The stolen sedan rattled down the highway like it was held together with duct tape and prayers.
Elias gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles pale.
Sophia sat quietly in the passenger seat, knees pulled to her chest, staring out the cracked window into the night.
The tension between them was thick, heavier than the silence.
---
They pulled into a shabby motel just past the city limits — the kind of place where broken dreams went to die.
The manager, a wiry, sunburned man named Clint (52, former mechanic, messy brown hair, missing three teeth, suspicious attitude), barely looked up from his TV as Elias paid cash for a room.
Room 106.
Peeling wallpaper, a buzzing neon light, and a mattress that sagged like an old man's back.
Perfect.
---
When the door closed behind them, Sophia finally broke the silence.
"We can't keep doing this."
Elias flopped onto the bed with a grunt.
"Doing what? Surviving?"
Sophia crossed her arms.
She was twenty-two, a university dropout with stubborn green eyes, tan skin, athletic build, and a scar under her chin she never talked about.
Her flaw? Trust issues. Deep ones.
"You're acting like this is some game," she said bitterly.
"But every time you pull one of those stupid Watch tasks, the stakes get higher. The people chasing us? They won't stop. And now you've got half a million dollars that doesn't even exist in the normal banking system!"
Elias stared at the ceiling, the flickering light making shadows dance.
He was 18, scrappy, pale-skinned, messy black hair, and a body that was slowly transforming from scrawny to lean thanks to the Watch's rewards.
His flaw? Arrogance creeping in. A dangerous kind of overconfidence.
---
"I'm scared too," Elias said softly, surprising them both.
Sophia looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time in days.
"You don't act scared," she said.
He shrugged.
"That's the point."
Silence stretched again, this time more fragile.
---
A knock at the door shattered the moment.
Three taps.
Pause.
Two taps.
A coded knock.
Elias and Sophia exchanged tense glances.
Sophia grabbed a rusty pipe from the corner.
Elias reached into his backpack for a small stun gun he had bought during their last gas station stop.
He cracked the door open carefully.
Standing outside was a stranger:
A tall woman in her late twenties, about 5'9, flawless dark brown skin, sharp cheekbones, and tight black curls tucked under a baseball cap.
She wore a worn leather jacket, black cargo pants, and had an old duffel bag slung across one shoulder.
Her eyes — dark and unreadable — studied Elias like he was a lab experiment.
---
"Name's Tasha Rivers," she said smoothly.
"Age twenty-nine.
Ex-special forces.
Now freelance."
She smiled without warmth.
"You're Elias Carter. And you're in way over your damn head."
Elias narrowed his eyes.
"Who sent you?"
Tasha smirked.
"Let's just say... a mutual acquaintance who doesn't want to see you end up in a body bag."
Sophia tightened her grip on the pipe.
"And we're supposed to just trust you?"
Tasha shrugged.
"Trust is for fools. I'm offering a business deal."
---
Tasha threw a battered phone onto the bed.
"That phone's clean. No GPS. No tracking. Call the number saved inside if you want off this suicide ride you're on. New IDs. Safe house. Training. But it'll cost you."
Elias picked up the phone, weighing it like it was a ticking bomb.
"And if we don't?" he asked.
Tasha's smile widened just slightly.
"Then you better run faster. And pray harder."
With that, she turned and disappeared into the night like smoke.
---
Elias sat heavily on the bed, staring at the phone.
He glanced at Sophia.
For once, she didn't have any smart remarks.
Only a question, plain and simple:
"What now?"
The Watch on Elias's wrist blinked softly, as if mocking him.
For the first time, no task appeared.
No guidance.
No promises.
Just a choice.
Their choice.
---