Ava had no idea what she was fleeing from anymore.
The sun had risen outside the window, but it had brought no warmth—only the pain of unanswered questions. She sat on the edge of the strange bed, still wearing the clothes from the previous night, staring at the door as if Rohit would walk back in at any moment.
But he didn't.
He hadn't said a word when he left. No note. No explanation. Just the quiet click of the door, and then silence.
She tried not to overthink it.
Maybe he just went to get supplies.
Maybe he needed space.
But doubt had a way of crawling under your skin when you'd already seen how far lies could stretch—and how quickly people could vanish.
Her phone was still dead, left where Rohit had discarded it in his hysteria. "No digital trail," he had explained.
She resented how clever he was at this.
There was a knock.
She stood transfixed.
It was quiet—measured. Not the sort of knock that any stranger, or friend for that matter, makes. More the sort of thing that comes to mind.
She crept over to the door and looked through the peephole.
Vacant.
Ava's heart pounded in her chest. She cracked open the door, just a crack, to look outside. A crumpled piece of paper on the floor. No footprints. No shadow making a run for the hallway. Just this paper.
She picked it up.
Two words.
"Don't trust."
Her throat constricted. No name. No indication that anyone was behind this note. But something about the writing—it rang a bell.
She'd seen it before.
But where?
....
𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐘𝐀'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄:
Priya added sugar to her tea with a far-off look. The house was quieter than usual. Too quiet. Ava hadn't called, hadn't texted, and each passing minute of silence only fueled the swelling anxiety in her chest.
She went to Ava's room, opening the door.
Still made. Barely used.
The same tiny photo frame on the bedside table—Ava, her father, and Priya. Smiling. Whole.
Priya's fingers stayed on it.
There was a time she could read Ava like a book—knew what she was feeling just by how she tied her hair or looked at the sky. But lately, Ava had become a stranger. She barely talked. She avoided eye contact. She moved like someone burdened by invisible chains.
And Priya had been too afraid to ask why.
Now, it was too late.
Her phone buzzed on the dresser. Unknown number.
She replied warily. "Hello?"
The other voice was warped—machine-like.
"Your daughter isn't safe."
The color left her face. "Who is this?"
"If you want her to live, stop searching for answers."
The line went dead.
Priya's hands shook.
A mother would know when something was amiss.
And now, she knew—something was 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮 amiss.
.....
𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐕𝐀 - 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟑:𝟏𝟐 𝐏𝐌:
The motel room was a cage.
Ava paced back and forth like a lioness, repeating Rohit's final words in her mind repeatedly.
"Stay here. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me."
She had done it.
For hours.
But he didn't return.
Not even a hint.
And now a note had been left on the door?
Her brain went round and round.
What if he hadn't left on his own?
She recalled the way his eyes had scanned the room last night. How his hand had lingered close to the gun in his jacket. The way he'd fallen silent when she questioned him about the fire.
There was something he wasn't telling her. Something significant.
And all of a sudden, she couldn't help but wonder…
Had he disappeared to keep her safe—or to keep a secret?
She pulled out the paper again.
"Don't trust."
Was it regarding Rohit?
Or someone else?
Her gaze jumped to the tiny drawer beside the bed. She pulled it open.
Still there. The extra phone Rohit had stashed away. "For emergencies only," he'd insisted.
She powered it on.
It flashed on with a quiet hum, already cleared of ID and contacts.
But one number was stored under one letter:
D.
No other name. No indication of who it belonged to.
She hesitated. then dialed.
The line rang once. Twice.
Then someone answered.
A woman's voice. Calm. Collected.
"Ava."
She froze. "Who is this?"
The woman chuckled softly. "You've already forgotten my voice?"
Ava felt her breath hitch.
That voice.
She knew it.
From years ago. From hushed arguments behind closed doors. From whispered warnings and broken promises.
Her father's old colleague.
Dr. Sameera Verma.
"But you…" Ava's voice trembled. "You disappeared after he died. You—"
"I was silenced, Ava. Just like your uncle. Just like Rohit's parents."
The room slanted, as if the weight of her words shattered reality.
"You know Rohit?" Ava whispered.
"I knew his parents," the voice said. "And I know why they were murdered."
Ava's legs gave way. She collapsed onto the bed.
"Tell me everything," she panted.
But the line went dead.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just silence.
....
𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄:
The air was filled with smoke and iron.
A flickering television displayed grainy CCTV shots—Ava pacing in the corner of a motel room.
A man remained in the background, arms crossed, face inscrutable.
"She's close," a voice beside him uttered.
The man said nothing.
He leaned over, fingers drumming on a table. Spaced across its surface were objects—photos, maps, printed out emails.
And at its center, a black notebook.
A page in the book was circled.
Ava's name.
And under it, a question scribbled in red ink:
"𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿?"
.......
𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀? 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑳𝒀 𝑫𝑶 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮. 𝑰𝑻 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑷𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀 𝑻𝑶 𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑾...!
𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨.