Twenty minutes later, Zara heard wheels crunching to a stop against the gravel, and the quiet thrumming of an engine. The cold had placed her in a near-comatose state, so she had nearly missed the tell-tale sounds of salvation. No car doors were open or shut, so Zara shuffled over to the gap between the broken billboard and the wall, and crouched down. As she peeked through it, she held her breath, hoping that it wasn't a police car.

What she saw, however, was equally heart-stopping.

A black Hummer was stationed right in front of the alleyway, smoke pouring out of the exhaust pipe and surrounding it in a grey ring. Although she couldn't see inside it due to its tinted windows, it didn't take a genius to know that this was the rescue team she had called for. Behind the corner of the wall, she could see the hood of another, equally imposing vehicle, it's headlights dimmed.

These people are dangerous, the voice muttered in her head.

The men inside were probably armed, and hadn't exited their vehicles for fear of a set-up.

If she were to step outside looking like a menace, they wouldn't hesitate to gun her down. The thought made her skin crawl, but it didn't take away Zara's determination.

The phone began to ring in her hand, and she almost dropped it from the shock.

She crawled out of the safe haven and stood up, both hands in the air holding the phone in a way that they could see the buzzing screen.

"It's—it's me. Max is behind me," Although she tried to keep her voice levelled and confident, her nerves gave away her anxiety. She was shuddering, both in cold and fear, and she couldn't control it no matter how hard she bit her tongue.

One heartbeat, another, but not a movement in sight. Then, all four doors of the first car flew open, followed by the ones of the second.

Men in black uniforms jumped out, armed with all sorts of weapons—both visible and invisible under their jackets—and although they all had different faces, they all conveyed the same message:

Don't fuck with us.

"Get down!" One of them ordered, and Zara didn't hesitate to drop to her knees, hands behind her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that if they ended her miserable life, they would do it quickly and painlessly.

The muzzle of a gun dug into the back of her head, and Zara thought that her heart would jump right out of her chest.

Chattering, arguing, in a foreign language as the men attempted to heave the remains of the billboard out of the way. Zara subtly turned her head to see what they were doing, but the man behind her caught her redhanded and shoved the gun harder against her skull. He barked something at her in his tongue, but then corrected himself and said it in English.

"Keep your head down." She did as she was told, without screaming. From the corner of her eye, Zara saw another guy step out of the car, dressed differently from the others.

His foot hadn't made contact with the asphalt that he was already yelling at the other men, namely the one who had Zara in that deprecating position. The gun was uncocked and taken away from her head, then a grunt and his departure to join the others.

"I'm sorry about that," A voice hovered above her, but she didn't dare lift herself from her position. A scoff, then, "It's okay, I won't hurt you."

Tentatively, she unfolded herself into an upright position. When her eyes landed on the owner of the voice, a knot formed in her throat.

The man who stood before her looked strikingly similar to Max—the two shared a similar bone structure, the same green eyes, but this guy had shorter hair, softer lineaments, and was dressed more regally. He wore a long trench-coat, underneath which hid a colourful embroidered shirt with matching pants.

Are those pyjamas, or is this what they call 'fashion'?

She must've been staring for quite a while, because the guy shifted uncomfortably and pulled the coat shut over the rest of his clothes. He cleared his throat, "You are the girl in the green dress," he stated, as if there could be no room for discussion.

Her eyes flitted up to his, and she had a hard time maintaining eye-contact, "Yes. I'm the one that made the —"

"What's your name?" He interrupted, his eyes burning her own. His brows furrowed together, maybe increasing the intensity of his glare so she would catch on fire.

"Zara—Zara DeRealis." Would disclosing this information haunt her for all eternity?

His eyebrows smoothened out, and gaze lost its intensity. "You're the fabled Zara?" He seemed incredulous, like the notion of her being herself was impossible.

"Yes...?" She bit her lip and rubbed her arm, feeling uncomfortable under his unwavering scrutiny.

His eyes seemed to take her in: her bare feet, her torn dress, her hair that had already begun to frizz in the humid environment. She looked like a rabid animal, and it didn't surprise her if he thought the same thing.

"Wow," He broke out into a hearty laugh, bringing his hand up to the side of his face. He reminded her so much of Max in that moment that it was unsettling. The two must've been related in some way, it was no coincidence that they looked so similar.

Zara watched him guffaw, her lips pursed together. She knew she looked like shit, but did he have to laugh in her face like that?

"What did my cousin get into this time?" 

Bingo.

"What...do you mean?" Zara crossed her arms and turned to briefly look at the cleared alleyway. The billboard had been shoved to one side, and the men carefully began to make their way into the alley, guns raised in the air.

He let out a breath. "What happened to him?"

She was about to respond, when one of the men called out, "Roman, come take a look at this!"

They must've been referring to the guy next to her. Zara took a step forward, praying that it was Max that they had found, but Roman stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Stay here."

He glared at her again, then jogged into the alley.

Zara stood there, rooted in place, hating that she wasn't given the chance to explain herself before he had gone in. He seemed to be the boss of these men, and he could probably get them to gun her down with a snap of his fingers.

Two men hurried back towards a vehicle to pull out what looked like a stretcher, and then made their way back. The whole group then arose from the shadows. Surrounded by them was Max, laying limply on the stretcher with an arm dangling from it. If it was even possible, he looked worse now than he did before. Zara rushed up to them, a million questions bubbling up to her lips, but Roman grabbed her arm and pulled her away from his cousin.

While he held her in place, the other men lifted Max into the car, a couple of them entering the vehicle. The others jumped into the other one, leaving Roman alone with Zara. He nodded at the ones in the first car, and they slammed the door shut. The engine was revved, and the vehicle barrelled away moments later.

The other one took its place, it's door remaining open for Roman to climb in. He lifted a hand, signalling them to wait, and then he turned back to Zara.

"I may not know what has happened, but what I do know is that my cousin probably deserved it," The worry in his green eyes was replacement by mild disappointment, "He's also still alive if you were wondering."

He chortled, but Zara could not find amusement in Max's misfortune. "I know about the situation you are in, and my cousin has never stopped defending you. I doubted his judgement at first, I mean, look at you," He motioned with his hand, "but now I—understand—why he's doing what he's doing."

Roman combed a hand through his hair, a gesture eerily similar to Max's. Zara didn't know about their relationship, but it had to be a good one. They probably bickered a lot, the two were as different as chalk and cheese, but they seemed to care about each other. For a fleeting moment, Zara thought she saw sadness flash across Roman's eyes, but she had probably imagined it.

"Thank-you for taking care of him," He shrugged out of his trench-coat and gave it to her despite her protests, "Yes, these are my pyjamas, don't judge me."

He helped her slip it on, and Zara was immediately enveloped by its warmness. "I'd give you a pair of shoes as well but... I don't have a spare set and these socks are expensive."

It was Zara's turn to laugh. 

"You want to be updated on Max's state, I suppose?" 

She nodded. "I have his number."

Roman raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on that ."Alright Zara," he said, "I have to go. Do you need a ride home or anything? I can call for someone to pick you up." He took a couple of steps backwards, towards the car.

"No, but thank you," it was the first thing she had said for a while now, and her voice felt raspy, "I have to go look for my friend..." She had been so engrossed in Max that she had completely forgotten about Aurora. Regret gnawed at her insides, but there was no way she could've helped her friend amidst the chaos.

"No problem. Take care, Zara," He winked at her as he hopped inside the vehicle.

After it vanished, Zara let out a deep sigh. She looked at her phone, her gaze softening when she saw Max's name and number on the bottle-green screen.

She'd make sure to call him in a day or two to see how he was doing.

After a horrifying coughing fit, which left Zara sniffling and regretting her life choices, she searched for Aurora's number.

She brought the phone to her ear as she began to walk back towards the warehouse, making sure to keep to the shadows as she did so.

Come on Aurora, pick up. Please pick up.

When the call went to voicemail, Zara became slightly panicky. She had only tried to call once—she shouldn't think jump to conclusions without trying at least once more. After the third ring, Aurora's shrill voice crashed into Zara's eardrums.

"Zara! Oh my God Zara! Where are you? I thought—" Her breath hitched, and then the tone of her voice got impossibly more high-pitched as she started to wail like a newborn.

"Aurora—"

Incoherent babbling from Aurora's end, and Zara had to bring the phone away from her ear in order to gather her thoughts. Anger had long been suppressed by relief; if Zara let every little thing Aurora did get on her nerves, she would probably go grey by the time she was thirty.

"It's okay—it's okay Aurora. Stop crying. Calm down!" The volume of her voice increased exponentially by the end of her sentence, and that reduced her friend to a silent blubber. "Is everything alright? Where are you right now?"

"Uhm...I...I," She couldn't speak from her hiccuping.

Zara rubbed her temple with a finger, "Breathe. In and out. In and out."

"I'm...hiding in a pipe thing. It's really big...there are other people here with me."

Good, at least she isn't alone.

"A road pipe?"

"Yes."

Zara wiped her nose with her hand, "Where is it though? Around what area?"

A car drove by, and Zara hissed like a feral cat.

"No, don't come here! I'll come to you—I have Google Maps," Aurora screeched.

Well, she did have a point. There must've been dozens of roadside pipes, and the area was probably crawling with cops.

"250 west 34th street." Zara hung up.

She leaned against the wall and sank downwards, allowing herself to be fully enveloped by the massive trench coat. She tucked her feet inside of it and lifted the collar so that it shielded her frozen ears, leaving only her eyes and the top of her head exposed. Zara struggled to keep her bloodshot eyes open, which burned with every blink.

Her eyes remained closed for longer periods of time, until finally, she fell asleep. 

-:-