Mr.
Roy now wore a complete National Guard uniform—a dark protective vest with a deep blue beret emblem on his shoulder.
In his hands rested a long-barreled rifle, ready to be used.
The fading evening light struck its surface, reflecting a cold metallic gleam.
“Wait here,” Mr.
Roy said firmly, his voice deep and commanding, like an order that could not be refused.
Flora, Melanie, and Dean could only watch in silence as he stepped outside.
No sound followed except the faint scrape of his boots against the terrace floor.
In the humid, suffocating air, the scent of dust mixed with metal filled their lungs, and the atmosphere felt as though it was holding its breath.
The air shifted slightly as Mr.
Roy pushed open the tall iron gate, which creaked loudly.
His steps were steady and rhythmic, as though he was accustomed to facing danger.
Even the wind rustling the branches in the yard seemed to fade beneath the growing tension.
Outside the gate, two black motorcycles stood side by side on the dirt road.
Their riders wore full-face helmets and leather jackets with no identifying marks.
They did not speak or move.
They simply stood there—two foreign shadows beneath the orange sky that was slowly darkening.
Mr.
Roy stopped a few meters from the gate, his sharp gaze scanning every detail ahead.
One hand gripped the barrel of his weapon, while the other slowly reached for the small radio on his shoulder.
“Code two-seven,” he said quietly, as if speaking to the air.
“Possible visual surveillance. Stay alert.” From behind the window, Flora clutched her knees tightly, knowing even the slightest movement could raise suspicion.
Melanie swallowed hard and whispered, “Who are they?” Dean shook his head.
“I don’t know. But if Mr. Roy is preparing like that, they’re definitely not ordinary people.”
Meanwhile, one of the riders pulled a phone from his jacket pocket.
He appeared to receive a call, lowering his head as he listened before giving a single nod.
No words were spoken, but moments later, the low roar of engines broke the silence.
Both riders started their motorcycles almost simultaneously and then drove away.
Faint exhaust smoke lingered in the cooling air, while dust swirled briefly before disappearing with them around the bend.
Mr.
Roy remained standing where he was for a few seconds after the sound of the engines faded.
His eyes still searched the distance, as if ensuring no third shadow lingered unseen.
Then he took a deep breath and slowly lowered his weapon.
“They’re gone,” he muttered before turning back toward the house.
As he stepped inside, Dean spoke immediately, his voice filled with admiration.
“Turns out… he’s an elite force member,” he said, sounding like a child who had just discovered his neighbor was a real war hero.
Mr.
Roy only gave a faint smile.
“That was in the past,” he replied briefly, patting Dean’s shoulder before placing his weapon in the corner of the room.
“Now, my duty is just to make sure you’re safe.” Flora, who had been sitting stiffly, finally let out a breath of relief.
But the calm only lasted a moment.
Her phone suddenly vibrated on her lap.
The soft buzz was enough to make her entire body tense.
She looked down.
The name on the screen made her blood seem to stop for a second: Peter.
Her heart pounded violently, the name reopening an old wound.
She stared at the screen for a few seconds, her hand trembling, before finally pressing the green button.
“Hello…” she said softly, almost in a whisper.
But it was not Peter’s voice that answered.
“Hello, is this Flora? I’m Christine, Peter’s cousin. Do you still remember me?” Flora froze.
She tried to recall—a girl with shoulder-length hair, often wearing a gray sweater back in high school—slowly appeared in her memory.
“Oh… Christine. Yes, I remember you,” she replied cautiously.
“Are you okay?” Christine asked.
Her voice sounded gentle, but there was something behind it—something that made Flora feel as though she was being measured rather than greeted.
Flora straightened her posture.
“I’m fine,” she answered flatly.
“But can I ask who those people were who were following me earlier?”
“I just wanted to make sure you got home safely. Peter is worried about you.”
Flora frowned.
“Worried? Or watching me?” There was a long pause on the other end.
The silence tightened like a rope ready to snap.
“Don’t say it like that,” Christine finally replied, her voice dropping slightly.
“This is all for your own good.”
“For my good?” Flora glanced toward the window, where the reflection of Dean’s car shimmered faintly.
“You send armed men to follow me, and you call that ‘for my good’?
Do you even hear yourself, Christine?”
“You don’t understand what’s happening, Flora,” Christine’s voice turned colder.
“There are things that can’t be explained with words. If you don’t come home tonight, something could happen—not just to you, but to the people around you.”
Flora froze.
The words felt like poison slowly seeping into her veins.
She glanced at Dean and Melanie, who were now watching her from a distance, their faces tense.
“Is that a threat?” she asked in a low voice.
“Not a threat,” Christine replied calmly but sharply.
“A warning.” Outside, the wind picked up again, branches brushing against each other as if recording the secret conversation.
Flora clenched her teeth.
“You and Peter… do you think you can keep controlling other people’s lives?
After everything that’s happened?”
“You know that’s not what we mean,” Christine shot back, though her voice trembled slightly.
“We just want you to be safe.”
“Then call off your people.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s already too late.”
The line suddenly went dead.
The phone screen turned black, leaving behind an eerie silence that echoed in Flora’s mind.
She stared at her reflection—pale, exhausted, yet her eyes now gleamed with something new.
Not fear, but determination.
She gripped her phone tightly and looked toward the window.
“If they think I’m going to give up,” she said quietly, almost to herself, “they’re very wrong.”
Dean, who had been watching her, stepped closer.
“What are you going to do, Flo?”
Flora stood up, her gaze cold yet focused.
“We’re going back to the city.”
Melanie stared at her in disbelief.
“Back?
Now?
After all this?”
“Yes,” Flora answered firmly.
“I’m done running. I’m tired of being hunted. Now it’s my turn to hunt them.”
Mr.
Roy, who had been standing silently near the door, looked at her closely.
“Are you sure you know what you’re dealing with, kid?”
Flora met his gaze calmly.
“No, sir. But I do know one thing—they’re lying. And I won’t rest until I find out why.”
Silence filled the room once again, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock.
Dean looked at Mr.
Roy, then back at Flora.
“If you’re going to the city, I’m coming with you.”
“Dean—” Melanie tried to interrupt, but he shook his head.
“She’s been alone long enough. I’m not letting her go back there without someone by her side.”
Mr.
Roy studied them one by one.
“Do you understand what that means? If those people are really armed, you’re not just in danger—you become targets.”
Flora straightened her back.
“If they’ve already made us targets, then at least I want to know why.”
Another long silence followed.
Outside, the sun had fully set, painting the sky in purplish-red hues like blood spilled across the horizon.
The sound of crickets began to rise, forming an eerie rhythm against the tension.
Mr.
Roy finally exhaled deeply.
“Then wait a moment. I’m coming with you.” He picked up his protective vest again and loaded fresh rounds into his weapon.
His movements were swift, precise, almost silent.
“Mr. Roy—” Flora looked at him, a mix of relief and guilt in her eyes.
“You don’t have to—”
“My duty is to protect civilians,” Roy cut in.
“And from what I see, you’ve stepped into something far bigger than you realize.”
Flora held his gaze for a moment, then slowly nodded.
Not long after, three figures—Mr.
Roy, Flora, and Dean—stood beside Dean’s old car.
The headlights cut through the thin mist rolling down from the hills.
In the distance, a dog barked, as if warning of something unseen.
Melanie stood on the porch, biting her lip.
“Be careful,” she said, her voice trembling.
“You don’t know what’s out there.”
Flora turned and gave a faint smile.
“That’s exactly what we’re going to find out.”
The car slowly left the yard, passing through the iron gate Mr.
Roy had just closed behind them.
In the rearview mirror, the house grew smaller, swallowed by the night.
Inside the car, no one spoke for the first few minutes.
Only the sound of the engine and their heavy breathing filled the space.
Flora held her phone tightly in her lap.
On the screen, Peter’s last message still lingered—a short sentence sent a week ago: *“If something happens, don’t trust anyone—including me.”* Her eyes lingered on those words as, in the distance, the city lights began to glow like a cluster of watchful eyes.
Mr.
Roy finally broke the silence.
“Are you ready?”
Dean nodded.
“Always.”
Flora stared straight ahead, her face hardened, her gaze deep.
“Yes. It’s time to uncover the truth behind all of this.”
The car sped toward the city, cutting through mist and deserted roads that seemed to hide countless secrets.
Beyond the dark sky, no one knew who was waiting.
But one thing was certain:
The game had just begun.