act of deliberate self-oblivion, a desperate attempt to outrun the phantom whispers of a past I refused to let define me.

The silence in my cabin, once a source of unease, had become an ally. It was a useful silence, sharp and expectant, like the quiet before a predator strikes or a storm unleashes its full fury.

Then, a single, sharp vibration cut through the stillness. My phone, resting on the polished mahogany, buzzed once. It wasn't a chime or a jingle, but a low, guttural thrum – precise, like the dry tap of metal against stone. My hand, steady as an assassin's, reached for it. My breath held, a fragile thing.

The sender was 'UNKNOWN.' My thumb hovered, then swiped. The message appeared, stark and unblinking:

Tonight. 8:00 PM. Old Harbor Warehouse — Dock 7. Alone. You're ready.

A slow, almost imperceptible breath escaped me, a whisper of triumph and terror. 

Finally. 

The truth.....

 The truth about my parents' deaths, a gaping void in my life, promised to be filled.

But a cold, cynical voice – my voice – clawed at the edges of my resolve. 

How can you trust him?

 How can you be sure he'll tell you anything real?

The question hung, heavy and unanswered. But what choice did I have? He was the only thread left. I had to trust him. Or at least, I had to play along.

I slid the phone into the inner pocket of my blazer. Not carelessly, but with a deliberate precision, like sheathing a blade.

My reflection in the darkened office glass stared back, a phantom twin. I wasn't the girl I used to be, broken and lost in the aftermath. That Kaira was long gone. This woman had shoulders squared, not in defiance, but in grim acceptance. Her chin was steady, her jaw set. Her eyes... cold. Focused. They were the eyes of someone who had stopped seeking solace and started hunting for answers.

By hook or by crook, I would get those answers. Even if it meant tearing down the meticulously constructed world I grew up in. Even if it meant burning every lie to ash. Even if it meant staring the devil himself in the face.

I picked up my keys from the desk – a heavy, familiar weight. My heels made a single, sharp click on the polished marble floor as I turned. This wasn't a meeting. It was a declaration. A hunt. And tonight, I wasn't the prey. Not anymore.

Pushing open the heavy glass doors of the building, I stepped out into the biting embrace of the evening wind. It whipped my hair across my face, a cold, sharp slap—a reminder of the dwindling minutes. My heels struck the pavement in a fast, relentless rhythm, each step fueled by the coded message burning behind my eyes, scorching away all doubt.

As I descended the final step onto the street, my gaze instinctively swept across the near-empty parking lot. Headlights cut through the gloom, cars passing with indifferent haste. A lone biker, helmet glinting, rounded the far corner. Nothing seemed amiss. The stillness was almost too perfect.

I walked toward my parked car, a dark silhouette under a sputtering streetlamp. My heartbeat, though steady, thrummed with a nervous energy I refused to acknowledge. My hand dipped into my bag, fingers brushing against the cold metal of my keys—