Alai parked the SUV deep in the woods – brittle, sunbaked leaves and twigs crunching under the tires. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, but the ground still radiated heat from the day’s relentless glare.

  The trees loomed tall and skeletal in the dim glow of our phone flashlights. As we hopped out of the car and started toward our destination on foot, the undergrowth rustled with unseen movement.

  Each snap of a twig sent a prickle up my spine.

  “Stay close,” Alai cautioned, stepping slightly ahead to lead the way.

  I didn’t need to be told twice.

  Stumbling through the tangle of undergrowth, I tried to keep my eyes fixed on Alai’s gray-green kurta. Good for camouflage, I supposed. Not so great as a beacon in the dark.

  My shirt, loose and breezy for the weather, kept snagging on branches that reached out like grasping fingers in the dark. Beneath my feet, the ground was parched, uneven.

  Treading carefully along narrow, barely-there trails, we finally wound our way toward the Minjal Stadium construction site.

  We had been walking for a little over twenty minutes when the stadium’s front entrance emerged. Stark against the dim evening sky. A towering marble arch with copper accents, its once-pristine surface was streaked with dust and grime from the ongoing construction.

  The copper accents glinted sporadically under distant floodlights, stationed deeper inside the site.

  Flanking the arch, two unfinished statues loomed. Each set to stand at least five meters tall once completed. The one on my left, which was closer to completion, was vaguely recognizable as Ilapati, Hastinar’s first prime minister. The statue to my right was in a more rudimentary state. But I’d seen the blueprints. Once completed, it’d depict the first premier of neighboring Binhai.

  A joint infrastructure project with our larger, more prosperous neighbor. A symbol of mutual trust and goodwill. The first of (hopefully) many, paving the way for deeper economic ties and increased foreign investment.

  A tightness in my stomach eased.

  I exhaled, casting a relieved smile up at Ilapati’s statue. Never thought I’d be so glad to see the familiar, weathered face that’d haunted my textbooks for twelve long years. But trudging through that eerie forest had almost made me regret coming here after sundown.

  Maybe that was the reason Alai had insisted on parking there, deep in the woods. On taking this convoluted path to the stadium. One last attempt to unnerve me? Make me scurry back to the hotel, tail between my legs?

  If so, it wasn’t going to work.

  Quickening my pace, I brushed past Alai and stepped through the arched entryway, crossing into the stadium construction site.

  The scene before me stopped me in my tracks.

  The workday had ended with sundown. So despite Alai’s earlier tirade, I’d expected an empty construction site. Maybe a few security guards to keep watch over the materials and equipment.

  Instead, the stadium’s front yard was packed with makeshift tarpaulin tents, sagging under their own weight. Wooden poles barely held up the faded plastic sheets. Fraying clotheslines crisscrossed between them, weighed down by discolored pieces of clothing, full of holes, already coated in the fine layer of construction dust that clung to everything else.

  Close to some of the tent openings, rusted tin-can stoves smoldered. Cooking smoke curled into the thick evening air. Old, pitted aluminum pots – their surfaces blackened with years of use – sat atop the makeshift stoves, their contents simmering. A few haggard-looking women crouched beside them, stirring the pots with practiced efficiency.

  Between the tents, emaciated stray dogs slunk through the dirt, begging for scraps.

  Alai stepped through the arch behind me. A group of men lounging near the entrance turned to look at us, cigarettes glowing between their fingers or hanging from their lips.

  As their eyes fell on me, they frowned, suspicion darkening their features.

  Some were shirtless, their lean frames stark under the distant floodlights, while others wore threadbare undershirts, stained and stretched from use. A few rose to their feet, watching the two of us warily.

  The largest of the group stepped forward, while still maintaining a cautious distance from me. His eyes were on Alai. “Who’s this?” He jerked his chin in my direction, tone edged with hostility. “Who’ve you brought here now? The day’s work is finished. Can’t you leave us in peace even after dark?”

  “He’s here from Darvika. For an inspection.” Alai took a small step forward, his voice laced with warning as he positioned himself between me and the man. “This has nothing to do with you, so back off. He’ll take a look around, and then we’re gone. Unless you’ve got something to hide, I don’t see why you’re getting all riled up.”

  The man let out a sharp, biting laugh. “Me? Hiding something? There’s a good one – pot callin’ the kettle black.” Behind him, his companions erupted in raucous laughter. “What, you think pointing your grubby fingers at me is gonna keep him from suspecting you,” he spat onto the ground. “When he figures out what’s really going on here?”

  “What are you lot still doing here?” I cut in, frowning, before Alai could answer. “Does this look like a picnic spot? Pack up and go home, the lot of you. It’s past sunset.”

  The man turned slightly, gaze raking over me in cold scrutiny. “You really that na?ve? Or is this another act?” His eyes flicked over my shoulder. “Got the media trailing behind you?”

  I arched an eyebrow but stayed silent, waiting for him to explain himself.

  “Go where?” After a long, uneasy pause, he gestured lazily at the tents, at the grimy pots bubbling over makeshift stoves. “This is home. Or the closest thing to it we’re allowed to have.” He shot a glance at Alai. “We’ve been here since construction started on Minjal Stadium. Got families here. So tell me – where exactly do you want us to pack up and go?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I shifted my gaze past his carefully blank expression to the group of men behind him. “Where did you lot come from? You must have homes, must live somewhere.”

  Refusing to respond, the big man simply fixed me with a hard stare.

  I glanced past him to focus on the others. They exchanged looks, muttering under their breaths. Eyes darting from me to Alai to the man we’d so far been speaking with, presumably their leader.

  Finally, the youngest of the group – he couldn’t have been older than eighteen – shifted uneasily. “Jumli,” he murmured, barely audible. “My home is in Jumli.”

  A pause.

  Then one of the others, a balding middle-aged man, spoke up. “Rakin Town. North Zilan.”

  One by one, the others followed.

  “Raizi.”

  “Gersa.”

  “Dhumri.”

  Their voices wove together, words colliding and spilling over one another.

  Finally, the big man relented. “Shohra village,” he said with a sigh. “My family’s been there five generations. But there’s no way to make a living there anymore. Not that there’s much of one to be made anywhere in Zilan.” His jaw tightened. “But there, things got so bad that if we’d stayed, my kids would’ve starved to death.”

  His gaze flicked to a moss green tent off to the side, where a small stove smoldered near the entrance. Tended by a woman with long hair woven into two thick braids.

  I waited for him to continue.

  When he didn’t, I asked impatiently: “So, where are you lot staying while you work here? Where’s the company housing you?”

  “Company housing?” The man threw his head back and laughed. “This is company housing.” He swept a hand over the sea of dust-covered tents. “Well, sort of. JalVayu didn’t give us the tarps or the poles for the tents. Nor the wood for our stoves. That’s all ours. But they did give us the ground we’re standing on. Though ‘give’ might be too generous a word for it. But it’s the closest thing to ‘company housing’ you’ll find here. A patch of dirt to pitch our tents on.”

  I blinked at him, uncomprehending.

  Was he telling the truth? If so, this situation was so far beyond anything I’d expected that I had no idea how to respond.

  How could JalVayu – the company awarded the central contract for construction of the Minjal Stadium – not provide housing for its own workers? How could this have flown under the radar of local authorities for so long?

  Or was it the other way around?

  Were these people squatting on government land illegally? Had the local regulators turned a blind eye – not to shield the company but at the behest of the workers themselves? So as not to antagonize the local voter base?

  If the workers were involved in materials smuggling, living on the stadium premises would provide them with the perfect cover. Allow them to guard their inventory, oversee transportation and monitor shipments at all hours of the day and night. Control the flow of construction materials in and out of the site without drawing suspicion.

  I glanced around. If that was it, they were certainly committed to the act.

  Because this place didn’t look like a smuggler’s den. Women crouching over makeshift stoves. Bony children darting between the tents. And if the distant wails were anything to go by, what sounded alarmingly like a crying baby.

  If anything, it reminded me of the old refugee camps that used to crop up along our more volatile borders – before the government cracked down and finally streamlined the system.

  Only, these people weren’t refugees. They were Zilani workers, hired by JalVayu to work on an important infrastructure project in their own state. There was no earthly reason for them to be living like this.

  Well, there was only one way to get to the truth. No amount of talking could replace the clarity of seeing it with my own eyes.

  I stepped forward, intent on moving deeper into the site.

  The big man blocked my path. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

  “I’m here to inspect the construction site.” I met his glare with an unimpressed look. “Hard to do that, standing at the entryway.”

  He scoffed. “It’s too dark for an inspection. You can barely see two steps ahead. You’ll only injure yourself stumbling around, and bring trouble down on the rest of us.” He waved a hand. “Come back in the morning.”

  “Not an option,” I said flatly. “I didn’t come all this way just to turn back empty-handed.” I took another step forward. “Move aside, please.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You have no right to come here and disturb us this late. The workday is over.” His gaze flicked to Alai, radiating even more hostility than he aimed at me. “Can’t we have dinner in peace with our families, after breaking our backs for you all day? If you want an inspection, do it in the morning – when we’ll be getting paid for the time you’re wasting.”

  There were countless things I could say to justify my presence, to try and coax him. But this was not a crowd that’d respond to reasoning or persuasion. Only to an unyielding show of dominance. It was what they were used to.

  We stood there, locked in a silent confrontation.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it. Now was not the time.

  I didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just quietly held his dark, seething gaze. Fighting to keep my own apprehension in check.

  After a long moment, he spat on the ground at my feet. And stepped aside.

  I smiled brightly at him and walked past, Alai close behind me.

  As I navigated the maze of tents, stoves, and gaunt faces, the gathered crowd of adults and children parted to let me through.

  While also trying to edge subtly closer for a better look.

  All in all, it took me a solid ten minutes just to get past the front yard.

  The structure that loomed ahead was oddly skeletal – concrete pillars stretching skyward, their surfaces rough and unfinished. Piles of rebar jutted out at odd angles, some bent, others rusted and aimless. Metal scaffolds clung to the fa?ade, swaying slightly, their bolts and joints looking anything but secure. As if a single misstep would send them crashing down.

  I picked my way carefully between two mounds of sand, before sidestepping a stack of unused steel beams.

  One of the overhead lights sputtered. Then the rest flickered erratically, before dimming.

  A voltage fluctuation? Whatever it was, the effect was disorienting.

  Shadows leapt across the skeletal beams, creating shifting pockets of stark light and encroaching darkness.

  My foot caught on something hard.

  I pitched forward, arms flailing, my panicked shriek aborted mid-breath as a sharp tug on my collar yanked me back to solid ground. Callused fingers clenched the fabric at the nape of my neck, keeping me from slamming headfirst into—

  Heart hammering, I looked down.

  A length of rebar jutted from the dirt, right where I would have fallen. Where it would have speared right through me.

  “Be careful,” Alai said drily, releasing his grip on my collar.

  A faint “Mmm” was all I could manage, my throat too dry from fading panic to properly voice the gratitude I felt with all my being.

  I took a moment to steady myself, then pressed on, weaving around pallets of marble tiles still wrapped in plastic. A wooden wheelbarrow creaked under the weight of cement bags. Nearby stood a row of cement mixers, their drums streaked with dried residue.

  This didn’t feel like a modern construction site backed by central funding. The equipment was outdated, crude; the materials visibly subpar.

  And the workers? The less said about their condition, the better.

  We climbed a section of rough-cut, uneven stairs. The irregular concrete steps, bare and without handrails, were throwing off my balance.

  I stumbled again, cursing under my breath, but caught myself against the wall on one side. Only for its coarse surface to tear into my palm, leaving in its wake a raw, burning sting.

  Swallowing hard, I continued upward.

  The first floor opened into a vast, unfinished space. Concrete beams crisscrossed overhead, cables snaking between them, some left exposed and others haphazardly taped together.

  To one side was an unfinished seating section. Fiberglass benches, still unpolished and unfastened, jutted out in uneven tiers. The steps leading up to the seating area were incomplete, with patches of wet cement in some spots and gaping gaps in others.

  Above the seating, a manually operated pulley system dangled from an overhead beam. A large wooden platform, presumably meant for hoisting materials, was tied haphazardly to the pulley. The entire contraption groaned occasionally, as if in exhaustion.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  At the far end of the floor, the lighting was even worse. A couple of ceiling bulbs flickered erratically, buzzing with intermittent power surges. The shadows they cast stretched and shrank with every pulse of electricity.

  Alai motioned for me to follow. “This way.”

  His footsteps deliberately silent, he led me to the dimmest corner of the floor.

  Between two thick, load-bearing concrete columns, he pointed to a faint irregularity in the rough surface. An almost imperceptible seam hidden within the weathered, grainy texture. A stack of warped plywood sheets leaned haphazardly against the columns, partially obscuring their bases.

  I stepped closer, tracing my fingers along the seam.

  Up close, I could see that one of the columns, though solid-looking, had been carefully hollowed out. Faint tool marks lined its surface, the concrete smoothed just enough to blend in, to not draw undue attention.

  I moved the plywood aside, out of my way.

  At the base of the hollow column was a narrow, roughly carved opening. The edges were jagged, as if the concrete had been broken away rather than cleanly cut, reinforcing the illusion of accidental damage for anyone who cared to look closely.

  The opening was barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through, its rough edges framing a passage that sloped downward. Beyond it, the darkness gaped like an unnatural void, deeper than the surrounding gloom. Hinting at a concealed descent from the first floor.

  I stared, dumbfounded. My gaze flicked to Alai, who knelt just behind me, then back to the tunnel entrance. Back and forth, trying to make sense of it all.

  “You weren’t lying,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

  But why… what was it for? And why show it to me?

  As if sensing my thoughts, Alai said quietly, “A way out. In case we’re raided again.”

  Raided? By whom? And why?

  Who would dare raid a government-backed, centrally funded construction site?

  And more importantly – again? When had it happened before? Why hadn’t I heard about it?

  Questions bombarded my mind, thoughts teetering on the edge of mania. Did Papa know about this? About what was going on here? Was that why he’d insisted I come to Zilan?

  To do what?

  If he was aware of the problem and wanted me to solve it, why keep me in the dark about what the problem actually was? What was he trying to accomplish, and where did I fit into his plan?

  My phone buzzed once more, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts.

  I shot to my feet.

  I couldn’t let myself get distracted. Not now, not here. There would be time for questions and explanations later. Right now, I had to stay focused on my first priority: figuring out whether or not materials were being smuggled out of this godforsaken site.

  Everything else could wait until we were out of here.

  I replaced the plywood, masking the tunnel’s entrance once more, and turned to Alai. “Show me where the construction materials are stored.”

  Alai was reluctant, and reprised some of the old arguments both he and the big man at the entrance had used. To try and dissuade me from exploring the site tonight.

  That it was too dark. That it wasn’t safe. That I wouldn’t find anything worthwhile at this hour.

  But he must have realized by now that I wasn’t easily deterred. With a resigned sigh, he eventually relented, and we resumed our exploration of the first floor.

  Less than half an hour later, we went back down the rough-hewn stairs to the ground floor. This time, Alai led me deeper inside, to where the turf pitch would eventually be. For now, it was nothing more than an expanse of uneven, half-excavated earth.

  At the far edge, he guided me into a narrow passageway partially concealed behind stacks of discarded scaffolding. Which opened into a large, enclosed storage area.

  Inside, row upon row of construction materials crowded the dimly lit space – pallets of marble tiles, stacks of steel rods, cement bags, and wooden planks. Bundles of rebar and coils of electrical wiring, all piled haphazardly along the walls, leaving only a narrow path through the center.

  I moved deeper into the space.

  The sharp, powdery scent of cement dust filling my nose, I gestured for Alai to turn on all the lights.

  Then, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. An inventory list Papa had emailed me late last night. It wasn’t exhaustive, but it contained a detailed record of the approved suppliers and brands contracted for the stadium construction.

  Unfolding the list, I began scanning the stacks of materials, checking the brand names stamped on the packaging against those listed in the official records. If nothing else, I needed to confirm whether the materials on-site even matched what had been approved.

  The packaging could easily have been forged. And the names and logos of reputed brands could be slapped onto substandard materials, to pass them off as legitimate.

  But before I went looking for such elaborate corruption, I needed to rule out the possibility of discrepancies far more obvious, easier to spot.

  Barely twenty minutes into the inspection, however, the roar of distant engines startled us.

  I turned, just in time to see Alai go rigid, his face draining of color.

  “Who can that be?” Voice tinged with confusion, I began moving toward the passageway. “Who’d come here at this time of night?”

  My collar tightened against my throat, warm fingers brushing the back of my neck. The next moment, I was being yanked backward by the fabric at my nape.

  “Don’t go out,” Alai hissed, dragging me further into the storage space. “They mustn’t see you.”

  With an irritated huff, I shook myself free. “Who mustn’t? What are you—”

  A thunderous clang interrupted me – metal striking metal – followed by frantic shouts, heavy thuds, and the piercing wails of a baby crying.

  “What’s happening?” I demanded, trying to bolt for the exit.

  Alai caught me again, this time by the shoulder, his fingernails biting through my shirt. “Don’t.” He warned, voice a low growl. “It’s not safe.”

  “That’s the point,” I snapped, prying his hand off me. “There are children out there. Tell me what the hell is going on, dammit!”

  “This-this is exactly what I’d feared. Another raid. Listen,” Alai turned to face me directly, his eyes wide, voice shaky. “There’s a ladder at the back of this storage area. I’d rather not use it in the dark...but what’s the alternative? It’s safer than going back out front. We can climb up to the first floor. From there, it won’t be hard to get to the tunnel opening. You go first. I’ll stay back a few more minutes to make sure—”

  “What the hell are you on about?” I bellowed, my frustration boiling over. “What raid? Who’s raiding us? I’m not moving an inch until you tell me exactly what’s going on here.”

  “We don’t have time,” Alai nearly shouted, striding over to the passageway. “We have to get out of here before they find us.”

  “Who are they?”

  He clenched his jaw so tightly I could hear his teeth grind from several steps away. “The separatists. This is a separatist raid. And you,” he spun around, jabbing a finger at me. “You’re the one they’re here for. If they find you—”

  “Me?” I repeated, my brain grinding to a halt. “But why—how would they even know—”

  A sharp cry rang out in the distance, cut off by a series of heavy thuds. The baby’s wails resumed, louder, more frantic.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Alai snapped, once the ruckus had subsided slightly. “One of those bastards we spoke to at the gate must’ve tipped them off. Or one of the other workers. Who knows? That whole damn colony of rats saw you enter the site. It could’ve been any of them. The point is, the separatists know you’re here. And they won’t rest until they’ve gotten their hands on you.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing.

  It made sense, in a way, that the separatists would want to capture me. As hostages went, it didn’t get much better than the only son of the internal security minister. On paper, at least. The separatists had no way of knowing the minister in question couldn’t care less if his only son lived or died.

  What didn’t make sense was the idea that these destitute workers had conspired with the separatists to… what? What could their end goal possibly be?

  If I were killed – or even taken from here – it’d only paint a target on their backs. The separatist fighters could disappear into the night; but these people had families, children. They’d be the ones left here to face the wrath of the authorities. And if they really were involved in smuggling activities, it made even less sense that they’d go out of their way to draw the attention of the police.

  Moreover, if they were working with the separatists, then what was all that ruckus outside? The shouting, the crashing – as if heavy equipment was being hurled around. If the workers were on the side of the intruders, why did it sound like a war zone out there?

  I began making my way out of the storage area.

  “Where the hell are you—” Alai’s rough hand landed on my shoulder, pressing down hard.

  Tired of being manhandled, I grabbed his forearm and tore his hand off me in one swift move. “That’s enough! I’m going to go see what’s happening.”

  “You’ll get yourself killed,” he snarled, voice shrill with panic. “You’ll get us both killed.”

  I forced myself to keep my voice steady, refusing to let my own terror show. “There are children out there, Alai. There’s a baby in those tents.” Maybe more than one. Not like I could tell them apart from their cries. “We can’t just leave them to their fate.”

  “Why not?” he retorted. “Their parents were the ones who sold you out, who brought the separatists down on us. Those children will be fine.”

  Another loud thud reverberated through the air, followed by more shouting.

  I glanced in the direction of the noise, then back at Alai. “That’s just speculation. And even if they’re working with the separatists—”

  “They are working with the separatists! No other way they could’ve known you were here tonight. Somebody tipped them off.”

  “Maybe some of them. And if we find out which ones…” I shook my head. “But clearly, something’s happening. It sounds like a fight has broken out. Maybe we can use that to our advantage. Whatever the case, we can’t just leave the rest to die. Not with children involved.”

  “Not your children,” he snapped. “Not your problem. You need to focus on saving yourself.”

  A loud bang echoed from the direction of the front yard. Ignoring Alai, I sprinted toward the sound. He gave chase, cursing loudly.

  I slowed as I neared my destination, the sounds of a struggle growing louder. Despite what Alai thought, I wasn’t suicidal. I hunched in on myself, trying to make myself as small as possible. All but trembling with the effort to quiet my heavy panting, keep my footsteps silent.

  The closer I got, the lower I crouched, until I was practically crawling. My injured palm scraped against the dirt, sending sharp, stinging pain through my hand.

  After what felt like an eternity, I got as close to the front yard as I dared. And hid myself under the concrete staircase we’d descended less than an hour ago.

  Carefully, I peeked out at the tents beyond the makeshift structure of the Minjal Stadium.

  The camp was in chaos.

  Several tents had collapsed, their flimsy tarpaulin frames crumpled like discarded paper. Tin-can stoves lay on their sides, embers scattered dangerously across the ground. The wooden wheelbarrow we’d passed earlier lay upside down. Some of the cookware had been overturned, their aromatic contents spilling onto the dirt.

  Most of the women and children – some of the men, too – had backed away. Watching from the edges, trying not to get caught up in the fray.

  I could hardly blame them, seeing as I was doing the exact same thing.

  At the center stood a cluster of men, led by the burly one who had confronted us at the entrance. Had tried to stop us. The woman with the long braids, presumably his wife, was at his side.

  They were shouting at two tall figures dressed head to toe in black, their faces concealed by black cloth that left only small openings for their eyes and nostrils. Even their mouths were covered, though their voices carried clearly enough. “Just tell us where they are, and we’ll be out of here,” the shorter one snapped, voice brimming with frustration. “Why the hell are you risking your own necks for those central monkeys—”

  “We’re not!” the big man growled, just as furious. “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you! Why would we stick our necks out for some central spy? There’s no one here! We’ve been smoking, playing cards at the arch since work wrapped up. If some strange man from Darvika had wandered in, don’t you think one of us would’ve noticed?”

  “Then why not let us search the site?” the taller one demanded.

  “Because you’ll ransack the place,” retorted a balding, middle-aged man. The one who’d said he was from Rakin Town, I suddenly recalled. “More than you already have.” He glanced around, as if to prove his point. “And when the supervisor comes in the morning, who do you think will pay for it? Not you. You’ll be long gone. But we’ll have to stay right here, face the music. Pay the price for the wreckage you caused.”

  I stiffened, feeling a movement at my back.

  A quick look back told me it was only Alai, crawling up behind me to crouch under the stairwell.

  “We’re not leaving until we find who we came for,” the taller of the two intruders growled. “Even if it means tearing this place apart.”

  “We’d like to see you try,” cried the woman with the twin braids. “This is our home. Where we live, where our children live. If you think we’ll just stand by and watch you destroy everything we’ve built—”

  “Stop! I said stop!” someone yelled.

  A child’s voice rang out, cutting through the chaos. “Maa! Maa!”

  A scrawny boy – no older than seven or eight – came barreling through the maze of tents, his wide eyes locked on something I couldn’t see. “Maa! I’m here! Maa—”

  My breath caught as another figure emerged from the wreckage of gutted tents and overturned equipment. Another man in black, face covered completely except for his eyes and nose. “Stop! Listen to me, right now!”

  Paying him no heed, the boy kept running. “Maa! Maa!”

  I watched frozen in horror as the man chasing him grabbed something from his belt. “I said stop!” he yelled, whipping out a gun. “If you don’t stop—”

  The two black-clad fighters arguing with the workers spun around. “What the hell—” the taller one snarled, before lunging forward.

  A shot rang out.

  I didn’t think. Just reached out with both hands, snatching the boy up as he ran past the staircase.

  His small body slammed into me. One bony knee jamming into my stomach so hard, I saw stars.

  “Are you hurt?” I rasped, pressing him to my chest to stop his flailing. “Did he hit you?”

  The little boy shook his head, his snotty, tear-streaked face twisted in panic. “Maa! Maa!” His eyes were fixed on something behind me.

  I turned.

  Sure enough, a petite woman stood frozen behind a pillar, clutching a baby to her chest.

  I pressed a finger to my lips, signaling the boy to be quiet. No time to waste. Keeping him pressed tight against me, I half-crawled, half-tiptoed over to her. Sticking to the shadows as much as possible.

  Alai hissed something behind me, but I ignored him.

  The woman’s red-rimmed eyes widened as I approached. She twisted her body slightly, as if to shield the baby in her arms.

  I gestured to the child in my arms and motioned for silence, trying to communicate that I wasn’t a threat, that I wasn’t going to hurt her or her children. That I was trying to help, to get them out.

  All I had to do was get them up the stairs and to that damn tunnel on the first floor.

  Another gunshot rang out in the distance.

  The baby whimpered. But the shouting in the front yard was ramping up once again. So, as long as it didn’t start wailing, I was reasonably confident we wouldn’t be heard.

  I moved quickly, instructing the woman to stay behind me at all times as we crept toward the stairs.

  Once we were close enough, enveloped by the shadows of the stairwell, I heaved the boy up and set him directly on the fifth step. Taking advantage of the open side where the handrail should have been.

  As if reading my intent, Alai gestured for the woman to hand him her baby. She hesitated, her fear palpable.

  Then, another metallic clang echoed in the distance. Followed by a pained scream.

  That seemed to make the decision for her.

  She handed him the baby. And allowed me to help her clamber onto the fifth step after her son, bypassing the well-lit landing at the front.

  Once she was secure, Alai lifted the baby up to her. Crouching, she took her child with trembling hands, her bloodless lips curving into a faint, watery smile.

  He gestured for her to keep moving. Without a word, she and her son obeyed, climbing the stairs with light, soundless steps.

  I turned to Alai, unsure how to convey my gratitude.

  He waved a hand, urging me to follow them.

  I nodded, not wanting to argue, and hauled myself onto the fifth step. Staying in the shadows by avoiding the brightly lit landing, where we might have been spotted from the front yard.

  Once I was steady on my feet, I turned back and extended my hand to Alai. He grasped it, using the support to clamber up the rough side of the concrete stairs, until he stood beside me.

  Wordlessly, I resumed climbing, careful to make as little noise as possible. Alai followed close behind, bringing up the rear.

  The shouting in the front yard intensified. “Stop!” someone yelled, their voice sharp with fury.

  I didn’t look back. Every second was crucial. I had to reach the first floor. Had to find the tunnel and get out.

  And then I heard it, moments after I’d reached the next landing.

  Another gunshot.

  Behind me, Alai let out a hoarse cry of pain. I spun around, just in time to see him stagger. Half a second later, he lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs.

  “Alai!” I cried out, unable to stop myself. Fighting every instinct not to rush down the stairs after him. “Alai, answer me! Say something.”

  Soon, he was surrounded by the black-clad intruders. Three of them.

  I shrank deeper into the shadows, my pulse pounding. But I couldn’t make myself go up the next flight of stairs; couldn’t abandon him to the separatist fighters.

  One of them nudged Alai with his foot, barking something at him.

  After a few seconds, I was stunned to see Alai clamber back to his feet. With some help from those around him.

  Hadn’t he been shot? Could the bullet have only grazed him?

  Was he not seriously injured? Gods, please let that be the case!

  Alai swayed on his feet, but didn’t fall back down.

  Then his gaze lifted – straight to where I stood in the shadows. But his eyes didn’t lock on me. Instead, they flicked slightly to the left. Unfocused, searching. “Go! Get out of here! Now!” he shouted.

  The shortest of the three black-clad intruders punched him in the stomach.

  Alai doubled over, groaning in pain.

  “Don’t you dare!” the man snarled, looking up in my direction. But his eyes – oddly big and expressive – didn’t quite focus on me. His gaze swept over my hiding place, searching. But the shadows were too deep for him to spot me. “Don’t you dare move a damn inch until we say so.” He pointed at Alai, who was still hunched over, clutching his stomach. “Or we’ll kill him.”

  I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just held myself still in the shadows, not daring to make a single sound.

  My only consolation was that the woman and her kids were safe upstairs, hidden. But they didn’t know about the tunnel. Didn’t know where to find the opening. Without me or Alai to help them, they wouldn’t make it out of here.

  “If you want him to live,” said the man who’d just punched Alai. “Tell us your name. And tell the truth. If you lie,” he clapped Alai roughly on the back, making him cough. “He dies.”

  For a few seconds, I held my tongue. Until I saw one of them reach for something at his belt. “Lekh Na-Naag,” I stammered, panic tightening my throat. “My name is Lekh Naag.” Uncharacteristically, it didn’t occur to me to try and lie my way out of this.

  The three separatists exchanged glances, their postures relaxing visibly. One of them even wrapped an arm around Alai, helping him straighten up, while another rubbed his back soothingly.

  “Hello, Lekh Naag,” said the one who’d just reached for his gun, voice congenial. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you. Why don’t you come with us for a little trip? Been so long since you were last in Zilan. We’d love to show you around, catch you up on everything you’ve missed.”

  “If you want to kill me, you-you’ll have to do it right here.” I cursed the tremor in my voice. “I’m not making it easier for you by accompanying you to some deserted dumping ground.”

  “Kill you?” the man sounded genuinely surprised. “Why would we kill you? What a waste would that be!”

  “We just want to talk,” said the tallest of the three. “No fighting. No killing. Just a conversation.”

  “Well then, you can t-talk to me right here.”

  The tall man shook his black-covered head. “That won’t do, I’m afraid. Because it’s not just us. There are others waiting eagerly to meet you. Talk to you. We have to bring you to them; make introductions. They’d be very disappointed if they don’t get a chance to see you in person.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  The shortest one grinned and gestured to Alai. “Then he dies.”

  I swallowed, my throat parched. “What guarantee do I have that he won’t die anyway? Even if I agree, you could still kill him. Your friend already shot him. Even if you did nothing else, he might die of his injuries before the night is over.”

  The man with the gun barked out a laugh, casually pulling the weapon from his belt.

  I flinched. As did Alai.

  “Oh, this?” He waved it in the air with a theatrical flourish. “It’s a pellet gun, you silly goose. It won’t kill anyone.” He glanced at Alai. “He’ll have a nasty bruise on his back, come morning. But nothing worse.”

  A knot in my stomach loosened, my shoulders sagging with relief.

  “So, what’s your decision?” the tallest one asked, after half a minute of silence. “Will you come with us?”

  A vehement refusal burned on the tip of my tongue. Every muscle in my body tensed, ready to bolt. I could still make a run for it – race up the stairs to the first floor; find the tunnel and make my escape.

  But I couldn’t deny the cold hard facts. There really was no good reason to refuse.

  Between the two of us, I was the more valuable hostage. Alai was just a junior employee at JalVayu Construction. The separatists would have little incentive to keep him alive, after tonight.

  I, on the other hand, had the family connections to command a hefty ransom. Maybe even a prisoner exchange. Papa might not care enough to bargain with separatists, but Leena and Ammi wouldn’t leave me to die without a struggle.

  And even Papa had an image to uphold. He couldn’t just abandon his only son to be killed by separatists, without at least making a show of trying to save me.

  And my would-be captors knew all that.

  If nothing else, they understood that my death in separatist custody would only bring the central security forces down on Zilan. Making their situation worse than it already was.

  I exhaled slowly. “Fine,” I said, stepping out of the shadows. “Let Alai go. Leave these people alone.” I gestured to the small group of construction workers who’d gathered close. “And I’ll go with you.”

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