Chapter 8 The Price Of Freedom

• The streets of the city stretched before them, dark and silent, as if the night itself was holding its breath. Mark’s grip on Serria’s arm was steady, his movements quick but calculated. He led her through a series of alleys, each step carrying them farther from the safety of the hidden building—and deeper into danger.
• Serria’s mind raced. Her father’s voice had been unmistakable. He was close, dangerously close. Every corner felt like a new risk, every shadow a potential threat. She could still hear the echo of his cold tone, could feel the weight of his pursuit on her back.
• “Keep moving,” Mark murmured, his voice low and urgent. “We’re almost there.”