The Safehouse
Aaliyah
The road stretched endlessly into the night, and Aaliyah tried to focus on the rhythm of the car, the hum of the engine, the gentle turns that took them farther and farther away from Palma. Each mile put more distance between her and the estate, between her and the life she was leaving behind. It should have felt freeing, but the weight of uncertainty pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Beside her, Cruz remained silent, her eyes fixed on the road. She hadn’t said much since mentioning her contact—the one who could help them with new IDs, passports, and everything else they’d need to disappear. Cruz had a plan. Aaliyah trusted her to see it through. But trust didn’t erase the lingering nerves that sat in the pit of her stomach.
Her gaze drifted to Cruz, who was illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights. There was a steadiness about her, an unshakable calm that seemed impossible to disrupt. Even now, with everything hanging in the balance, Cruz’s focus never wavered. Aaliyah envied that composure. She wished she could borrow even a fraction of it.
The safehouse loomed closer with each passing minute, and Aaliyah found herself wanting to fill the silence. Cruz had been a mystery from the start, a fortress of professionalism and control. But now, with the tension of their situation and the bond that was slowly forming between them, Aaliyah wanted to know more. Who was this woman who had risked everything to help her?
“I don’t know how you stay so calm,” Aaliyah said softly, breaking the silence. “Even now, when everything feels… impossible.”
Cruz’s fingers flexed briefly on the steering wheel, but she didn’t look away from the road. “You don’t survive long in my line of work if you let your emotions run the show,” she said. “You learn to compartmentalize.”
“That sounds exhausting,” Aaliyah admitted, folding her hands in her lap. “Never letting yourself feel.”
Cruz’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “It’s not about not feeling. It’s about staying in control. You can’t help anyone if you lose your head.”
Aaliyah nodded, though she couldn’t imagine living that way. For her, emotions had always been at the forefront—messy, unpredictable, and sometimes overwhelming. But Cruz carried hers like a locked box, and Aaliyah wondered what it would take to open it, even just a crack.
The car turned onto a dirt road, the headlights catching glimpses of olive trees and the faint outline of a building in the distance. Aaliyah sat up straighter, her heart pounding as they neared the safehouse. It was small and unassuming, nestled in the shadow of the hills. There were no lights on, no sign of life.
Cruz slowed the car to a stop a short distance away, cutting the engine and plunging them into silence. She turned to Aaliyah, her expression serious.
“Stay here,” Cruz said, her voice low but commanding. “Keep your head down. Don’t move unless I say so.”
Aaliyah swallowed hard and nodded, her pulse quickening as Cruz stepped out of the car. She watched as Cruz moved with quiet precision, her movements fluid and deliberate. This wasn’t just a routine check—this was someone who had done this before, who knew exactly what she was looking for.
Cruz circled the car first, her hand resting on the grip of her concealed weapon as her sharp eyes scanned the darkness around them. She moved in silence, every step deliberate, every motion purposeful. Aaliyah watched her, entranced by the efficiency of it all. Cruz was in her element now, and it was both reassuring and intimidating.
Once she was satisfied with the immediate area, Cruz turned her attention to the safehouse. She approached cautiously, her movements smooth and silent. She paused at the edge of the porch, her body angled slightly, listening. Aaliyah couldn’t hear anything, but she knew Cruz was attuned to the smallest sounds, the slightest movements.
Cruz’s hand went to her sidearm as she stepped onto the porch, her body moving with practiced ease. She checked the windows first, peering inside without breaking her silhouette against the faint moonlight. Then she moved to the door, testing the handle gently before she slipped inside, disappearing into the darkness.
The moments that followed felt like an eternity. Aaliyah sat frozen in the car, her breath shallow, her eyes fixed on the safehouse. She had no idea what Cruz was doing inside, but she trusted her. If there was anyone who could handle this, it was Cruz.
Finally, the door creaked open, and Cruz reappeared, her movements still careful as she stepped back onto the porch. She scanned the area one more time before returning to the car, opening the driver’s side door and sliding back into her seat.
“It’s clear,” Cruz said simply, her voice steady. “Come on.”
Aaliyah didn’t hesitate. She stepped out of the car, her legs shaky as she followed Cruz toward the safehouse. The night air was cool against her skin, and the quiet of the countryside felt almost oppressive after the tension of the city. But as they stepped inside, Aaliyah felt a small measure of relief.
The safehouse was sparse but functional—a single room with a small kitchenette, a couch that doubled as a bed, and a bathroom tucked into the corner. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now, it was safe.
Cruz locked the door behind them, securing it with a practiced efficiency that spoke to years of experience. She didn’t say anything as she moved through the room, checking the windows, testing the locks, making sure everything was secure. Aaliyah stood by the door, watching her, a mixture of awe and gratitude bubbling in her chest.
“Is it always like this?” Aaliyah asked finally, her voice breaking the silence. “Always this… intense?”
Cruz paused, turning to look at her. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—something softer, more human. “It’s not always like this,” she said quietly. “But when it is, you stay sharp. You stay alive.”
Aaliyah nodded, her heart still racing. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, she was safe. And she had Cruz to thank for that.
Cruz
The dirt road stretched ahead in silence as Cruz guided the car toward the safehouse. Each turn brought them closer to their temporary refuge, but her mind was already working several steps ahead. This wasn’t just a place to rest—it was a staging ground, a secure point to regroup and plan their next move. Every mile they put between themselves and Palma was a mile gained, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
She glanced briefly at Aaliyah in the passenger seat. The woman’s hands were still curled tightly around the folds of her wedding dress, her gaze fixed out the window. Aaliyah’s tension was palpable, but so was her resolve. Cruz could see it in the set of her jaw, the quiet determination that had taken root since the moment she’d stepped out of that café. It was a small spark, but it was enough.
The safehouse came into view at last, a small, unassuming structure nestled in the shadows of the surrounding hills. Cruz eased the car to a stop a short distance away, her eyes sweeping the area for anything out of place. She didn’t trust stillness—not now, not ever.
Turning off the engine, she exhaled quietly and turned to Aaliyah. “Stay here,” she said, her voice low and firm. “Keep your head down. Don’t move until I come back.”
Aaliyah nodded, her expression a mixture of nerves and trust. Cruz stepped out of the car, her boots crunching softly against the gravel as she moved with deliberate precision. Every movement was purposeful, every step calculated. She circled the car first, her hand resting lightly on the grip of her weapon, her eyes scanning for anything out of the ordinary. The night was quiet, but Cruz’s instincts told her to stay sharp.
Once satisfied with the immediate area, she turned her attention to the safehouse. Approaching cautiously, she paused at the edge of the porch, her body angled slightly to minimize her silhouette. She tested the door, locked as she’d expected, before moving to the windows, peering inside without exposing herself to the faint moonlight. Everything appeared undisturbed, but Cruz knew better than to take appearances at face value.
Drawing her weapon, she eased the door open and slipped inside. The darkness was thick, but Cruz moved through it like a shadow, her body fluid and quiet. She checked every corner, every potential hiding spot, her focus unrelenting. It was a small space, but she treated it with the same scrutiny she would have given a hostile compound. Only when she was satisfied that the safehouse was clear did she lower her weapon.
Stepping back onto the porch, Cruz scanned the surrounding area one last time before heading back to the car. Opening the driver’s side door, she slid in and turned to Aaliyah.
“It’s clear,” she said simply. “Come on.”
Aaliyah stepped out of the car, her dress trailing behind her as she followed Cruz toward the safehouse. The cool night air was still, but Cruz stayed alert, her eyes flicking to the shadows as they approached the door. Inside, the safehouse was as sparse as Cruz remembered—functional and secure, with nothing unnecessary. A single couch that doubled as a bed, a small kitchenette, and a bathroom tucked into the corner.
Cruz locked the door behind them, her movements precise and deliberate. She moved through the space quickly, checking the windows, testing the locks, making sure everything was exactly as it should be. Aaliyah stood near the door, watching her silently, her nervous energy radiating through the room.
“You should rest,” Cruz said after finishing her sweep. “We’ll need to move again soon, but this is the best place to regroup for now.”
Aaliyah’s gaze shifted to the couch, then back to Cruz. “There’s only one bed,” she said softly.
“I’ll take the floor,” Cruz replied without hesitation, dropping her pack near the door. “I’ll keep watch and catch some sleep when I can.”
“You can’t do that,” Aaliyah said, a note of concern creeping into her voice. “You need to rest too. You won’t be able to protect me if you’re running on fumes.”
Cruz’s jaw tightened as she turned to face Aaliyah. “I’ve done more on less,” she said firmly. “You take the couch. You need it more than I do.”
Aaliyah frowned, stepping closer, her arms crossed. “Cruz, you’re helping me. The least I can do is make sure you’re rested enough to keep doing that. Take the couch.”
Cruz shook her head, her expression unyielding. “That’s not how this works. My job is to keep you safe, and I can’t do that if I’m too comfortable to notice trouble coming. I’ll sleep when it’s safe to sleep.”
Aaliyah hesitated, her frustration evident. “You’re so stubborn,” she said finally, though there was no malice in her tone.
“Comes with the territory,” Cruz replied, her voice calm but edged with finality. She moved to the floor, spreading out her jacket as a makeshift pillow and settling in with her back against the wall, her weapon within arm’s reach. “Get some rest. We’ll figure out the next move in the morning.”
Aaliyah stood there for a moment, as if debating whether to argue further. But eventually, she let out a quiet sigh and turned toward the couch. She sat down gingerly, her fingers brushing the fabric as she glanced back at Cruz.
“Goodnight, Cruz,” she said softly.
“Night,” Cruz replied, her voice steady.
She watched as Aaliyah curled up on the couch, her form illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the window. For a moment, Cruz allowed herself to relax, her head resting against the wall. But her mind remained sharp, her senses attuned to every sound, every subtle shift in the air.
This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. But for now, Aaliyah was safe.