Sana’s POV

The state I was in was the look people get when they see the angel of death before they die. There’s a difference this time: this angel felt fake, and I hoped I wouldn’t die today — not before I’d avenged my parents.

He smirked and took even steps toward me.

If I thought I’d get out alive, I was wrong. But what’s the point of giving up?

When he was two steps away, I looked up. He wasn’t the most handsome man I’d ever seen, but he was attractive enough — a wasted kind of beauty, at least for me.

I smirked back and whispered, “678.” The lights went out. With my assistant’s guidance I found my way out.

Of course I ran, smashing through whatever stood in my path. I knew he was coming for me; his men were everywhere and they knew the building better than I did. Still, somehow I slipped past that hellish place.

“I need a cab — Book a cab to my home, fast!” I told the system.

Within a minute a taxi pulled up. I jumped in and told the driver to go as fast as he could. He asked if I was all right; I lied and said my stomach hurt. The ride was far from safe, but it was the safest thing I’d done all night.

Back home I slammed the door and locked it every way I could. My aunt and uncle looked at me, angry and worried.

“You left us a note?” my uncle snapped. “We raised you better than this, Sana!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, confused.

“You should act like a lady. As punishment, you’re grounded until your match!” they declared together.

I hissed and nodded, then stopped and said, “A hug?” My aunt and uncle stared at me for a beat, then wrapped me in a bone-crushing embrace.

“We missed you, Sana,” my aunt sighed. My uncle simply nodded. I whispered back, “I missed you more,” then fled to my room and shut the door.

It was good I didn’t have my devices on me — they were still at the rented room. I’d booked that room for a month; maybe I’d fetch my things after the match. I flopped onto the bed and, despite everything, smiled. Even the American mafia king hadn’t caught me. Pride warmed me — I’d slipped from him.

Three days passed like a hollow dream. Dark walls and darker thoughts blurred together. I kept asking myself to see reality, to be anchored to something true, but I couldn’t tell which view was real.

“Looking at the same scenery, I find different views in a matter of time,” I thought — a line I’d scribbled from a fiction writer. It felt oddly apt.

Today was my match. The world would watch. Including them. I grinned and clapped my hands. This time would decide my future. They would remember me — the girl who messed with them and walked away.

“Read your past in your present and let your past tell you your future,” I whispered to myself, then giggled at being dramatic. My van arrived and I waved at the team.

When my name was called I rose, walked to the court, and pumped my fist. I’d worked harder than anyone could imagine. I wouldn’t quit my career. If I were to die, I wouldn’t die alone. I had to smile — for family, friends, and enemies.

I won. The crowd erupted in screams, whistles, and claps. I had been winning since I’d started my international career.

Later, at the rented room, the manager told me he’d almost thrown my things out but realized my month wasn’t up. I thanked him, packed my gear, handed him the keys, and left.

I planned to meet my friends. I hoped they wouldn’t beat me for what I’d done.

Walking home, I took the long way to jog a little. It felt safer by day. I was lost in thought when a car pulled up behind me. A man grabbed me from the left; something was shoved over my mouth. I tried to breathe, but it was in vain. Darkness swallowed me.

When I came to, I heard a rough voice: “These sluts will be presented to the boss in fifteen minutes.”

“Do you think the one we grabbed today is a slut too? Look at her clothes — full covering,” another voice jeered.

“Doesn’t matter,” the first replied.

I forced my eyes open. I was in a cell with ten or twelve other girls. They looked like victims — stripped and terrified. The room reeked of panic. Two men came in and motioned for some of the girls to follow them. They trembled and cried; I felt mute, unable to join them in wails.

We were marched through a maze of corridors and stopped before an office-like room. They knocked and waited.

“Come in,” a voice called from behind the door.

They opened it and began throwing women to the floor. I took two steps back, frozen, my confidence eroding with each second. How had I ended up here? Jogging — of all things. I cursed myself silently.

“Do you know why you’re here?” a man’s voice asked, cold and heavy.

“No,” the girls cried.

A few steps later I saw the man. He took my breath away, but I couldn’t look at him for long — it felt like a sin. Suddenly he pulled out a gun and began firing.

He was about to kill the seventh girl when something in me snapped. I stepped between him and the child—she couldn’t have been older than seventeen. A bullet meant for her struck my hand instead. Pain exploded; blood warmed my palm.

“No — I don’t know why I’m here!” I screamed, reclaiming my voice and the confidence I’d lost. The man stopped shooting and looked at me with a mix of hatred, amusement, and something like curiosity.

Maybe this was the end.

Jacob’s POV

“Why did you let him go, Jacob?”
Leo’s voice thundered through the room, rattling the glass. Me and Alex stood in front of him like schoolboys caught cheating.

“I asked for him—and you knew,” Leo snarled, his jaw tight, his knuckles flexing against the desk.

Alexander had been with me when the system glitched and our target slipped out. Neither of us had seen it coming. He’d hacked into our mainframe and bolted. Clean. Efficient. Almost impossible.

“Answer me!” Leo roared, slamming his hand down.

His fury burned the air between us. “How can he be out there, walking free, after disturbing my work?” His eyes gleamed with lethal promise. “I’ll ruin him. He thinks this is a game? I’ll show him what it means to play with my business.”

No one dared meet his gaze. Nobody ever had. But this phantom hacker had crossed a line. He hadn’t just annoyed him. He had pissed off the King of underworld.

And for that, he was a dead man.
we had also chose not to tell him that perhaps that person is a girl, for we ourselves were not sure, yet.

Sana’s POV

Because of a jog. A stupid jog.

The bullet tore through my hand. Pain blinded me, but I stood firm.

Maybe not.