Ashes Of Her Name

Ashes Don’t Lie

Clara’s legs burned, her breath tearing through her throat like sandpaper as she sprinted through the dense undergrowth. Branches whipped against her face, snagging at her clothes, but she didn’t stop. Not now. Not when the weight of the truth thudded against her chest with every step.

Behind her, Damien’s heavy footsteps followed. The forest swallowed their sounds, but the echoes of gunfire still rang in her ears. She could hear Creed’s voice, venomous and furious, carried by the wind.

They didn’t slow down until they reached a break in the trees, a small stream winding like a silver ribbon through the clearing. Clara collapsed against a fallen log, gasping.

“We have… to… keep moving,” she panted.

Damien crouched beside her, face streaked with dirt and blood. “We’re safe, for now.”

Clara pulled the stolen files from her jacket, her hands trembling. The papers were damp with sweat, but the ink remained legible. Names. Transactions. Ledger entries of bribes and payouts. Her mother’s name, circled in red.

“It’s all here,” she whispered.

Damien’s gaze flicked over the papers. “This is what they killed for. This is what your mother died protecting.”

Clara’s stomach twisted. What now? The evidence was damning, yes — but in a town like Crestfall, who would listen?

She voiced the thought aloud. “We can’t take this to the police. Creed owns them.”

Damien’s jaw flexed. “There’s someone. Detective Henry. He’s one of the good ones, been waiting for a chance to bring Creed down.”

Clara shook her head. “He’ll be a target too.”

“We all are,” Damien said darkly.

A soft noise snapped their attention to the trees. A figure appeared — Sophie.

“Jesus,” Damien hissed, standing protectively in front of Clara.

Sophie raised her hands. “It’s me. Clara, I had to follow you. I couldn’t let you face this alone.”

Clara stared, torn between relief and fear. “How did you find us?”

Sophie’s face was pale, eyes shining. “I saw Creed’s men heading for the old church. I knew you’d go there.”

Damien didn’t lower his guard. “If they see you with us, you’re dead.”

“I don’t care,” Sophie snapped. “Clara’s my best friend. I won’t let them bury you too.”

A lump rose in Clara’s throat. She reached out, gripping Sophie’s hand.

“Then we finish this together,” Clara said.

Damien sighed, tension easing. “Alright. We move before nightfall. We head east, stick to the backroads. I know where Detective Henry lays low.”

----------------------------------------------

They packed quickly, hiding the files beneath Clara’s jacket again. As they moved, Clara glanced back once at the path behind them. The forest loomed dark and unforgiving, but the embers of courage glowed brighter in her chest.

By the time they reached the edge of town, the night was bleeding into the sky, painting the clouds in streaks of deep blue and crimson. Crestfall looked almost peaceful from a distance — lights glittering, windows glowing.

But Clara knew the rot beneath.

Damien led them through back alleys and side streets, avoiding main roads. Sophie kept close, her face drawn but determined.

Finally, they reached a small, nondescript house on the outskirts, hidden behind a dense line of hedges. Damien knocked in a pattern — three quick, two slow.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall, weathered man with sharp gray eyes.

“Damien,” the man greeted, then eyed the girls. “And company.”

Damien nodded. “Henry, we need help. Now.”

Inside, the house smelled of old paper and coffee. Files and maps littered a cluttered desk. Henry locked the door behind them.

“What have you gotten yourselves into?” Henry asked, his tone low.

Clara stepped forward, unbuttoning her jacket and spilling the files onto the table.

“This,” she said. “Proof of what Creed’s done. Names, money trails, bodies. My mother died for this.”

Henry’s expression hardened as he scanned the papers.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “I’ve waited years for this.”

He looked at Clara, his gaze filled with grim respect. “Your mother was a brave woman.”

“She was murdered,” Clara said, her voice steady now. “I want justice.”

Henry nodded. “You’ll have it. But we have to be careful. Creed’s reach is long.”

Damien leaned over the table. “How do we take him down?”

Henry pulled a map closer, pointing. “There’s a delivery tonight. Dirty money, hush payments. If we intercept it, with these documents, we can blow this wide open. I can get federal eyes on this.”

Clara’s heart pounded. “Where?”

“Warehouse by Hollow Creek,” Henry said. “Midnight.”

Damien cursed under his breath. “That place is a fortress.”

Henry shrugged. “Then we bring it down from the inside. You’re willing to risk it?”

Clara met his gaze. “I’m done running.”

Sophie stepped beside her. “Me too.”

Henry smiled, a grim curve of his lips. “Good. Then let’s end this.”

As midnight approached, they prepared — flashlights, weapons, Damien’s old revolver. Henry briefed them quickly, laying out entry points and escape routes.

Clara felt adrenaline thrum through her veins. The weight of the moment settled on her shoulders, but she stood taller.

As they left, Damien fell in step beside her.

“Whatever happens,” he murmured, “I’m proud of you.”

Clara managed a small smile. “I’m not the scared girl I used to be.”

He squeezed her hand briefly. “No. You’re your mother’s daughter.”

The night air was sharp and heavy with the impending storm.

As they crept toward the warehouse, shadows lengthened, the scent of rust and old oil thick in the air.

The war for Crestfall’s soul was about to begin.

And Clara was ready.