Beyond The Edge of Instincts

Chapter 4: Echoes of the Past

Max grabbed her hand again and dragged her along, though each step seemed to cost him immense effort. He looked ready to collapse, yet some inner fire kept him moving forward.

He led Luna through narrow streets and deserted alleys until they arrived at an inconspicuous building. It was an old apartment complex that seemed long forgotten by even the locals. Max glanced around, ensuring they weren't being followed, and quickly shoved Luna inside.

They climbed a creaky staircase to the third floor. Max pulled out a set of keys, and within seconds, the door swung open. The interior was nothing like Luna had expected.

The apartment was tiny but tastefully and—oddly—professionally furnished. There were no personal items to be seen: just minimalist furniture, perfectly organized stacks of papers on a desk, and a weapons cabinet cleverly disguised as a sliding wardrobe. Maps and diagrams were pinned to corkboards on the walls. The place resembled a secret agent's hideout more than a home.

"Welcome," Max rasped, barely able to stay upright. He locked the door with two bolts and double-checked that the shutters were drawn.

Luna glanced around in stunned silence, her mind struggling to process the scene. It felt like Max had been preparing for something like this for a long time.

"Are you... are you some kind of spy?" she finally asked, incredulity in her voice.

Max gave a faint smile, leaning heavily against the wall, his breathing labored.

"You could say that."

"You need to lie down, or you're going to bleed out," Luna said, rushing to the wardrobe in search of a first aid kit. "Where are the bandages?"

Max pointed to a metal box near the desk.

"Over there. But don't worry about me. I've got some time," he said, his voice halting and strained, though he tried to maintain his composure.

Luna quickly found the first aid kit and returned to him, pulling out bandages and antiseptic. Carefully, she removed his torn jacket, revealing a deep wound that made her stomach churn.

"You should have stopped, Max," she said, cleaning the wound and wrapping a bandage around his shoulder. "You almost killed yourself."

"I couldn't," he exhaled, biting his lip to stifle the pain. "I had to get you away from them."

"From who? Alex?" Luna froze, her hands trembling as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

"From all of them. It's too dangerous, Luna. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

"Then explain it to me!" Luna's voice broke, filled with frustration and tension. "Everything you're doing is just confusing me more. What's going on? Why did you show up now? Why does Alex talk about me like I'm part of some plan?"

Max gritted his teeth, as though holding back a torrent of words he wasn't ready to say. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before responding quietly.

"Just know this: they won't stop. If I hadn't taken you, things would have gone very differently."

"But why?" Luna demanded, her voice rising. "Why me? What's so special about me?"

Max paused, then looked directly into her eyes. His gaze was heavy with something she couldn't decipher—a mixture of pain, regret, and unyielding resolve.

"Soon, you'll understand," Max rasped. "But for now, only one thing matters: we have to stick together if you want to survive."

Max struggled to stay on his feet, but his injuries and exhaustion finally overwhelmed him. He swayed and collapsed onto the couch, losing consciousness. Luna rushed to his side, fear gripping her as she checked to see if he was still breathing. When she felt his faint but steady pulse, a wave of relief washed over her.