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 help-wanted 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 salt-and-pepper 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 cul-de-sacs. 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?"