Secret Silver | hiatus

i. Cherry's Diner

The diner before me was small, vintage. The word "CHERRY's" flickered on and off its sign. The vibes emanating from the atmosphere were nice— it felt homey. I counted ten people when I stepped into the building. They were closer to the exits; no one was seated near the kitchen area, just how I had asked. 

Quiet chatter mingled with music in the air as people went on with their lives without having to fear for them. I couldn't help but wonder how nice it must have been. My feet subconsciously carried me closer, my entire future resting in the hands of the marred journal I held close to my chest. It had to be destroyed. 

As did I. 

I grew up believing that we did the things we did to protect those who could not protect themselves. I thought that G.O.L.D. was more than an espionage agency. In my mind, we were heroes. We did unthinkable things in order to maintain a necessary balance.

Now, uncertainty was prevalent in my mind in quantities more than just a mere drop, anchoring me to the the rock-bottom of insanity, among other things. Everyone who knew me knew that I was confident about every step I took and every breath that evaded my body.

Not anymore. I was no longer the same Zara.

I was in danger. My friends were in danger. Terrible, terrible people were looking for me and the journal that my mother left behind. Once they found me, they would do unthinkable things to my mind and body. I would be tortured until I gave away secrets about the few people I still cared about in the agency. I would give away secrets that my mother died in order to protect.

So there was only one way out.

The last words that my mother wrote in her journal were echoing relentlessly through my numb mind:

"Take these words, my sweet Zara, and run.

Find a place that you can call home.

Where you're safe.

Let these pages guide you to..."

They were the words inscribed into the very last page in red ink, their urgency unsettling. She couldn't finish. She ran out of time.

It was incomplete. Incomplete like every emotion that pulsed through my rigid veins at the early night's hour. My life's purpose had been refactored, and everything I lived for was rendered meaningless.

Guide me where?

Where did my mother want me to go? It hurt that I'd never find out, but it hurt more that I would never be able to ask her.

There was no where I could turn and no one I could turn to.

All that remained certain in the world was that the sun would rise, set, and that if I left, my mother's secrets had to follow.

I felt many scrutinizing eyes analyze my every move as soon as I stepped into the small diner. It was a feeling I was accustomed to. I picked at the hem of the black shirt wrapped around my body. I was dressed in dark clothing, wanting to blend into the night that I would soon become a part of. 

The way the intimidating wind howled through the stygian night was almost a reminder that I didn't have much time; that the people I was trying to escape from were bound to show up any second. My heart beat raced against time itself, and my nerves began to grow unspeakable amounts.

My right hand was molded around the crescent pendant that hung from my neck and laid flat in between my collar bones. The cold metal sent chills through my body. It was my mother's. I stepped into the welcoming yet undeniably deceiving atmosphere of the diner, prepared to face death—prepared to face unrequited justice.