Killing My Father-in-law for Justice

The streets of Scotland were slick with rain, the faint glow of streetlamps reflecting off cobblestones. My footsteps echoed softly as I walked, head low, my black hood pulled tight, mask concealing half my face.

The night was cold, biting at my fingers, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not tonight.

Ahead, a familiar figure came into view, standing under a flickering lamppost.

Victor Salvani.

The sight of him made my stomach churn, though not in fear, never in fear. It was loathing, pure and unfiltered. He stood there, laughing into his phone, his voice a grating mix of arrogance and condescension. I slowed my pace, my pulse quickening. His words were garbled, but his tone, the tone of a man who thought himself untouchable—was unmistakable.

I didn’t think twice as I approached him, each step deliberate. He noticed me when I was a few feet away, his conversation cutting off midsentence.

"Who’s—" His eyes widened as I pulled something from my pocket.

"Wait," he stammered, his hands trembling as he raised them. "Please, let’s talk about this. Whatever you—"

A loud crack split the air. It echoed down the street, scattering the quiet like shards of glass.

I didn’t stay to watch him crumple, though I caught a glimpse—his body folding to the ground, lifeless. The phone slipped from his hand, its screen flickering faintly as it landed beside him.

I turned and walked away, my breath coming in steady bursts, each step taking me farther from the scene.

The funeral was a spectacle, as I’d expected. Victor Salvani, the untouchable CEO, now a man of marble and silk in his gilded casket. His family gathered around, their tears flowing freely, though I couldn’t tell if it was grief or fear for their own futures.

I stood at the back of the crowd, arms crossed, hidden behind dark sunglasses and a simple black dress. It wasn’t hard to blend in with mourners, everyone looked the same when grief clouded their features.

My gaze found Marco, my husband—or at least he was still that, for now.

He stood near the casket, his head bowed, shoulders hunched. He looked like a man who had lost not just a father, but a piece of himself.

I felt no sympathy. Marco was Victor’s son, through and through, a man who had inherited his father’s ambition and ruthlessness. Whatever love I had once felt for him had evaporated the day I learned the truth about his family. Divorce was inevitable, though I hadn’t yet told him.

As the priest droned on, I clutched the roses in my hand, their thorns pricking my palm. I stepped forward when the time came, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

Standing over Victor’s casket, I felt a rush of satisfaction.

"Rest in hell, Victor," I murmured, just loud enough for myself. I dropped the rose onto the polished lid and turned away.

The notification buzzed as I sat in the corner of the funeral hall, pretending to sip at a glass of champagne. My fingers trembled slightly as I unlocked my phone, the screen lighting up with a video.

I froze.

The footage was shaky, captured from a nearby building. It showed Victor on the street, laughing into his phone. A figure approached him—hooded, masked was me.

The video cut off just before the act, but not before a fleeting glimpse of my face, partially visible beneath the hood.

My chest tightened. I locked my phone, slipping it back into my pocket, and forced myself to breathe.

No one seemed to notice me. The mourners were too consumed with their grief to pay attention to someone in the corner. But the video was out there now, spreading like wildfire.

I clenched my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms.

If anyone recognized me…

"Hey, you okay?"

I flinched, turning to see one of Marco’s friends, a woman I also despise—eyeing me curiously.

"I’m fine. Just overwhelmed," I said, forcing a small smile.

She nodded sympathetically, then turned back to her group. I let out a slow breath, relief mingling with unease.

Later, the whispers reached me.

"Did you see the video?" one man murmured to his companion near the bar.

"Of course," the other replied, his tone low but excited. "Can’t say I blame them, though. Victor wasn’t exactly a saint."

"That’s an understatement," someone else chimed in. "Insurance scams, bankrupting families. The man was a devil in a suit."

I lingered nearby, pretending to look for something. My heart, which had been racing moments ago, began to slow.

The public wasn’t condemning the act—they were applauding it.

A small, involuntary smile crept onto my lips. For years, Victor Salvani had hidden behind wealth and power, immune to consequences.

Now, even in death, his sins were laid bare for the world to see. I straightened, glancing around the room. No one here suspected me. They were too wrapped up in their own dramas, their own grief, to notice the assassin among them.

For the first time since that night, I felt a flicker of peace. As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, I stepped out into the cool air, the weight on my shoulders lifting.

Victor Salvani was gone, and no one—not even Marco—would ever know the truth.

Living a normal life after taking a life wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.

Every time I walked past a police officer, my heart raced. It was like my body betrayed me, forcing me to relive the moment when I saw Victor Salvani’s lifeless form crumpled on the cobblestones. I kept my head down, blending into the crowd, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that their eyes lingered on me a second too long.

Posters lined the city walls, stapled to every telephone pole and bulletin board. I stopped at one, the paper slightly damp from a recent drizzle. The face staring back at me wasn’t entirely clear, but it was enough. The hooded figure with a partially visible cheekbone—it was me.

"One hundred million dollars," I whispered to myself, reading the bold text beneath. "Dead or alive."

I forced myself to keep walking, my legs feeling like lead. The bounty wasn’t just a number. It was a beacon, drawing the desperate and the cunning straight to my shadow.

I returned to Edinburgh a week later, seeking solace—or maybe punishment. My mother’s hometown had always held a strange pull for me. Quiet, understated, and full of memories, both good and bad.

The cemetery was nearly empty that morning, the air heavy with the scent of rainsoaked earth. I carried a bouquet of lilies, my fingers trembling slightly as I approached her grave.

Suzanne Gibson. Loving Mother. 1962 2023.

The words etched into the granite felt heavier than usual today. I knelt and placed the flowers at the base, my hands lingering on the cool stone.

"I miss you," I whispered.

The memory hit me like a tidal wave. I was sixteen, standing in a sterile hospital room, my mother’s frail body hooked up to machines that beeped rhythmically. She had begged for help, her voice weak, but the doctor barely glanced at her. He had been too busy checking his clipboard, more concerned with protocol than a dying woman.

"Insurance doesn’t cover this treatment," he’d said, his tone clinical, almost bored.

The helplessness, the anger, the injustice—it had stayed with me. Something inside me snapped.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply to push the memory away. "I’m sorry, Mom," I murmured, my voice breaking. "I’ve become something you wouldn’t recognize."

The walk back to my rented apartment felt longer than usual. It was as if every shadow held a threat, every footstep behind me a warning.

I glanced over my shoulder, but the street was empty. Still, the uneasy feeling persisted. I quickened my pace, turning corners abruptly to see if anyone was following.

When I finally reached my door, I fumbled with the key, my hands slick with sweat. Once inside, I locked the door and pressed my back against it, taking a shaky breath.

Paranoia? Maybe. But I couldn’t afford to ignore the thought that someone might be investigating Victor Salvani’s death.

I dropped my bag on the couch and headed to the kitchen, grabbing a tub of ice cream from the freezer. Eating straight from the container, I turned on the TV, flipping through channels until I landed on the news.

The anchor’s somber voice filled the room. "Authorities are intensifying their search for the individual responsible for the murder of CEO Victor Salvani. The suspect, whose face was partially captured on surveillance, remains at large. The reward has now increased to one hundred million dollars."

I swallowed hard, the ice cream turning to a lump in my throat. They showed a clip of the grainy footage, I was standing in the shadow of the lamppost, my hood partially covering my face.

"Perfect," I muttered, tossing the spoon back into the tub and setting it aside.

The call came just as I was considering turning off the TV. My phone buzzed on the coffee table, and I didn’t need to check the screen to know who it was.

"Marco," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

"Daphne, what the hell is this?" His voice was sharp, laced with anger. "You’re filing for divorce? Out of nowhere?"

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "It’s not out of nowhere, Marco. You know that."

"No, I don’t," he snapped. "I deserve an explanation!"

"Check your messages."

There was a pause as he did. The silence on the other end was deafening, and I could almost see his face as he opened the photos. Marco, wrapped around another woman in a dimly lit bar.

"Daphne, this isn’t—"

"Don’t," I cut him off. "Don’t insult me by pretending. I’ve known for months, Marco. This is just the cleanest way to end things."

"That’s what this is about?” His voice was incredulous. "You’re blowing up our marriage because of a few meaningless nights?"

"You don’t get it, do you?" My voice rose, anger bubbling to the surface. "This isn’t just about just about you."

"What the hell is going on with you?" he demanded.

I laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. "If you don’t know by now, Marco, you never will."

His breathing was heavy on the other end, the silence between us thick and suffocating.

Finally, he said, "You’re not making sense, Daphne. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

The question hit too close to home, and I felt my grip on the phone tighten.

"Goodbye, Marco," I said, ending the call before he could respond.

I set the phone down, my hands trembling. The air in the room felt heavier, pressing down on me.

Berwickshire was nothing like Edinburgh. It was quieter, the streets narrower, and the people less hurried. The town felt like it had been frozen in time, it's cobblestone roads lined with small shops and cozy cottages. It was the perfect place to disappear, or at least I hoped so.

The manhunt in Scotland had moved to Edinburgh, and every news report hinted that investigators were closing in. My escape from the city had been calculated, every step carefully planned. Using one of my many fake IDs, I became Ashley Burton, a nobody with no past. My computer science degree wasn’t just a framed piece of paper—it was my lifeline. Hacking systems, covering my digital tracks, creating new identities—it was second nature to me now.

Berwickshire was a place where strangers stood out, but I had chosen it for its remoteness. As I stood at the edge of town, my suitcase in hand, I rehearsed my story in my head.

I knocked on the door of a weathered stone house with a crooked sign that read Rooms for Rent.

The woman who answered, a stout figure with graying hair and a sharp gaze, looked me up and down.

"Help you?" she asked, her tone curt but not unkind.

"Yes, I’m Ashley Burton," I said with a polite smile. "I’m looking to rent a place, just for a few months. I’m new in town and need somewhere quiet to stay."

She considered me for a moment before nodding. "I’ve got a room upstairs. Small, but clean. Cash only."

"That’s perfect," I said, handing over the first month’s rent. She didn’t ask too many questions, which suited me fine.

The next morning, I walked through the village, the crisp air biting at my cheeks. It was a peaceful place, with little shops opening their doors and a few locals going about their day. For the first time in weeks, I felt a faint sense of safety.

But that safety came with a price—I was running out of cash. I’d planned meticulously, but my escape from Edinburgh had drained more of my resources than I anticipated. By noon, I was scanning bulletin boards and peeking into shop windows for helpwanted signs.

That’s when I saw it. A small diner on the corner of the main street had a handwritten note in the window: Waitress Needed: Night Shift.

The place smelled of coffee and fresh bread when I stepped inside. The manager, a wiry man with saltandpepper hair, sized me up quickly.

"Got experience?" he asked, his hands on his hips.

"Yes," I lied. "I worked at a café in Glasgow before moving here."

He didn’t press further, and by the end of the day, I had a job. It wasn’t glamorous, but it would keep me afloat.

The diner became my new reality. At night, I served locals who came in for coffee and late dinners, blending into the town’s rhythm. The customers were friendly, most of them too preoccupied with their own lives to notice much about me.

Until she walked in.

I was carrying a tray of steaming plates when I saw her—a familiar woman seated by the window. My pulse quickened. It was the same woman who had approached me at Victor Salvani’s funeral, asking if I was okay.

Her eyes scanned the room, and for a moment, they locked on mine. I froze. The tray wobbled in my hands, and I nearly dropped it.

She tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing as if she recognized me.

Panic clawed at my chest. I forced myself to move, placing the plates on a nearby table before slipping into the back.

I rushed to the restroom, locking the door behind me. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone, my fingers tapping rapidly to open the news.

There it was—my face, staring back at me. The grainy photo from the surveillance footage had been enhanced and spread across every major outlet. The headline read: Prime Suspect Identified in CEO Victor Salvani’s Murder; Daphne Rodriguez

"No way," I whispered, my voice trembling.

My face was no longer just a shadowy figure in a hood. The image was clear enough for anyone to recognize me.

I couldn’t stay here.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to calm the rising tide of panic. As I exited the restroom, I avoided looking at the woman by the window. Instead, I headed straight for the back door, my heart pounding with every step.

But before I could reach it, a firm hand gripped my shoulder.

"Miss Daphne Rodriguez?"

I turned slowly, my stomach twisting into knots. A police officer stood behind me, his expression unreadable.

"You’re under arrest," he said, his voice steady.

The world tilted around me. The other diners were staring now, their murmurs blending into a dull roar in my ears.

"No, you're mistaken," I said, my voice barely audible.

The officer began to recite my rights, his hand moving to his belt. My mind raced, searching for a way out, a plan, anything. Then the officer tightened his grip, and I realized with chilling certainty that my time was up.

And then I saw her—the woman from the funeral—watching me from her seat. A small, knowing smile played on her lips.

She had done this. She was my husband's mistress—Amanda Banes.

The car’s tires screeched as we sped through the narrow streets. I stared out the window, watching the city blur past, my hands aching from the cuffs that bit into my wrists.

The officers didn’t speak. Not that I expected them to. Four of them had manhandled me into the back of the police vehicle, their grips firm and unrelenting, and I’d known better than to keep struggling.

Still, every fiber of my being wanted to fight.

Minutes later, the car came to a sudden halt. One officer yanked open the door, and before I could move, they dragged me out. The station loomed in front of me, its sterile lights glaring like a spotlight on my shame. They didn’t give me a chance to find my footing, their hands pulling and shoving until I was thrown into a cell.

I hit the cold concrete floor hard, the breath knocked from my lungs. The clang of the cell door locking behind me was deafening, and I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.

How poetic. This was the grand finale of my life—rotting in a cage for the murder of Victor Salvani.

The hours crawled by. I sat in the corner, knees pulled to my chest, my mind running in circles. My stomach churned, not from hunger but from the weight of what I knew was coming.

It was the sound of approaching footsteps that finally broke the monotony. I didn’t bother to look up until the cell door creaked open, and when I did, my stomach dropped.

"Marco," I whispered, my throat dry.

He stepped inside, his face a mask of fury. His usually pristine suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened, as though he’d come here in a rush. His dark eyes bore into me, a storm of anger and disbelief swirling behind them.

"Oh, that's just lovely, Daphne. Killing my father and then divorcing me? Such a thoughtful gesture. Simply divine." he said, his voice low and menacing.

I didn’t respond.

"Don’t you dare sit there in silence," he snarled, his voice rising. "You killed my father, Daphne! Why?!"

His words echoed in the small cell, but I refused to flinch. Refused to let him see the guilt that clawed at me. My face was a blank slate, betraying nothing.

The sound of heels clicking against the floor drew my attention to the doorway. Amanda Banes stepped into view, her perfectly polished demeanor intact. The sight of her made my blood boil.

"Oh," I said, my voice laced with mockery. "The cavalry arrives. Let me guess, Amanda, you couldn’t wait to gloat?"

Amanda smirked, stepping closer to Marco. "I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you rot for what you did," she said coolly.

I tilted my head, studying her. "A prosecutor helping her lover’s husband avenge his father. How quaint. Tell me, Amanda, does he cry on your shoulder at night? Or are you too busy playing house?"

Amanda’s expression hardened, but her voice remained calm. "You’re a murderer, Daphne. You deserve every second of what’s coming to you."

I couldn’t help but laugh, a sound that even to me felt unhinged. "Murderer? Amanda, you don’t even know the half of it."

Marco stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides. "Enough," he barked, glaring at me. "You disgust me."

I met his gaze, the words stinging more than I wanted to admit. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Amanda touched his arm, her voice softening. "Let’s go, Marco. She’s not worth it."

They left together, their footsteps fading into the distance. The silence that followed was suffocating. I slid down the wall, my legs giving out beneath me.

For a long time, I stared at the floor, my mind a chaotic mess. The ache in my chest was unbearable, but I pushed it down, locking it away where it couldn’t hurt me.

It was the faint rustling from outside the cell that snapped me out of my daze. I sat up, my brow furrowing. The noises were different this time—unfamiliar, almost deliberate.

Then the door creaked open, and several figures filed in. Their faces were obscured by masks, their movements swift and precise. Panic surged through me as one of them approached the cell, his gloved hands working quickly to pick the lock.

The door swung open with a soft click, and the figure stepped inside.

"Come with us," he said, his voice firm but low.

I shook my head, backing away. "I’m not going anywhere with you."

The man hesitated, then reached up to remove his mask. My breath caught in my throat.

"Daniel?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His face was older, harder, but there was no mistaking those sharp blue eyes. Daniel Monetti—my childhood friend, the one I thought I’d lost forever—stood before me, a mixture of urgency and relief on his face.

"Daphne," he said, his voice steady. "We don’t have much time. Trust me, you need to come with us."

The chaos outside grew louder—voices shouting, footsteps pounding against the concrete. My heart raced as I looked at him, torn between disbelief and the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

Before I could answer, Daniel grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet. "Let’s go!"

As I followed him into the shadows, one thought burned in my mind: this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The cold night air whipped against my face as Daniel dragged me through the dark, narrow alleyways. His grip on my arm was firm, almost bruising, as though he feared I might slip away.

Shouts echoed behind us, boots pounding against pavement. My heart raced, my breath coming in short, frantic bursts. I had no idea where he was taking me, but I clung to the faint hope that whatever awaited me was better than the cold confines of a jail cell.

"This way!" Daniel hissed, yanking me to the left.

A blinding spotlight swept across the alley, followed by the thunderous roar of helicopter blades. My stomach clenched. They were relentless, and I knew this prison break would be headline news by dawn.

"Faster!" one of the masked figures barked.

My legs burned as we pushed forward. At the end of the alley, a black car screeched to a halt, its tires skidding on the wet asphalt. The passenger door flew open, and Daniel shoved me inside before climbing in after me.

"Drive!" he barked at the woman in the driver’s seat.

She had short, choppy hair and sharp eyes that darted to the rearview mirror. Without a word, she slammed her foot on the pedal, and the car lurched forward.

I glanced out the back window, my heart sinking as flashing red and blue lights appeared in the distance. The helicopters overhead were relentless, their beams cutting through the darkness. The roar of the sirens grew louder, closer.

"This isn’t working!" the woman shouted over the chaos. "They’re gaining on us!"

"Then lose them, Sue!" Daniel snapped, his voice tense.

"Oh, brilliant idea, Daniel!" Sue shot back. "Why didn’t I think of that?"

Their bickering grated on my already frayed nerves. I leaned forward, gripping the back of Sue’s seat. "You’re not going to lose them like this," I said, my voice sharp.

Sue glared at me in the mirror. "And what would you suggest, Miss Jailbird? Send them a polite letter asking them to stop?"

I ignored her sarcasm. "Let me drive."

"Are you insane?" Sue barked.

"Do it," Daniel said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sue threw her hands up in exasperation, bringing the car to a sudden halt. "Fine! But if we end up in a ditch, it’s on you."

I scrambled into the driver’s seat, my fingers wrapping around the steering wheel. The adrenaline coursing through me drowned out any fear.

"Hold on," I muttered, slamming the gear into drive.

The tires screeched as I sped forward, weaving through the narrow streets. My eyes scanned every corner, every turn, searching for an escape route. The suburbs loomed ahead was a maze of quiet streets and culdesacs. Perfect.

The car barreled through the neighborhood, the flashing lights falling farther behind us. I took a sharp turn, nearly grazing a parked car, before diving into a tunnel that ran beneath the city. The darkness enveloped us, the sound of the helicopter blades fading into silence.

When we emerged on the other side, the police were gone. For the first time in what felt like hours, I let out a shaky breath.

"Holy—" Sue began, but I cut her off.

"We’re clear," I said, pulling the car onto a deserted road and bringing it to a stop.

The silence that followed was deafening. I could feel their eyes on me, a mixture of curiosity and judgment. I glanced down at my tattered detainee outfit, a grim reminder of what I’d just escaped from.

Daniel broke the silence. "You’ve still got it, Daph."

I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. "Still got what? A knack for chaos?"

He smiled faintly. "For survival."

I crossed my arms, leaning back in the seat. "You didn’t answer my question. Why did you help me?"

Daniel’s expression grew serious. "Because I know what you’re fighting against."

I frowned, confusion knitting my brow.

"The moment I heard you killed Victor Salvani, I knew," he continued. "You weren’t just lashing out or trying to save yourself. You were striking at a monster—a man who ruined countless lives. It was bold, Daphne. Reckless, but bold."

Sue snorted. "Bold or not, you should be thanking us. You’d be rotting in a cell if we hadn’t shown up."

I shot her a glare but stayed quiet.

Daniel leaned closer, his tone softening. "You’ve always been a fighter, Daphne. But you’re not alone in this."

My stomach twisted. I didn’t know what he meant, but his words felt heavy, layered with meaning. "What’s going on, Daniel? Why are you here? Why now?"

He exchanged a glance with Sue and the others, then looked back at me. "Because it’s bigger than you or me. I’m part of an organization—a group that fights back against people like Salvani. We call ourselves the Obsidian Knight."

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. "Obsidian Knight?"

He nodded. “We hunt the untouchables. The ones who think they’re above the law, who destroy lives for profit and power. We’ve been watching Salvani’s empire for years."

"And now you want me to join you?" I asked, my voice laced with skepticism.

Daniel’s eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I saw the boy I used to know—the one who believed in doing the right thing, no matter the cost.

"Only if you’re ready," he said. "But first, we need to know, how far are you willing to go to finish what you started?"

The silence in the car was suffocating. Daniel’s words echoed in my mind as I stared out the window at the desolate road ahead. Join their organization? The idea seemed absurd. I had just broken out of a prison, chased by police, helicopters, and who knows what else. Now I was supposed to sign up for some secret group of vigilantes?

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "You’re serious about this?"

Daniel turned in his seat to face me, his expression calm but firm. "Dead serious, Daphne. You’ve got the skills, the drive, and now, the experience. We can help you, but it’s a twoway street."

I glanced around the car. Sue was watching me in the rearview mirror, her lips pressed into a thin line. The others remained quiet, their faces unreadable behind their masks.

"You don’t get it, do you?" I said, my voice tinged with sarcasm. "I’m not some hero. I’m a criminal, Daniel. A murderer. And now, thanks to you, an escaped convict. I don’t want to join your little club—I want to survive."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" Sue snapped, her tone sharp. "Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve got two options, rot in a cell or work with us."

I shot her a glare. "I don’t work for free."

Sue laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "Oh, sweetheart, this isn’t a job. It’s a mission. You think we’re out here getting rich?"

"Enough," Daniel said, holding up a hand to silence her. He looked back at me, his voice soft but insistent. "We can provide you with money, resources, a safe place to stay. But it comes with a price—you work with us. Otherwise, you’re on your own."

I leaned back, crossing my arms. "And what happens if I say no? You just let me go"

Daniel’s eyes darkened. "You won’t make it out there. You’ll be hunted, Daphne. Every city, every corner, every shadow—you’ll never have a moment’s peace. Is that how you want to live?"

I hated that he was right. The weight of his words settled over me like a suffocating blanket. My life was already over, wasn’t it? At least the life I once knew.

I sighed, looking down at my hands. "Fine. I’ll work with you. But I’m not risking my life for some mission unless there’s something in it for me. Money, Daniel. I need money."

Sue muttered something under her breath, but Daniel nodded. "Deal. But you follow our lead, and you don’t jeopardize the team."

"Great," I said, rolling my eyes. "When do we start?"

"Now," Daniel replied, motioning to the driver. "We’re heading to Coldingham. There’s a route under the bay that will get us out of this region."

I frowned. "And what’s waiting for us in Coldingham?"

"Let's figure it out," he said simply.

The car dipped into a long, dark tunnel. The air grew colder, the sound of the tires echoing off the walls. By the time we emerged on the other side, the faint lights of a small town flickered in the distance.

As we pulled into Coldingham, Daniel began explaining the plan. "We’ll use a yacht to cross the bay. It’s quiet, untraceable, and fast. But there’s a checkpoint near the docks. If they recognize any of us, we’re done."

Sue cursed under her breath. "So what’s the brilliant plan? Walk right past the guards and hope for the best?"

"No," I said, an idea forming in my mind. "We disguise ourselves. There’s got to be a shop around here where we can blend in, look like tourists or something."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You think a change of clothes is enough?"

I shrugged. "It’s better than showing up looking like a prison break."

Sue glanced at the others. "She’s got a point. We’re all over the wanted posters. We need to blend in."

Daniel hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. Let’s find a shop."

We parked the car in a secluded alley and split up, sticking to the shadows. My heart raced as we moved through the quiet streets, every shadow and sound making me flinch. A small shop came into view, its dim lights casting an inviting glow.

Inside, the place smelled of fabric and faint perfume. I scanned the racks, grabbing anything that looked inconspicuous—a hoodie, jeans, a hat. The others did the same, moving quickly but carefully.

Sue held up a floral dress, smirking. "What do you think, Daphne? Too flashy?"

"Try blending in, not standing out," I shot back, grabbing a plain jacket off the rack.

As we paid for the clothes in cash, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched. My eyes darted to the windows, scanning the street for any sign of movement.

"Hurry up," Daniel muttered, shoving a wad of cash at the clerk.

We changed quickly in a backroom, discarding our old clothes in a garbage bag. When I stepped out, I barely recognized myself. The hat and hoodie did their job of masking my features, but I still felt exposed.

"This better work," I muttered as we headed back to the car.

"It will," Daniel said, though his voice lacked conviction.

As we drove toward the docks, the checkpoint loomed in the distance, its lights piercing the darkness. My heart pounded as I gripped the seat, praying that our disguises would hold.

"Everyone stay calm," Daniel said as we approached.

But as we neared the gate, the guard stepped forward, his flashlight cutting through the night. He leaned closer to the driver’s side window, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the car.

"Papers," he demanded.

My breath hitched. This was it. If he recognized us, we were done.