Whispers in the Harbor

Mara's breath hitched.

"Mara!" Elias's voice was urgent in her ear. "Don't move. Don't"

"Who are you?" she forced out, voice steady because she needed it to be. "Show yourself!"

Silence answered. The laser trembled slightly as if whoever held it was breathing hard.

"Identify yourself," she said again. "Now."

A faint chuckle drifted from the dark. "You always did run toward the flames," the voice said. "Thought you could save everyone."

Mara's hands tightened on the cold steel of the container. "You don't know me."

"Oh, I know you," the voice said. "Better than you know yourself."

"Cut the theatrics. Who wants the Cole case? Who wants me?" She tried to keep the edge out of her words; it came out anyway.

"People who remember," the voice replied. "People who can't stand being forgotten."

Elias swore. "He's on the old crane. Thermal's still flaky. I'm trying to triangulate."

"Give me a number," Mara barked.

"Two o'clock, top. He's using a suppressed rifle. Can't ping the muzzle flash. Wind's bad; it's bouncing. His name's not in the system."

Mara slid her shoulder against the container and peered toward the silhouette of stacked crates. "He have a line of sight on me?"

"Yes. He's got you in his scope. Don't make sudden moves."

"Like hell." She swallowed. "If he wants a show, he can have one."

"Quieter option is better," Elias said. "We need to flush him without giving away more."

"What's your plan, professor?" She didn't mean the jab about his title; it landed anyway.

"Two teams. One distracts at the east walkway loud noise, smoke. You circle on the west, take the low ground. I'll try to get eyes with a drone but the jammer's active."

"You're kidding me. Drone and jammer in a harbor of rust? Real cinematic."

"Less conversation, more action," Elias said.

Footsteps scraped across the metal above them. A voice, close now, low and intimate. "Heard you like the dark, Mara. Feels like home for you, doesn't it?"

"Do you know my name, or are you using what someone else told you?" She didn't want him to know that when he said "home" she thought of the fire, of the way heat had smelled like the end.

"I know everything that matters," the stranger said. "Including where you hide your truths."

"Where I hide them is my business," she snapped. "And you don't get to decide I'm guilty."

"No one said you were guilty," the voice replied. "Only… involved. Entwined. Bloodline doesn't lie."

"Bloodline's just a word," Mara said. "A word for people who want easy answers."

A soft metallic clink echoed steps retreating. Someone was being coaxed away.

"He's moving," Elias said. "Now. Two o'clock fire in the east walkway in three, two "

She heard the distant pop, then a thud as a canister hissed and smoke rolled low across the planks. Shouts erupted on the far side.

"Move!" Elias hissed. "Go!"

Mara ran, boots thudding against wet metal. She kept low, hugging the shadows, feeling the old fear like a weight behind her bones. The wind threw voices and scent—salty, diesel, the chemical tang of smoke.

She rounded a stack of pallets and saw movement near the crane. A silhouette slipped behind a column. The laser was gone.

"He's close!" she whispered. "Left of the crane!"

"On you," Elias said. "Keep moving!"

She kept moving. The harbor felt endless. Each footfall was a small heartbeat.

A hand grabbed her wrist—hard, unfamiliar. "Don't scream," a woman's voice breathed. "Please. Not here."

Mara spun. The woman looked like she'd aged too fast dark circles, dirt streaking her face, eyes wide and terrified.

"Who are you?" Mara hissed.

"Not now," the woman whispered. "They're watching."

"Who? Who's watching?"

"The Ashen Circle," the woman said, as if the name was a curse. "They're everywhere."

Mara's throat closed. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I remember," the woman insisted. "Bits. Voices. A room with glass. A man with cold hands. I ran. I thought I was safe. He found me. He always finds us."

"Elias's voice cut in, softer than before. "Mara, do you copy? We have movement on the eastern catwalk three more. They're approaching your position."

"Tell me they're not armed," Mara said.

"Armed," Elias replied. "Kevlar. Small arms."

"God," she breathed. "They don't want witnesses."

"They don't want you asking questions." Elias's tone was tight. "Mara, get to the ladder by the south container. Climb. Now."

She did it. Muscles burning, hands slick, she hauled herself up into a narrow catwalk. Rain pelted her face like needles. Down below, voices rose, orders barked between men who had rehearsed this.

"Who's that?" someone demanded, a shout close enough that the catwalk reverberated.

"Search the stacks. She couldn't have gone far."

"Check the roof. She might try to go up."

Mara pressed her back to the cold rail, lungs burning, and tried to calm the tremor in her hands. She could feel them people hunting in a practiced way. This was not random.

Elias's voice warmed her ear. "Two teams closing. Hold tight. I'm moving to cut them off from the north."

"Can you get a visual on the shooter?" she asked.

"Negative. He switched positions during the smoke. He knows how to vanish."

"Then he planned all of this. He knew we'd take the bait."

"And they knew your name would bring you," Elias said. "Someone wanted you to be here, Mara."

"Someone wanted me to look like a fool," she said, thinking of the dead man and the missing envelope, the way the pier had been a theater and she the star.

A pair of footsteps clattered up onto the catwalk behind her. She froze mid-breath.

"Found you," a voice said, soft and close, a whisper that slid along her spine.

Mara didn't move. She forced herself to answer, low. "Show yourself."

A shadow detached itself from the darkness. Not a man. A woman this time tall, lean, hair plastered to her skull from the rain. And her eyes Mara could see them now were her own: same slope of cheek, same stubborn set to the jaw.

For a second, time stopped in a space where rain hung like beads on the air.

"Mara," the woman said, voice raw and strange. "You shouldn't have come back."

Then a gunshot cracked, echoing into the night, cutting off the words.

The crack split the air. The woman sagged, sliding down the rail.

"Are you hit?" Mara asked, breath sharp.

"No," the woman whispered, clutching Mara's sleeve. "They told me not to speak, but"

"Who told you?" Mara demanded.

"Keepers," she said. "The Ashen Circle. They did things. I ran. I hid. He found me tonight."

"Elias," Mara said into her earpiece. "Status?"

"Two teams closing fast. You need extraction now."

"Not without answers," Mara said.

The woman smiled, sudden and eerie. "Blood remembers. They remember us."

Footsteps pounded below. A shadow loomed on the ladder.

"Tell me your name," Mara said.

"I don't get to keep it," the woman said. "But she does."

A gloved hand clamped over Mara's mouth. A breath warmed her ear: "Home was never a place. It was a promise." Always