Color Of Love

Chapter 0024: Smoke and Storms

Rain lashed against the windows of the safehouse, each drop echoing the rising tension inside. Zara clutched the folder close, her fingers tracing the worn edges of the evidence her mother had died for. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one brewing within her.

"We need to make this public," she said firmly.

Hamza, still pale but more alert now, shook his head. "You can't just release it all. These men—these people—they've buried deeper secrets for decades. They control media outlets. Judges. Police. If you go in unprepared, they'll erase you before the truth ever sees daylight."

"But we can't sit on this," Amira argued. "If we wait too long, they'll come after us."

"I'm not saying we don't use it," Hamza said, leaning forward with effort. "I'm saying we use it wisely. We strike with precision—one truth at a time. Build public momentum. Expose them piece by piece. Once their mask starts to crack, the people will demand justice."

Zara nodded, her eyes narrowing with resolve. "Then we start tonight."

That evening, in the heart of their safehouse, they set up a temporary command center. Qadir patched into encrypted servers and started creating digital backups of the files. Amira drafted an anonymous dossier to leak the first wave of information—targeting a senator involved in laundering money through dummy charities.

"We'll time the leak to coincide with the senator's live speech tomorrow," Qadir said. "It'll hit hard."

Zara watched the screen as lines of code scrolled past. She felt the weight of her choices, the danger they invited. But she also felt a surge of purpose, the kind that comes from knowing you're doing what's right—even if it terrifies you.

Suddenly, the power flickered. Then again.

Everyone froze.

Qadir's fingers flew over the keyboard. "They're trying to breach the system."

"Already?" Amira gasped.

"Someone's found us," Zara said grimly.

The lights cut out.

A second later, backup power clicked in, bathing the room in dim, red emergency lights. A sound echoed from outside—the unmistakable screech of tires.

"They're here," Hamza said, standing slowly.

Zara's breath caught in her throat. "We have to move."

But Qadir remained at his post. "Not until I finish the upload. I'm sending the files to multiple trusted nodes—so even if we're taken, the truth survives."

"Then we buy you time," Zara said.

She and Amira grabbed what little defensive gear they had. Zara slid the original folder into a fireproof bag and slung it across her shoulder. Her heartbeat thundered as footsteps echoed outside the door.

Hamza looked to her. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Zara nodded. "I was born in the fire. Now I'm lighting the match."

As the first knock thundered at the door, Zara stood tall in the center of the room. She wasn't just Ayesha's daughter anymore.

She was the spark of a revolution.

And nothing burns brighter than the truth.

The door shattered inward with a deafening crash.

Armed figures stormed into the room, their silhouettes sharp against the emergency lights. Zara didn't flinch. Amira stepped in front of Qadir, shielding him with nothing but courage. Hamza gritted his teeth, lifting a makeshift baton—wounded or not, he would not let them fall without a fight.

"Stay back!" Zara shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos like steel. "The files are already out. Hurt us and it won't stop what's coming."

One of the masked intruders paused, faltered—hesitation in his stance. Then another voice barked from behind him, cold and commanding.

"Bring her. The rest are expendable."

Zara's heart froze.

The voice. She knew that voice.

From the shadows stepped a man in a tailored coat, his face half-hidden by the flickering lights—but his eyes, sharp and cruel, glinted with familiarity.

"Hello, Zara," he said smoothly. "Or should I say… rebellion's princess?"

"Rehan Baig," she spat the name like venom.

He smirked. "Ah. So you do remember me. I must say, you've grown quite the spine since Lahore. But let's not pretend you can beat me at my own game."

"You already lost," she said, backing toward the wall where the emergency escape tunnel hatch lay half-concealed.

"Have I?" He stepped forward. "Then why are you running?"

Before she could reply, Qadir hit the final command on his keyboard. The server beeped, confirming successful transmission.

"It's done," he whispered. "It's all out there now."

Rehan's expression faltered—just for a second.

That was enough.

Zara shouted, "Now!" and yanked open the tunnel hatch. Smoke grenades exploded around the room, clouding everything in dense fog. Amira dragged Qadir toward the exit. Hamza stumbled after them.

Zara was the last to enter, but not before locking eyes with Rehan once more.

"You won't stop this," she said.

He didn't respond. But the look in his eyes said everything—rage, disbelief, and… fear.

Because for the first time, truth wasn't a whisper.

It was a roar.

The group emerged from the tunnel into the cool night air, lungs burning, clothes torn, hearts pounding.

Zara collapsed on the grass, looking up at the stars. For the first time in months, she felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation.

Hope.

Amira sat beside her, bruised but smiling. "We did it."

Qadir held up his phone, showing news alerts exploding across social media and news networks. Corruption Scandal Rocks Senate, Anonymous Source Leaks Evidence, #TruthWillRise trending worldwide.

And then Ryan's message popped up on Zara's screen: "I saw it. I'm proud of you. Come home."

Zara closed her eyes. "Not yet," she whispered.

This wasn't the end.

It was just the beginning.

Three days later…

Hidden deep in the heart of the Cappadocia mountains, the safehouse was quiet, nestled among ancient rock formations that had seen empires rise and fall. It was the perfect place to disappear, at least for a little while.

Zara stood on the rooftop terrace, wrapped in a shawl, her gaze fixed on the stars. The night air was crisp, whispering tales of endings and beginnings. Downstairs, the others slept—exhausted, bruised, but alive.

The news cycle had been unrelenting. The files Qadir released had set off a political firestorm across South Asia. Names—powerful names—had been exposed. Arrests had begun. Protests were erupting in city squares. But Rehan Baig… he had vanished.

"Can't sleep?" Amira's voice broke the silence as she stepped onto the rooftop.

Zara shook her head. "Too much noise in my mind."

Amira leaned against the wall beside her. "You should be proud. You pulled off something people only dream about."

Zara gave a tired smile. "Then why does it feel like something's still missing?"

"You're waiting for him," Amira said softly.

Zara didn't deny it. Ryan hadn't seen her in person since the day of the escape. His messages had been supportive, encouraging—but distant. She had told him to stay back, to stay safe. But every day she woke up hoping to see him walk through the door.

"You love him," Amira said.

Zara nodded slowly. "And I hate that I do."

"Because love makes you vulnerable?"

"No," Zara said. "Because it makes you want something for yourself. After spending your whole life wanting justice for others."

Amira placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's okay to want both."

Suddenly, footsteps echoed up the stairs. Both women turned.

Hamza appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You guys need to come downstairs. Now."

Zara and Amira exchanged a glance and hurried after him.

Downstairs

The safehouse television flickered with a live broadcast. A news anchor, flustered but composed, was speaking.

"…this just in, leaked footage from an anonymous whistleblower shows what appears to be Rehan Baig boarding a private aircraft at an undisclosed airstrip. Sources believe he may be fleeing the region to avoid arrest…"

A still image appeared—a blurry yet unmistakable profile.

Zara's hands clenched into fists.

"We can't let him disappear," she said.

Hamza looked at her. "What do we do?"

Zara turned away from the screen, her voice steady, eyes fierce. "We finish what we started. If the world won't bring him to justice… then we will."

The quiet of the safehouse dissolved into a tension that crackled with resolve.

Zara wasn't running anymore.

She was hunting.

The sun had barely risen over the Anatolian horizon, casting golden streaks across the sky, when Zara stepped out of the safehouse and into the cold wind of resolve. Her mind was clear, her heart no longer weighed down by fear—but sharpened by purpose.

Inside, the team huddled over Hamza's laptop. New coordinates had been received. A whistleblower from within Rehan Baig's security network—anonymous, but consistent—was feeding them real-time movement. Rehan hadn't left the region yet. His jet was grounded due to a last-minute clearance snag, and he was hiding at a private lodge near the Syrian border.

"We have a window," Hamza said. "Maybe twelve hours before that jet gets approved again."

Zara folded her arms, staring at the map. "Then we use it."

Amira frowned. "This isn't like before. This time… we're not just leaking information. We're walking into enemy territory."

Zara met her gaze. "If we don't stop him now, everything we exposed will be buried. He'll reinvent himself in another country, another power circle. And next time, there won't be any survivors."

A heavy silence filled the room.

Then Hamza nodded. "I'm in."

"Me too," Amira added.

Zara turned to the final face she needed—Zayn. He had been quiet since the last mission, grappling with guilt and the weight of his own past connections to the corruption they fought against.

He didn't speak at first. But after a moment, he finally said, "We finish it. For all of them."

Later that night

The road to the lodge was narrow and cloaked in shadow. A convoy of unmarked vehicles rumbled along the dirt path. Inside the lead vehicle, Zara checked her earpiece and reviewed the plan again—entry through the east wall, disable communications, and isolate Rehan before he could contact outside help.

As they neared the perimeter, something glinted in the trees ahead.

"Stop the car," she ordered.

Hamza braked. Zara stepped out, scanning the darkness with her flashlight.

Then she saw it—trip wires.

"Booby-trapped," she muttered. "He's expecting company."

Zayn and Amira moved to disarm the wires with calm precision, but Zara's gut twisted.

Something about this felt… too easy.

"We're being lured in," she whispered. "It's a trap."

Too late.

A loud explosion thundered from the lodge, lighting up the night sky.

They ducked instinctively. Smoke and debris mushroomed into the air.

"He blew it up?" Amira gasped.

"No," Hamza said, checking the radio feed. "That wasn't from us. That was inside."

Zara's heart raced. "He's eliminating evidence… and anyone still loyal to him."

Zayn stepped forward. "Then let's make sure he's not one of the survivors."

Inside the Lodge

Bodies. Smoke. The remnants of a hurried purge. The team moved through the wreckage with masks and precision, but Rehan was nowhere to be found.

Then Amira called out, "Guys—here!"

She held up a still-warm tablet. On the screen: a recording, playing on loop.

Rehan's voice.

"If you're watching this, you're too late. But you tried. And that… is exactly why you'll never win. Because people like you think exposing the truth is enough. It's not. Power doesn't disappear—it just changes masks."

Zara stared at the screen, unmoving.

But beneath the surface, something had shifted.

He was still out there. But so were they.

And now, it wasn't just about justice anymore.

It was war.

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(To be Continue...)