THE PRICE OF REVENGE

The blood pooled around Jibba’s lifeless body, the metallic scent thick in the air. Malik stood over him, chest heaving, his hands trembling as the knife slipped from his grip and clattered onto the cold tile floor. Awa sobbed in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself, shaking violently.

Malik turned to her, his eyes hollow. “You let this happen,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his head.

Awa looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. “Malik… I didn’t have a choice. He trapped me.”

But Malik wasn’t listening. The weight of what he had done pressed against his chest. He had killed his own brother. The same brother who had once protected him from bullies, who had given him his first bicycle. But that brother had also betrayed him in the worst possible way.

A knock on the door jolted them both.

Malik’s breath hitched. Someone was outside.

“Jibba?” a voice called. It was the receptionist. “Is everything okay? Guests are complaining about noise.”

Malik looked at Awa in panic. The blood, the body—it was obvious what had happened. They had to get out.

He grabbed Awa’s wrist and pulled her toward the window. “We have to go. Now.”“But—”

“Now!”

With one last glance at Jibba’s lifeless form, Awa followed him. Malik pried the window open, the cool night air slapping against his face. They were on the second floor. Below was a narrow alleyway leading to the back of the guesthouse.

Malik climbed out first, lowering himself carefully before dropping to the ground. He landed with a thud, pain shooting up his leg. He looked up and motioned for Awa to follow. She hesitated but knew there was no other way. She climbed onto the ledge, her heart hammering, and let herself drop into Malik’s waiting arms.

Just as they started running, they heard shouting from inside the guesthouse.

“He’s dead! Someone call the police!”

Malik’s stomach twisted. He grabbed Awa’s hand and ran into the darkness.

The Chase Begins

They ran through the deserted streets of the city, the night swallowing them whole. Awa could barely keep up, her breaths coming in sharp, painful gasps.

“Where are we going?” she panted.

“We need to get out of town,” Malik said. 

But the city was waking up. Word would spread fast. Jibba wasn’t just anybody—he was a powerful man with deep connections. Malik knew that Jibba’s associates would not let this go. They would hunt him down.

And then, as if fate had overheard his thoughts, headlights flared behind them. A black SUV screeched around the corner, tires screeching against the pavement.

Malik yanked Awa into a side alley just as the SUV sped past. But the driver must have caught a glimpse of them, because the vehicle suddenly braked.

“They saw us,” Awa whispered, terror in her voice.

Malik looked around desperately. They needed a way out. Then he spotted a rusty metal door slightly ajar at the back of an old warehouse. Without hesitation, he pulled Awa inside and shut the door behind them.

They pressed themselves against the darkness, breathing heavily.

Footsteps echoed outside.

Malik clenched his fists. He had already killed one man tonight. He would not hesitate to kill again if it meant surviving.

Awa reached for his arm. “Malik… what do we do?”

“We wait,” he whispered. “And if they come in—” He pulled the bloodied knife from his pocket. “We fight.”

The footsteps stopped right outside the door. A shadow passed over the crack of light at the bottom.

Then—

The doorknob began to turn.