SHADOWS OF THE OAT

CHAPTER 3

Rain pours down hard, slicking the streets and turning the city into a glowing maze of neon reflections. Every light stretches across the wet pavement like a twisted, endless road. I weave through traffic, pushing the stolen motorcycle faster, ignoring the angry honks and flashing headlights.

The city is awake, moving, alive. It doesn’t care that I’m being hunted. It doesn’t stop for the man running for his life.

I keep my breathing steady, my mind focused. But under the surface, something stirs. Fear? Doubt? Or something worse—guilt?

I don’t know if I did what they say I did. That’s the worst part. The unknown. My own memories feel broken, like a puzzle with missing pieces. I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know who I can trust. I only know that stopping means death.

I twist the throttle, forcing the bike to go faster. The cold wind lashes against my face, biting into my skin. It hurts, but it keeps me awake. Keeps me sharp. I had to ditch my old clothes, had to get rid of the blood, had to make myself invisible before they could close in. New clothes. New bike. Same problem.

A flicker in my peripheral vision.

I look up.

A drone.

Not just any drone—a military-grade model. Fast. Precise. Tracking. Hunting.

I know that sound. The soft whir of its rotors cutting through the air, the way it moves like a predator locking onto prey. I shouldn’t recognize it, but I do. Like everything else, my instincts are working ahead of my thoughts.

I duck lower, gripping the handlebars tight, and take a sharp turn into a narrow alley. The back wheel skids on the wet pavement, fishtailing wildly before catching grip again. One mistake, one wrong move, and I’ll be splattered across the street.

Up ahead—a traffic camera.

I react without thinking. My body knows what to do before I do. I tilt my head, shift my posture, hide my face just enough to stay unseen. Old habits. Buried reflexes. Things I shouldn’t know but do.

The drone tilts, adjusting, recalibrating. They’re watching. Tracking me. If I don’t lose them now, I never will.

I need to disappear. Fast.

A parking garage looms to my right.

Perfect.

I swerve hard and fly up the ramp, the roar of the engine echoing in the empty space. Rows of abandoned cars flash past me. I only have five seconds.

I swerve behind a thick concrete pillar, cut the engine, and leap off the bike.

Three seconds.

The drone’s scanning light floods through the gaps in the structure, searching.

Two.

I press my body flat between two parked cars. The cold metal chills my skin. The hum of the drone grows louder, vibrating in the air like a warning.

One.

The drone hovers just outside. Its red targeting light flickers, blinking like a slow heartbeat. Watching. Waiting.

Then—silence.

It moves on.

I don’t breathe. Not for five full seconds.

Then I exhale, slow and controlled.

It’s gone. For now.

I can’t stay here. They’ll keep looking. They won’t stop until they find me.

I pull out the note from my pocket, the paper slightly damp from the rain. I unfold it carefully and stare at the message again:

"Don’t trust your memories."

Beneath those words, a set of coordinates.

I don’t recognize them. I don’t know where they lead. But they’re my only lead. My only hope of getting answers.

But the thought keeps clawing at my brain, refusing to leave me alone.

What if they’re right? What if I really did it?

I shake my head, pushing the doubt away. I don’t have time for that.

Right now, all that matters is getting to the safe house.

Because someone left me this note.

Someone wanted me to survive.

I don’t know who.

I don’t know why.

But I’m going to find out.

And when I do—I’ll finally know who I really am.