Chapter 32 - Claire

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The memory was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Claire could still feel the cold bite of fear, the prickling weight of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she ran, her breaths ragged, feet pounding against damp earth and crumbling stone. Every instinct screamed for her to look back, but she forced herself forward, ignoring the metallic taste of panic clawing up her throat.

It had been dusk, the shadows stretching long and dark across the narrow alleyways, each corner a potential trap as she, Aiden, and Paul moved quickly but cautiously through the deserted side streets of a city they barely knew. They'd spent the day gathering intel, only to have their cover blown in what should have been the quietest moment—Claire catching Aiden's eye with a look that silently urged him to hurry as he pocketed the last of the intel. But there had been no warning, no sound to alert them to the danger closing in.

They hadn't seen Cross coming until it was too late.

The first shot cracked the air, piercing the silence like a gunshot in a graveyard. Claire turned, a flash of horror seizing her as Aiden staggered back, a dark stain spreading across his shoulder. His expression twisted, not with pain but with urgency, his eyes darting to hers as he fought to stay upright, clutching the wound. She could feel the unspoken command in his gaze: Run.

But she couldn't move. Her feet felt anchored, her mind reeling as she registered the figure emerging from the shadows—a tall, unrelenting silhouette with a gun trained on them. Daniel Cross's gaze locked onto hers, his eyes filled with a cold satisfaction that chilled her to the core.

Another shot echoed, and she turned just in time to see Paul drop to one knee, clutching his side, blood seeping between his fingers. Her heart twisted painfully, the sight of him—so steady, so calm, even as he faltered—rooting her to the spot.

Cross's smile grew as he took another step forward, the gun still aimed in her direction. "Don't make this harder than it has to be," he called, his tone almost casual. "You've led me on quite the chase, but it's over now. Come with me, and I won't have to kill them."

Claire's gaze flicked from Aiden, struggling to keep his balance, to Paul, who looked at her with an intensity that cut through her panic. "Go," he mouthed, his voice barely a whisper, but she could see the resolve in his eyes, the silent plea urging her to listen.

She knew what they were telling her, knew that if she stayed, they'd all die. Cross wasn't here for Aiden or Paul—he'd come for her. But the thought of leaving them, of abandoning them to suffer in her place, twisted her insides, a sick feeling building in her stomach.

Aiden's voice cut through the haze, harsh and insistent. "Claire! Run. Now!"

The finality in his tone snapped her out of her paralysis. She took a step back, her heart wrenching as she saw Paul slump against the wall, clutching his wound, his face pale but determined. They wouldn't survive if she stayed, she realized with a brutal clarity. Cross would finish them without hesitation if she gave him a reason.

With a final, lingering look, she turned and sprinted down the alley, pushing herself forward even as her legs trembled beneath her. She could hear Cross's footsteps behind her, unhurried but relentless, like a predator closing in on its prey. She forced herself to focus, to tune out the fear, to block out the images of Aiden and Paul—of them lying there, bleeding, because of her.

As she ran, her thoughts tangled in a chaotic blur, half-formed images and desperate hopes filling her mind. She had to lead him away, far enough that he'd lose interest in them, far enough that Aiden and Paul would have a chance to escape. They were strong; she told herself they could survive this—if she gave them the opportunity.

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