Sophia’s POV

I grip the folder tighter, my knuckles turning white. My mind is racing, trying to piece everything together. Adrian stands across from me, his expression unreadable, but I can feel the weight of his words pressing down on me.

“I don’t understand,” I say finally, my voice quieter than I intended. “If you know so much, why haven’t you gone to the police?”

Adrian exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You really think they don’t already know?”

My stomach tightens. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head. “The people behind this… they have money, power, influence. The kind that makes problems disappear.” He steps closer, his voice lower now. “You think you’re the first person to dig into this? You think you’re the first person to come looking for answers?”

I swallow hard. “What happened to the others?”

Adrian doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me, and I already know the truth.

“They disappeared,” I whisper.

His silence is my confirmation.

I feel a chill run through me. I should be scared. Any sane person would be. But instead, I just feel angry. Angry that people can be taken, that crimes can be covered up, that the world keeps turning like nothing ever happened.

I straighten my shoulders. “Then we have to expose them.”

Adrian’s jaw clenches. “You don’t get it, Sophia. There is no we. You need to walk away.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t have shown me this.”

A flicker of something crosses his face—annoyance, maybe, or something else entirely. “You’re stubborn,” he mutters.

“I’m determined.”

“Same thing.”

I cross my arms. “If you didn’t want me involved, you would’ve let me stay clueless. But you didn’t.” I tilt my head. “Why is that, Adrian?”

He exhales sharply and looks away. “Because whether I like it or not, you’re already involved.”

I don’t know what that means, but before I can ask, there’s a knock at the door.

Adrian’s entire body tenses. He moves fast, snatching the folder from my hands and shoving it into a drawer. Then, he presses a button under his desk.

The door opens, and a man walks in. He’s tall, dressed in a dark suit, and he has the kind of face that blends into a crowd—forgettable, yet calculated.

“Sir,” the man says with a nod. Then his eyes flick to me.

Adrian doesn’t introduce us. “What is it?”

“There’s been a complication,” the man says.

Adrian’s expression hardens. “What kind of complication?”

The man hesitates. “She’s still alive.”

A beat of silence.

Adrian’s fingers tighten around the edge of his desk. “Where?”

“A warehouse by the docks.”

I glance between them, my pulse quickening. “Who is she?”

Neither of them answer.

I step forward. “Adrian—”

“Stay here.” His voice is firm. Commanding.

I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t need to be involved in this.”

I scoff. “I am involved. In case you forgot, you just told me that.”

His jaw clenches. “This isn’t your problem.”

I glare at him. “I make it my problem.”

Adrian mutters something under his breath, then turns to the man. “How many are guarding her?”

“Three.”

Adrian nods. “Get the car ready.”

The man gives a short nod and disappears through the door.

I don’t wait. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Sophia.”

I step closer, meeting his gaze head-on. “Who is she?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but I see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Finally, he says, “Someone I thought was already dead.”

My stomach twists.

I don’t know who she is or why Adrian thought she was gone, but I do know one thing—whoever she is, she’s a key to whatever is happening.

And I’m not about to be left behind.

---

The car ride is silent. Tense.

Adrian sits next to me in the back, his gaze fixed on the city lights flashing past the window. The man from earlier—who I now know is named Cole—is driving, his hands steady on the wheel.

I keep my arms crossed, forcing myself to stay calm.

I’m not stupid. I know this is dangerous. I know I have no real place in whatever is about to happen. But if there’s a woman being held against her will, I can’t just sit back and do nothing.

I glance at Adrian. “What’s the plan?”

He doesn’t look at me. “The plan is for you to stay in the car.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Not happening.”

He finally turns to me, his eyes sharp. “This isn’t a game, Sophia.”

“I never said it was.”

“You don’t understand what you’re walking into.”

I tilt my head. “Then explain it to me.”

Adrian exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s losing patience. “These men aren’t like the ones you’ve dealt with before. They don’t hesitate. They don’t play fair. And they don’t leave witnesses.”

My fingers tighten around my seatbelt. “Then all the more reason for me to be here. I’m a journalist, Adrian. Exposing the truth is my job.”

His jaw tightens. “This isn’t a story.”

“For them, maybe not,” I say. “But for the people they’ve hurt? The people they’ve taken? It is.”

His eyes flicker with something—anger, frustration, something else entirely.

Before he can respond, the car slows.

“We’re here,” Cole announces.

I look out the window.

The docks are nearly empty, dark and quiet except for the faint glow of streetlights. The warehouse looms ahead, its rusted metal exterior looking more abandoned than occupied.

Adrian pulls out a gun from under his jacket, checking the magazine.

I swallow hard.

He glances at me. “Stay. In. The. Car.”

I don’t answer.

Adrian steps out, and Cole follows.

I wait exactly ten seconds before unbuckling my seatbelt and slipping out behind them.

---

The air smells like salt and rust.

Adrian and Cole move quickly, keeping to the shadows as they approach the warehouse. I follow at a distance, keeping low.

My heart pounds. This is insane. I’m not a fighter. I have no weapons, no training, nothing that makes me useful in a situation like this.

But I can’t turn back now.

I crouch behind a stack of crates near the entrance. Adrian and Cole disappear inside.

Seconds tick by. Then—

A shout.

A gunshot.

My breath catches.

I inch closer, peering inside.

The warehouse is dimly lit, filled with stacks of wooden pallets and metal containers.

Adrian is moving fast, taking down a man with brutal efficiency. Cole is across the room, engaged with another.

The third man—the one holding the woman—is backing toward a side door, a gun pressed to her head.

I recognize her from the photo in Adrian’s folder.

Her hands are tied. Her face is bruised. And her eyes are wide with terror.

Adrian sees them. He steps forward. “Let her go.”

The man tightens his grip. “Stay back.”

My heart is in my throat.

Adrian takes another step. “You won’t get out of here.”

The man laughs. “Neither will she.”

Time slows.

Then—

A loud crash.

Cole tackles the man from the side, knocking the gun from his grip. The woman stumbles forward.

I don’t think. I move.

I rush in, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the exit.

She stares at me, breathless. “Who—?”

“No time. Let’s go.”

I drag her outside, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Behind us, another gunshot rings out.

I don’t look back.

Because right now, I don’t care what Adrian says.

I’m already involved.