Chapter 2 - The Burner Phone
The rain came down in blinding sheets, turning the winding roads of the Hawthorne estate into slick, treacherous rivers of mud and asphalt. Clara ran until her lungs burned and her legs felt like lead. She didn't have a car—they had confiscated her keys at the gate. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and a burner phone she had taped to the inside of her thigh before walking into the lion's den.
She dove into the thick treeline bordering the property, pressing her back against the rough bark of a massive oak. Headlights swept through the darkness as Hawthorne security SUVs roared down the driveway, searching for her. She held her breath, the freezing rain plastering her dark hair to her face.
Once the SUVs passed, Clara ripped the burner phone from its hiding place. Her fingers were numb, but she dialed a number she had memorized years ago—a number that belonged to a ghost.
It rang twice.
"I told you never to call this line," a raspy, digitized voice answered.
"Elias," Clara breathed, shivering violently. "It's Clara. They took Mia. They bought a judge and took her."
Silence hung on the line, save for the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Elias was a phantom, a hacker and former intelligence operative who owed his life to Clara after she smuggled him out of a Hawthorne black-site three years ago.
"Where are you?" Elias finally asked, his tone shifting from annoyance to deadly serious.
"Three miles south of the main estate. In the woods. They're hunting me."
"Keep your phone on. I'm pinging your location now. Give me ten minutes. Stay out of sight, Clara. The Hawthornes just activated a private military contractor. They aren't looking to arrest you; they're looking to erase you."
Clara shoved the phone into her pocket and began moving through the dense underbrush, avoiding the roads. Every snapping twig sounded like a gunshot. She thought of Mia—her bright green eyes, the way she clutched her stuffed rabbit when she was scared. The thought acted as a furnace in Clara's chest, keeping the freezing cold at bay.
Suddenly, a blinding spotlight hit the trees to her left. A drone. It hovered furiously in the air, its camera swiveling toward her.
Clara didn't hesitate. She grabbed a heavy rock from the mud, wound her arm back, and hurled it with everything she had. The rock smashed into the drone's rotor. It sparked, whined in protest, and crashed into the mud.
They know where I am, Clara thought.
She sprinted. The treeline broke, revealing a deserted two-lane highway. Down the road, she saw the headlights of an incoming vehicle. It wasn't an SUV. It was a battered, matte-black muscle car roaring toward her with its brights off.
The car slammed on its brakes, sliding on the wet asphalt and coming to a halt inches from Clara. The passenger door flew open.
"Get in!" Elias yelled from the driver's seat.
Clara dove inside just as two Hawthorne SUVs burst from the treeline behind them. Elias slammed the transmission into gear, the tires spinning furiously before catching traction. They rocketed down the highway, plunging into the dark.
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"We need to disappear," Elias said, checking his rearview mirror as he killed their taillights. "They control the police in this county. Where are we going?"
Clara wiped the mud from her face, her eyes locking onto the dark horizon. "We aren't hiding, Elias. We're going to war. Pull up the blueprints to the Hawthorne Continental Bank. We're going to drain their blood."
