2025-08-06 10:07:33The night had teeth.
The fog at Hollow Bridge had thickened, soaking into skin and nerves alike. Kabri and Jamil had left the body behind, the metal case delivered, the clothes burned. But something felt unfinished. Something was off. The silence wasn’t peace—it was a predator waiting to pounce.
As they approached their parked BMW, the lot was dead quiet. Not a car in sight. No wind, no overhead traffic, just the hum of distant river movement and the soft click of Kabri’s boot on gravel.
Kabri stopped cold.
The passenger door was ajar.
Jamil noticed too late.
“Did you lock it?” Kabri asked.
Jamil’s face tensed. “Yes.”
Kabri drew his Glock. Jamil reached for his piece—but before he could grip it—
Pop.
The shot came sharp, from the side.
A silencer’s whisper.
Jamil gasped.
Blood bloomed on his left side, just beneath the ribs. He dropped to his knees with a grunt, eyes wide in disbelief.
“Sniper—” Kabri shouted, dragging him down behind the car.
More shots pinged off metal. One tore through the windshield. Another punched the rear mirror clean off.
Kabri scanned the rooftops, eyes sharp. He spotted a flash—scope reflection, southwest rooftop, behind the rail containers.
He popped two quick return shots, then ducked, dragging Jamil toward a service stairwell. Jamil winced, breath ragged.
“I’m hit, Kabri. Deep,” he said, voice already fading.
Kabri pulled a folded shirt from his back pocket, pressed it hard into the wound. “Don’t talk. We’re getting out.”
“Fred,” Jamil murmured. “It’s him. He did this.”
Kabri didn’t respond. But deep in his gut, he knew.
Fred had set them up.
The Hollow Bridge “clean-up” had been bait. The corpse, the case, the thumb—it was a test. Or worse. A cover.
Kabri propped Jamil up and moved quickly through the alley behind the underpass. Every shadow felt like a knife drawn behind his back. Rain began to fall—cold, pitiless, London rain. A drizzle at first, then a cascade, mixing with the blood leaking from Jamil’s side.
They reached a fenced-off canal maintenance hut. Kabri kicked the lock in.
Inside: old tools, a workbench, rags, rusted piping.
He laid Jamil down on a metal table.
“You hold on. You hear me? You hold on.”
Jamil gripped Kabri’s wrist. “He thinks I kept records,” he whispered.
Kabri stiffened. “What records?”
Jamil’s eyes fluttered. “The Marseille run. Two years ago. I logged the payout. The real one. Fred skimmed. I knew.”
Kabri’s heart pounded. “You kept that?”
“In a vault. Just in case.”
Kabri clenched his jaw. “He knew.”
“That’s why he sent us. Not to clean up… to be cleaned up.”
Outside, a car engine revved nearby. Voices.
Kabri peered through the blinds.
Two men. Tactical gear. One held a suppressed SMG. Fred’s black-ops boys. Silent, clinical. Not police.
Time was up.
He turned back to Jamil. “I have to go. I’ll draw them out. You stay here. I’ll come back.”
Jamil laughed weakly. “Don’t lie to me.”
Kabri’s eyes burned. “You’re my brother.”
Jamil coughed blood. “Then promise me… bury me with the key. The one I wore in Istanbul.”
Kabri nodded once. Firm. “I promise.”
A crash from outside.
No more time.
Kabri moved to the back door, pulled his hood up, and vanished into the storm.
Behind him, Jamil lay alone, fading.
As Kabri disappeared into the alleys, a single suppressed shot echoed behind him.
He didn’t stop running.
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Chapter 241
The grave was modest.No ornate stone, no flowers, no names.Just two mounds of earth beneath an acacia tree, a flat rock marking the space between them. And beside it, a small wooden box — weathered by sand, protected by silence.Amir brought his daughter here for the first time on her twelfth birthday.She had never met them — the men buried here. She knew of them only as shadows from her father’s stories. But even at twelve, she felt the weight in the air. The silence. The ache.She knelt between the graves and whispered a greeting, as if sensing they were listening.Amir stood a few paces back, arms crossed, heart heavy. He wasn’t sure he could explain everything — not all at once. Not the betrayals. Not the lies. Not the love. But something told him it was time.Not to forget.But to pass it on.“Tell me,” she said quietly, looking at the mound on the right. “Was he the one who hurt people?”Amir nodded slowly.“Yes. But he also tried to save someone.”She turned to the other gra
Chapter 240
The desert swallowed sound.No sirens. No engines. No voices. Only the wind, scraping against forgotten stones like a memory refusing to be buried.Kabri was gone. Jamil too. The last gunshot had echoed across the cliffs like thunder splitting the sky — and then... silence.Weeks passed.Then months.And in time, all the great fires died. The burned-out mansion crumbled under vines in the hills of Portugal. The hideouts turned to dust. The names “Kabri” and “Jamil” passed through intelligence circles as rumors, then as ghost stories, then not at all.What remained?Sand.Wind.And one man standing alone — Amir.Amir had returned to the desert not for closure but because he had nowhere else to go.The grave of two brothers lay under a crooked tree near the ruins of their childhood camp. Unmarked, save for a flat stone and a weathered necklace buried beneath the sand. One bullet had ended a war. The second, a legacy.But the story hadn’t really ended.Amir knew that now.He stood at the
Chapter 239
The memory returned uninvited.A patch of afternoon sun spilled through the tall reeds beside the Wadi River, golden and warm, catching the faces of two boys too young to know what blood meant.Kabri was twelve. Jamil, nine.And for the first time in months, their laughter wasn’t stolen — it was real.No shadows yet.No oaths.No guns.Just two brothers in cut-off shorts, muddy knees, and palms sticky with date syrup, daring each other to jump across a deep ditch carved by the rain.“Last one across is a chicken!” Jamil yelled, already sprinting.Kabri snorted. “You say that every time.”“Because you’re always the chicken!”Kabri launched forward.The air split around them as they leapt.Jamil landed first, barely sticking it, wobbling with arms flailing. Kabri came after — feet thudding hard — then fell flat on his back, breath gone.Jamil doubled over laughing. “You landed like a pregnant goat!”Kabri groaned. “I hope the goat kicks you.”They rolled into the grass, wrestling half-h
Chapter 238
The box sat on the shelf, wrapped in a torn military scarf, untouched for years. Amir had not opened it since the last night he had needed to be a weapon.Inside: a Glock 17, two extra magazines, a suppressor wrapped in cloth, and a folded note in Kabri’s handwriting:“This is not for you. This is for the man you swore never to become.”Amir stared at it now, not as a warrior or a fugitive, but as a man inching toward the edge of something more sacred — peace. A peace he had not earned. But one he might finally allow himself to keep.The years since Kabri and Jamil’s deaths had been spent in cautious rebuilding. No wars. No shadows. Just Noor’s laughter and the scent of bread rising in a sunlit kitchen. A wife who loved without questions. A home without locked rooms.Still, the ghosts remained. Not with knives or voices — but as temptations.Every week he passed a locked drawer.Every month he checked security footage of the perimeter, “just in case.”But today, something in him shift
Chapter 237
The wind whispered through the olive trees behind their home in southern Spain. Amir had built the cottage with his own hands — not as a fortress, not as a hideout, but as a place where nothing needed to be watched. A place where knives weren’t hidden in books, and smiles didn’t have layers.The girl was just five, a shadow of her mother’s jawline and Amir’s wide eyes. She played alone in the sunlit garden, a mess of curls falling over her forehead, fingers stained with juice and dirt and youth. Her name was Noor.And she was humming.The melody was faint, broken, innocent.But Amir froze the moment he heard it.The air left his lungs.It wasn’t a song Noor had ever been taught.It was Evelyn’s lullaby.He stepped outside quietly, watching his daughter draw circles in the dirt with a twig. Her hums rose and fell like a breeze through reeds, her head tilting as if listening to music only she could hear.It was impossible.Amir hadn’t heard the tune since that night in the cabin. Since
Chapter 236
It was the third night after the wedding when Amir finally dreamed again.Not a nightmare. Not the kind with fire, blood, or the endless sound of gunfire. This dream was colder. Quieter. Too still.And the table was long.A grand oak table, polished to a shine, set in the middle of a candlelit hall he didn't recognize—something between a monastery and a memory. Shadows danced on stone walls. Frost crept at the edges of the stained-glass windows. And thirteen chairs lined each side, untouched.Until they came.The first to appear was Kabri.He took the seat at the far end of the table, dressed in black like he always was in Amir’s memories—but not the militant version. Not the fighter. Just a man. A man with tired eyes and fingers still stained with ash. He didn’t speak. Just looked at Amir with a gentle sorrow, and that ever-present weight behind his gaze.Then Evelyn entered.Wearing red.The real Evelyn, or the illusion? He didn’t know anymore. Her face was as he remembered it the
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