Until the Moon Calls Us Home

"There's none!" he cried. "I destroy the phones after every call. That's it. I don't know who they are!"

Leo let go violently and turned toward Zayden. "He's a puppet."

Zayden's jaw tightened. "Then we find the hand pulling the strings."

Zayden walked out from behind the disguised door and closed it with a smooth click. His boots crunched on the muddy ground and pine needles. The forest became quiet again. Controlled. Hidden.

But something inside him wasn't hidden.

The cold stung his jaw as he walked around the cabin's side. Leo's and his own statements echoed in his mind, the adrenaline from the interrogation still fresh in his mind:

"He's a puppet."

"Then we find the hand pulling the strings."

The hand... whoever was reaching into this quiet life, dragging both him and Zeynep back toward fire.

As he approached the cabin door, he stopped.

Zeynep was seated on the stairs outside. Barely. Wrapping her arms around herself and tucking her knees in close, she curled up so tightly. Her pajamas were covered with filth, and her hair was knotted with leaves. The identical hoodie that I had given her in the morning was now creased and dirty from the attack.

She looked… small.

And exhausted.

Not fragile.

But worn through.

His breath caught for a beat. She didn't look up as he passed.

Silently, he entered the room and made his way down the hallway. He opened one of the low drawers and ran his hand along the edge of the cabinet.

Inside, he found a soft, beautiful sweater.

The sweater and pajamas were folded with care.

The faint but familiar fragrance of lavender still clung to the fabric as he brushed his fingertips over it.

It was his sister's outfit.

After picking it up and closing the drawer, he turned to head back outside.

At first, Zeynep didn't notice him until he stood in front of her with the dress held out in his outstretched arm.

She blinked, surprised.

"For you," he said, voice quiet.

Her brows pulled together. "What is it?"

He didn't answer that. Instead, he said, "You've had a long day. Go freshen up. The water heater's still working. The shower's clean. Take your time."

She looked down at the dress—soft, delicate, completely at odds with the chaos they'd just survived. Her hand brushed the fabric, then slowly took it from him.

Still, she didn't say a word.

Zayden gave a small nod and turned before she could speak again, walking back toward the kitchen.

There, the silence waited for him like an old friend. He moved on instinct: coffee grounds, kettle, mug. The motions ground him. Familiar. Steady.

The kettle hissed to life.

Steam curled against the windowpane.

For a moment, the world outside the blood, the lies, and the gunshots felt like it belonged to someone else.

He reached for two mugs this time.

Coffee no longer felt right unless there was someone to share it with.

Zeynep sat on the couch, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, with the flickering firelight casting shadows across her face. Her hands trembled slightly, but she concealed it well until Zayden arrived and silently placed a mug of coffee in front of her.

She looked up. "Thanks."

He sat across from her, elbows on his knees, expression unreadable.

"Are you ever going to tell me why they're after you?"

She hesitated, then exhaled shakily, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's not some grand story."

Zayden said nothing and just waited.

She looked down at her tea. "I used to work for someone, a tech guy, the CEO of a startup in Istanbul. He was brilliant but shady. He started selling user data to clients on the dark web people with serious money. When I found out, I reported him to the Turkish authorities and then vanished."

 Zayden narrowed his eyes slightly. "And he just let you walk away?" "I didn't give him the chance,"

She replied, forcing a soft laugh. "I stole encrypted files as proof and disappeared the same week. But… I guess he finally found me."

Zayden's gaze held hers, and something about her story didn't sit right with him. It felt too neat, too tidy—a perfect sequence of motive, escape, and danger.

But her voice…

Her voice sounded rehearsed.

He nodded slowly, a reassuring expression on his face. "You're safe now," he said softly, "at least here in this moment."

She smiled faintly, but her heart was pounding against her ribs.

Because it was all a lie.

Every word of it.

There had never been a startup, no stolen files, and no tech CEO.

But Zeynep Koral did have real enemies, and her secrets were darker than anything she had just revealed.

Little did Zayden know, he had just invited a storm into his home.

Inside the Hidden Base

The captive had been restrained and was now unconscious, thanks to Leo's latest injection and a swift blow to the jaw. The dim overhead lights buzzed faintly, illuminating the blood-spattered concrete and the maps scattered across the adjoining table.

Zayden stood against the far wall, one hand resting on his jaw while the other clenched a folded cloth stained with the intruder's blood. His mind seemed miles away.

Leo leaned on the steel table, wiping his knuckles with a bloodstained towel.

"You believe him?" Leo asked, not looking up.

"No," Zayden said flatly. "But I believe he doesn't know who gave the order."

Leo nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Contract killers," he said, his voice low. "Invisible layers of ghosts, shrouded in secrecy. No names, no faces—this kind of mystery isn't new to us."

Zayden paused, his response hanging in the air as he turned his gaze toward the surveillance monitors. One displayed the cabin above, where Zeynep nestled comfortably on the couch. The firelight danced playfully against her features, illuminating her serene expression and casting soft shadows that accentuated the warmth of her presence in the cozy room. The crackling flames added a gentle soundtrack to the scene, creating an atmosphere that felt both intimate and inviting.

"She said she worked for some CEO. Tech fraud. Witness with a conscience," Zayden said after a pause.

Leo looked at him now, eyebrow raised. "And you bought that?"

Zayden shifted uneasily, his voice dropping to a murmur. "No," he admitted, "not really."

He stepped forward, his voice lower and more deliberate. "I need you to find out who she is. Quietly. No flags. No actions that will make her disappear again."

Leo tilted his head, studying him. "So, you're getting involved in this?"

Zayden didn't deny it.

"She stepped into my line of fire, Leo. Her eyes blazing with defiance. Even when a gun was pointed at her face, she refused to flinch." His jaw tightened. "People like that don't just stumble into danger."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Leo asked, "Do you want the full profile? Real name, history, everything?"

 Zayden nodded once. "Anything that will tell me if she's a threat or if I need to protect her from something worse than she's saying."

Leo tossed the towel into a bin. "Alright. I'll dig."

Zayden started toward the steel door, pausing as it slid open again with the hiss of pressurized air.

Leo called after him, his voice low with meaning. "Are you sure you're not just trying to protect yourself from her?"

Zayden didn't look back.

"I'm not sure of anything," he said, stepping into the stairwell. "That's the problem."

The hidden base sealed behind Zayden with a soft, hissing sound; it erased every last trace of the oppressive darkness below. He ascended the narrow, creaking stairs back into the cabin, his body burdened by more than mere exhaustion. The flickering fire had dwindled to a mere whisper of warmth, its glowing embers casting dancing shadows on the walls. Outside, the world was transforming into a silvery expanse, with delicate stars seeping into the canvas of the night sky, painting it with a tranquil beauty that felt both haunting and serene.

His stomach growled for the first time since sunrise.

They hadn't eaten anything all day.

Without thinking much, he moved into the kitchen and pulled out the venison he had cleaned yesterday. He sliced it into thin slivers, his fingers moving with practiced ease, guided by muscle memory. He was preparing his own version of chow mein, rugged and improvised, using thick noodles and seared deer meat cooked in hot oil.

The knife clinked quietly against the chopping board as he gathered a handful of vegetables: carrots, a wrinkled bell pepper, and some potatoes to add bulk. The tomatoes were still good, just barely.

He barely registered her footsteps until they stopped just behind him.

She stood in the doorway, sweater hanging loose off her shoulders. Her eyes met his briefly, cautious, tired, but softer than before.

"I came for water," she said simply.

Zayden nodded toward the counter. "Glasses are there."

She picked up the glass, filled it, and drank, then stood silently for a beat before reaching for the potatoes.

He paused. "You don't have to."

"I know how to peel them," she interrupted, already pulling a knife from the drawer.

He didn't stop her.

For a few minutes, the silence between them settled into something almost... easy. Comfortable.

The ripe tomatoes thudded onto the cutting board, their skins gleaming under the light. With her sleeves rolled up, she worked with focused determination, each slice precise. Zayden glanced at her, noting the small frown creasing her brow and the way she shifted her weight restlessly from foot to foot, as if the stillness of the room unsettled her.

"You're good with a knife," he said eventually.

"Only with Knife," she replied, tone light.

He smirked. "Yeah, how can I forget last night?"

She chuckled and then glanced at him, eyes glinting with something teasing, wary, and amused. "What are you making?"