The Safehouse Part III
Aaliyah
Aaliyah woke to the soft gray light of early morning filtering through the windows, casting faint shadows on the walls of the safehouse. The air was still, the kind of quiet that felt too heavy, as though the weight of her choices lingered in the space around her. She blinked a few times, her mind catching up to the unfamiliar surroundings. The memory of the night before hit her in fragments—her flight from the estate, the hum of the car, Cruz’s unwavering presence.
Her gaze shifted to the floor where Cruz sat propped against the wall, her weapon still close at hand. Cruz’s head was tilted slightly, her eyes closed, her breaths steady. The sight surprised Aaliyah—she had assumed Cruz never slept. But even soldiers had their limits, and exhaustion must have finally caught up with her.
Aaliyah sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the blanket draped over her legs. The wedding dress clung to her like a shroud, the intricate lace and heavy beading suddenly unbearable. She ran her hands over the fabric, her fingers catching on the delicate stitching. This dress had once been a symbol of everything she was supposed to be, a costume for a life that wasn’t hers. Now, it was the last reminder of a life she wanted to leave behind.
Her chest tightened as she reached behind her, fumbling with the buttons that ran the length of her back. She needed to get out of it, to shed the weight of it, both physical and symbolic. Her fingers trembled as she tugged at the fabric, frustration bubbling up as the buttons refused to cooperate.
“Come on,” she muttered under her breath, twisting awkwardly to reach the ones at the small of her back. The dress felt suffocating, the tight bodice and layers of fabric trapping her in the past she was trying to escape.
She didn’t hear the soft shuffle of movement until a voice broke through her struggle.
“What are you doing?”
Aaliyah froze, her breath catching as she turned to see Cruz watching her, her eyes sharp despite the slight grogginess in her tone. Cruz sat up straighter, her weapon still close by, the lines of fatigue etched faintly on her face.
“I… I’m trying to get out of this thing,” Aaliyah said, her voice tinged with embarrassment. She gestured to the dress. “I can’t stand it anymore.”
Cruz sighed quietly and pushed herself to her feet, her movements fluid despite the stiffness in her posture. “You should have waited until I woke up,” she said, crossing the room with quiet efficiency. “You could have hurt yourself twisting around like that.”
Aaliyah frowned. “It’s just a dress.”
“It’s a fortress,” Cruz muttered under her breath as she crouched behind Aaliyah. “Hold still.”
Her fingers moved to the buttons, deftly undoing them one by one with the same precision she used to clear a building. Aaliyah stood there, feeling awkwardly exposed despite the dress still being mostly intact. Cruz’s presence was steady, grounding, and Aaliyah found herself relaxing slightly as the fabric loosened around her.
“There,” Cruz said after a moment, stepping back as the last button came undone. “You should be able to get it off now.”
Aaliyah tugged at the sleeves, but the tight fit around her shoulders made it impossible to pull the dress down without help. She hesitated, glancing at Cruz, who seemed to realize the problem before Aaliyah could even say anything.
“Hold on,” Cruz said, reaching into her kit to pull out Aaliyah’s go-bag. She pulled out a faded T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that looked well-worn but clean.
Aaliyah took the clothes gratefully, her fingers brushing against Cruz’s as she did. “Thank you.”
Aaliyah nodded, clutching the clothes to her chest as Cruz turned her back to give her some privacy. The dress slipped off more easily now, pooling around her feet in a crumpled heap. She stared at it for a moment, the weight of it still heavy in her mind, before stepping out of it completely.
The T-shirt was soft, the fabric loose and comfortable against her skin. The sweatpants hung low on her hips, the drawstring barely able to keep them in place, but she didn’t care.
Cruz turned back around, her gaze briefly flicking to the discarded dress before settling on Aaliyah. “Better?”
“Much,” Aaliyah said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Thank you.”
Cruz nodded once, her expression as stoic as ever, though there was a flicker of something softer in her eyes. “Get some rest while you can,” she said, her tone shifting back to business. “We’ll need to move soon.”
Aaliyah nodded, though she wasn’t sure she could go back to sleep now. The dress lay crumpled on the floor, a symbol of everything she had left behind. For the first time since her escape, she felt like she was starting to reclaim a piece of herself.
Cruz
Cruz stirred at the faint sound of movement, her eyes snapping open to the pale gray light filtering through the windows. The familiar weight of her weapon rested in her lap, but the stiffness in her neck and shoulders told her she’d let her guard down. She’d fallen asleep—an uncharacteristic lapse that sent a wave of irritation through her.
She sat up straighter, scanning the room quickly. The safehouse was still quiet, the air heavy with the silence of early morning. Aaliyah was awake, perched on the edge of the couch and tugging at the buttons running down the back of her wedding dress. Her movements were awkward and jerky, the fabric resisting her efforts to shed it.
“What are you doing?” Cruz asked, her voice low but edged with annoyance.
Aaliyah froze, her head snapping around to meet Cruz’s sharp gaze. “I… I’m trying to get out of this thing,” she said, gesturing to the dress. “I can’t stand it anymore.”
Cruz pushed herself to her feet, stretching briefly before crossing the room with smooth, deliberate steps. The stiffness in her back and the ache in her shoulders reminded her of the uncomfortable floor—and her earlier stubbornness about refusing the couch.
“You should have waited,” Cruz said as she crouched behind Aaliyah. “You could have hurt yourself twisting around like that.”
“It’s just a dress,” Aaliyah muttered, but Cruz ignored the protest as her fingers moved to the buttons. The delicate fabric felt foreign under her hands, too ornate, too fragile. She worked quickly, her precision born of years of training, though this task was far removed from her usual operations.
“There,” Cruz said after a moment, straightening as the last button came free. “You should be able to get it off now.”
Aaliyah tugged at the sleeves, but the tight fit at her shoulders made it impossible to pull the dress down completely. She struggled briefly, her frustration evident, and Cruz let out a quiet sigh before reaching into her kit to retrieve the clothes Aaliyah had packed for her escape but left behind. She pulled out a faded T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants—clean, if a little too big.
Aaliyah’s fingers brushed against Cruz’s as she took the clothes. “Thank you.”
Cruz nodded, turning her back to give her some privacy. Behind her, she could hear the soft rustle of fabric as Aaliyah slipped out of the dress. The sound carried more weight than it should have, a tangible symbol of Aaliyah shedding her old life. Cruz’s gaze lingered on the crumpled heap of lace and beads when Aaliyah finally said, “It’s off.”
When Cruz turned back, Aaliyah was already pulling the oversized T-shirt over her head, the sweatpants cinched tight at her waist. She looked smaller now, the loose clothes emphasizing her delicate frame. But she also looked more comfortable, and for the first time since Cruz had met her, there was a flicker of ease in her expression.
“Better?” Cruz asked, her tone softer than usual.
“Much,” Aaliyah said with a small smile. “Thank you.”
“Get some rest,” Cruz replied, her voice slipping back into its professional cadence. “We’ll need to move soon.”
Aaliyah nodded, settling back onto the couch as her breathing began to slow. Cruz watched her for a moment, her gaze lingering on the discarded wedding dress before turning her attention back to the task at hand.
With Aaliyah finally resting, Cruz moved to the corner of the room where her bag was stashed. She pulled out her phone, the old model secured with encryption software that would make even the most skilled hacker sweat. She tapped a number she hadn’t used in months and waited, her muscles tense as the line rang once, twice, before a voice answered.
“Who the hell is calling me at this hour?”
“It’s me,” Cruz said, her voice low but firm. “I need a favor.”
The voice on the other end hesitated, then let out a rough laugh. “Cruz Manuelos. You don’t call unless you’re in deep. What’s the job?”
“I need IDs. Passports. Two sets,” Cruz said, keeping her words clipped. “Fast.”
“That’s a tall order,” the voice replied, its tone turning cautious. “You’re not still working with your usual crew, are you?”
“No,” Cruz said sharply. “This is off the books.”
Another pause, then a low whistle. “You’ve gone rogue.”
“I don’t have time for commentary,” Cruz snapped. “Can you do it or not?”
There was a rustling on the other end of the line, as though the person were weighing the risk. “I can do it. But it’s going to cost you.”
“Name your price,” Cruz said without hesitation. She wasn’t worried about the cost—she had stashed away enough money over the years to cover favors like this. What mattered was securing the documents and getting Aaliyah out of danger.
“You know the drill,” the voice said. “Half up front, the rest on delivery. I’ll need details—names, photos, whatever you’ve got.”
“I’ll send it,” Cruz replied. “How soon can you have them?”
“If you get me the details within the hour, I can have something for you by tomorrow night.”
Cruz’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to relax. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. “I’ll send it now.”
“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Cruz,” the voice said before the line went dead.
Cruz exhaled quietly, her mind already running through the next steps. The timeline was tight, but it was workable. She would need to take photos of Aaliyah while she slept and finalize the details of their new identities. It wasn’t the cleanest operation she’d ever run, but it would get them out of this mess.
She tucked the phone away and glanced back at Aaliyah, who was now fast asleep, her face soft and unguarded. Cruz’s chest tightened briefly as she watched her, the weight of her choice settling over her again. She had gone rogue for this girl, stepped away from the mission, from everything she’d been trained to do.
And yet, as Cruz adjusted her weapon on her lap and leaned back against the wall, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.