Bakar left the office and made his way downstairs. As he passed through the lobby, he exchanged nods and brief, light conversation with familiar faces—some of the guards who had worked security details with him before. It was a small ritual of normalcy in a world that had become anything but.
Finally, he stepped outside and entered his car, the engine purring to life as he pulled into the flow of city traffic. The drive to the hospital was a quiet one, his mind turning over the task ahead.
When he arrived at the private ward, he found Jenny propped up in bed, a tray of food before her. She was eating slowly, her movements still careful from the wound, but there was color in her cheeks now. Beside her sat Irene, who hadn't left her sister's side for days—a small, fierce shadow.
'They're really quite a pair',Bakar thought, observing them from the doorway for a brief moment. Quite a pair of siblings.
He stepped forward, his expression settling into professional warmth.
"Good morning, Miss Jenny. Irene." He greeted them both with a respectful nod.
Jenny looked up, her eyes immediately sharpening with the wariness that never quite left her. Irene clutched her sister's hand a little tighter.
Bakar's presence meant news. And in their world, news was rarely good.
Bakar saw their reactions—the way Jenny's face shifted from cautious hope to something colder, more fearful. Irene's grip on her sister's hand tightened until her knuckles went white. He didn't let it sway him. He cleared his throat and delivered the message as ordered.
"Mister Black is very grateful for your information," he began, his voice measured. "It turns out your intel was useful—and true. Because of that, there's no need for us to keep you here any longer." He paused, then delivered the final words. "He says you're free to go."
Jenny stared at him, then at her sister, then back at Bakar. "Free to go where?" Her voice was quiet, but sharp. "We have nowhere to go. We're literally being chased by those men."
Bakar met her gaze steadily. "Mister Black said he would handle that. The men will not find you. But he can't keep taking care of you indefinitely." He repeated the core message, softening his tone just slightly. "You're free to go now. That's what he instructed me to tell you."
Jenny's lips parted, but no words came. Irene looked between them, her young face caught between confusion and fear. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Then Jenny laughed—a short, hollow sound. "Free," she repeated, as if tasting something bitter. "He throws us out and calls it freedom."
Bakar said nothing. He had delivered the message. His duty was done.
But as he turned to leave, Jenny's voice stopped him.
"Tell him..." She hesitated, then shook her head. "Never mind. Just go."
Bakar nodded once and left, the door clicking softly behind him. In the sudden quiet, Irene looked up at her sister.
"Jenny? What do we do now?"
Jenny stared at the closed door, her expression unreadable. For a long moment, she didn't answer. Then, slowly, a cold determination settled over her features.
"We survive," she said quietly. "Like we always do".
When Bakar left the hospital, he stepped outside and immediately called Zeke. The line rang twice before Zeke finally picked up.
"How did it go?" Zeke's voice came through, steady but with an edge.
"I've delivered the message, sir."
A pause. Then, quieter: "And?"
Bakar hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "Sir?"
"How did she react?" Zeke asked, the words coming slower, as if he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
"Not good, sir," Bakar replied simply.
"Hmm."
Silence stretched between them. Zeke didn't ask anything further. He didn't need to. The weight of that single syllable—hmm—carried more than words could.
"I'll check in later," Zeke finally said, and the line went dead.
Bakar lowered his phone, staring at the hospital entrance for a long moment. Then he got into his car and drove away, leaving behind two sisters who now had nothing but each other and a freedom that felt more like abandonment.
Zeke set his phone down after Bakar's call and stared at the ceiling of his office for a long moment. Not good, sir. The words echoed, unwanted. He pushed them aside.
He had five dates tonight. Five performances. Five opportunities to smile, nod, and pretend he was participating in a process he had no intention of seeing through.
His secretary buzzed through the intercom. "Sir, your first reservation is at 7:00 PM. I've sent the details to your phone. The lady's name is Miss Victoria Ashford. She's a corporate attorney. Her father is on the board of Ashford Industries."
Zeke rubbed his temples. "Anything else I should know?"
"She's... reportedly very particular about punctuality, sir. Her last three arranged dates ended within thirty minutes."
A humorless smile touched his lips. "Then I'll endeavor to be fascinating."
He spent the next hour reviewing files—not on the women he was about to meet, but on the ongoing investigation. Lawman was turned. Isley and Altman were still feeding information to the enemy. The listening device had been removed but not yet replaced with a disinformation source. There was work to do.
At 6:30, he stood and walked to the private washroom connected to his office. He studied his reflection—the sharp suit, the composed expression, the eyes that betrayed nothing. The mask was intact.
But as he straightened his tie, his mind drifted, unbidden, to a hospital room. To dark hair on a white pillow. To defiant eyes that had held his gaze while handing over a list that could save his empire.
He blinked the image away.
Sentiment is a weakness.
He grabbed his phone and walked out, his secretary falling into step behind him with last-minute reminders he barely registered.
The first restaurant was an exclusive French establishment overlooking the city skyline. As he was ushered to a private corner table, he saw her—Victoria Ashford, already seated, already watching him with the cool assessment of someone who judged quickly and rarely approved.
She was striking. Elegant. Exactly the kind of woman his grandfather would approve of.
Zeke smiled his practiced smile and extended his hand.
"Miss Ashford. I apologize for keeping you waiting."
She didn't smile back. "You haven't. I'm early. I prefer to observe my dates before they observe me."
This, Zeke thought, is going to be a very long night.
He sat down, the conversation beginning its predictable dance of polite questions and carefully curated answers. But beneath the surface, his mind was elsewhere—on Bakar's report, on Lawman's defection, on the war unfolding in the shadows.
And on two sisters, now alone, walking into a city that wanted them dead.