A'ishah's POV

The night had been long. Too long.

Despite closing my eyes, sleep refused to come. Every time I drifted, the image of that photograph dragged me back into wakefulness. My mind replayed every detail, every document, every whispered question I had yet to answer.

Now, the first light of dawn seeped through the thin curtains, casting a dull glow across the hotel room. My body felt sluggish, my limbs heavy as if weighed down by the sheer exhaustion I refused to acknowledge.

I sighed and sat up, rubbing my face as I heard a knock at my door.

Dragging myself off the bed, I pulled the door open, and there stood Clifford, looking way too awake for someone who also barely slept. His arms were crossed, an eyebrow raised as he gave me a once-over.

"How many hours?" He asked flatly. Probably asking how many hours I managed to sleep.

I yawned, scratching the back of my head. "One. Maybe two."

He clicked his tongue. "Knew it."

Before I could protest, he shoved a small paper cup into my hands. Warmth seeped into my fingers. I blinked down at it.

Strawberry taho.

"Seriously?" I muttered, staring at the pink-hued syrup drizzling down the sides.

"You need something sweet after looking like death." Clifford leaned against the doorframe, smug. "Also, I did say we’d get one. Inakit lang ako nung ice cream kahapon."

I sighed, shaking my head, but took a sip anyway. The warmth spread through my chest, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to enjoy the familiar comfort.

Clifford studied me as I drank. "You’re overthinking again.”

I shot him a dry look. "You say that like I ever stop."

"Fair point." He stretched, cracking his neck. "But we need you focused today. We’re going back.”

I exhaled, forcing the thoughts away. "I know."

Clifford pushed off the doorframe. "Then finish that, get dressed, and let’s go."

As he walked off, I stared down at the cup in my hands, the strawberry syrup swirling in soft patterns against the white tofu.

For a moment, I wished things were as simple as this. But they weren’t.

And today, I had a feeling I’d be reminded of that all over again.

The drive back to the cabin was silent.

Clifford kept his eyes on the road, the only sound between us the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of trees as the wind passed through them. I kept my gaze fixed outside, watching as the dense forest swallowed the narrow path ahead. The morning fog still clung to the air, making everything feel muted, like the world itself was holding its breath.

A part of me wished it would stay that way. But as we approached the cabin, unease settled deep in my gut. Something felt… wrong.

The first time we came here, we barely made it out alive. The sniper had been waiting, watching, as if they knew exactly when we'd arrive. If we hadn't reacted fast enough, one of us wouldn’t have left at all.

That meant this place wasn’t just a crime scene. It was a trap.

So this time, we were careful.

Clifford parked farther away, keeping the car hidden between the trees. We moved on foot, sticking close to the foliage for cover. The wind was cold against my skin, rustling through the leaves, but there was no other sound. No birds, no insects. Just that same unsettling silence.

It wasn’t right.

I clenched my fists, scanning the treetops, the distant ridges, anywhere a sniper could be waiting. But there was nothing. No movement, no glint of a rifle scope. Just an empty, quiet forest.

Like they wanted us to come back.

Clifford tapped my shoulder. “Clear, for now.” His voice was low, careful. “But let’s not waste time.”

We reached the cabin door. Clifford nodded at me. I took a steadying breath before pushing it open.

The inside was untouched, just like last time. The faint scent of pine and old wood filled the air, mixing with something stale. The memories came flooding back.

I exhaled sharply. Start from the beginning.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to relive it. It had been an ordinary evening. We were all so normal.

It was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. Maxine proposed for a proper wedding. I still remember every single word she said, the look on her face, the sincerity in her eyes, the way she held, her wide smile the moment I said yes. It was everything to me.

But all that is gone now. My world came crashing to me when I saw her standing a few feet away from Nicole's dead body.

Without a single thought. Without thinking. Without hesitation.

I accused her.

Because the pain was too much. It was too much.

I exhaled sharply, snapping myself back to the present. My chest felt tight, my pulse uneven.

Clifford was watching me carefully. “You’re shaking.”

I hadn’t even noticed. I flexed my fingers, forcing them to steady. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “What now?”

I looked around, taking in the cabin again. The bloodstain had long since been scrubbed away, but I still saw it. I still saw her.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

“We retrace everything.” I said quietly. “Every step. Every moment.”

Clifford nodded. “Then let’s get to work.”

Stepping inside that same room, I was hit with a wave of emotions so strong it nearly knocked me back. The air was thick with something invisible but suffocating—grief, regret, ghosts of a past I wasn’t ready to face.

The bloodstains were gone, scrubbed clean by time and investigation, but I still saw them. I still saw her.

Nicole lying there, motionless, her warmth stolen too soon.

And Maxine.

Not here, not now, but everywhere in my mind.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the images away. I couldn't afford to lose myself in this. Not now.

I had spent months trying to push that night away, trying to pretend that time would dull the sharp edges of that memory. But standing here, it was as fresh as the moment it happened.

I gritted my teeth, pushing it all aside. I wasn’t here to mourn. I was here to find the truth.

I stepped deeper inside, my hands clenching at my sides. The wood creaked beneath my weight, every sound amplified in the unbearable quiet. Clifford stayed by the door, silent but watchful. He knew better than to ask if I was okay.

I wasn’t. I never would be.

Not until I figured out what really happened that night.

I ran my fingers across the old wooden table, scanning every surface, every corner, every hidden space for something, anything that the investigators might have overlooked.

There had to be something.

A mistake. A clue. A crack in the case that would prove I was right to doubt, that would prove I wasn’t a fool for still believing in Maxine despite everything.

I tried to push this aside for months. But deep down, I know that I still believe her.

That I still believe Maxine despite my anger, my grief, and despite the strong evidence pointing at her.

I knelt beside the fireplace, running my fingers against the baseboards. My mind replayed every second of that night, every movement, every wrong detail I had ignored in the heat of my grief.

And then… I felt it.

A groove. A tiny, unnatural shift in the wood beneath my fingertips.

My fingers trembled as I traced the uneven surface, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

This wasn’t here before.

I pressed against the groove, testing for movement. It felt loose, like something had been forced into place. My breath came slow and measured as I worked my nails under the small gap, prying carefully. The wood gave way with a faint creak, revealing a thin, hidden compartment.

I swallowed hard. What the hell is this?

Clifford must have caught my change in posture because he was suddenly beside me, peering over my shoulder.

“You found something?”

Wordlessly, I reached inside, fingers brushing against paper. I pulled it out, my heart pounding as I unfolded the contents.

It was a photograph.

A chill ran down my spine. The image was grainy, but I recognized the cabin. This cabin.

And in the center was Nicole.

Nicole stood in the dimly lit room, this room, her figure frozen in time. The angle was slightly lower, as if the photographer had been crouching or hiding. Shadows stretched across the walls, swallowing the edges of the frame, but her face was clear.

And it was wrong.

Her expression wasn’t just one of surprise, it was fear. A raw, naked fear. Her lips were slightly parted, eyes wide, as if caught in the moment between realization and reaction.

There was something else too, something deeper. Pain. Not physical, but emotional. An ache so profound it bled through the photograph, making my stomach twist.

She wasn’t looking at the camera.

She was looking at someone.

Someone who had been in this room with her, the night before she died.

A shiver crawled down my spine as I stared at the photograph.

Nicole had been afraid. Of who? Of what?

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to look around the room again. She had died here. Right where I was standing. The thought made my skin crawl, but I swallowed down the unease. I couldn’t afford to break now.

“Hey.” Clifford’s voice pulled me back. He had been watching me, arms crossed. “What is it?”

I hesitated, then handed him the photo. He studied it, his expression hardening.

“She was scared.” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be. “This wasn’t just some random moment. Someone was with her.”

Clifford nodded. “And she knew them.”

I looked up sharply. “How do you know?”

“She wasn’t just afraid. Look at her eyes. She looks… betrayed.” He passed the photo back to me, his jaw tight. “Whatever happened that night, it wasn’t just an ambush. It was personal.”

She looks betrayed. Everything falls back to the conclusion of Maxine killing her.

My heart is beating fast as I try to remove all the doubts in my mind. I should focus. I'm here to investigate, to know the truth, to know what really happened that night. Let's not conclude yet.

I swallowed. “Then there’s something here. A clue. A sign.”

Clifford ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Alright. What are we looking for?”

I turned toward the room, scanning everything again. “Anything that looks out of place. If Nicole was trying to warn someone, she might’ve left something behind.”

He gave a sharp nod and moved toward the closet while I ran my fingers along the nightstand. Feeling for anything, dust, scratches, something misplaced.

My fingers brushed against the smooth wood when… there. A small indent, subtle but deliberate. It wasn’t just damage. It was a mark.

I bent closer. It looked like someone had dragged something across the surface. A pen, maybe? Or nails. Like someone had been holding onto it too tightly.

My chest tightened.

A whisper of a thought formed in the back of my mind, an ugly, gnawing suspicion.

What were you trying to do, Nicole? Were you reaching for something? Were you trying to leave a sign?

I exhaled sharply and straightened up.

Clifford, who had been checking the closet, glanced at me. “Anything?”

“Maybe.” I murmured, glancing at the bed. Did she sleep that night? Or had she spent the hours awake, trapped in her own head, just like I had been?

Clifford eyed me for a moment before stepping forward. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

I forced a smirk, though it felt hollow. “I don’t see anyone else with better instincts than me.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t argue.

I took a deep breath and turned back to the room. I needed to focus. I needed to find out what really happened here.

Because Nicole wasn’t just scared in that picture.

She had been trying to tell me something.

Clifford stiffened. His hand shot up in a silent signal for me to stay still.

I barely had time to react before he moved to the window, carefully angling himself to stay hidden. His eyes scanned outside, his expression darkening.

“Shit!” He muttered under his breath.

I didn’t like that tone. “What?” I whispered.

He turned to me, voice low but urgent. “A group of men. Armed. They’re circling the cabin.”

My stomach dropped. “How many?”

“Five, maybe six. Can’t see if there are more beyond the tree line.” His jaw clenched. “They’re looking for something.”

Or someone.

I forced myself to breathe. This wasn’t the first time I’d been in a dangerous situation, but that didn’t make it any easier. If they were here now, it wasn’t a coincidence. Someone didn’t want us digging any deeper.

Clifford pulled his gun from his holster, checking the magazine. “We need to move. Fast.”

“Wait. You have a gun?” I raised an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes. “I'm a judge, A'ishah. This is essential.”

“Then why are you using it just now? We could've died last time!”

“Naiwan ko sa sasakyan last time, okay?” He sighed. “We don't have time for that. We need to move.”

I nodded, scanning the room. We didn’t have time for a proper search, but I needed something, anything that could be evidence.

My hands moved instinctively, grabbing whatever was within reach.

A photograph, Nicole’s last known moment. I stuffed it into my jacket.

A tumbler, nothing special, but I took it anyway.

A humidifier. Why the hell was I grabbing this? But my gut told me to take it.

And then my fingers brushed against something small and rough. A strange piece of wood.

I hesitated. It was old, worn down, yet something about it felt wrong. Like it didn’t belong here.

“A’ishah.” Clifford snapped.

I didn’t think anymore. I shoved the items into my bag.

The sound of heavy boots crunching against gravel grew louder.

Clifford’s eyes met mine, sharp and unwavering. “We don’t have time to fight them all. We sneak out the back. Got it?”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

Because this wasn’t just about escaping. It was about surviving long enough to uncover the truth.

Clifford led the way, moving swiftly but silently. We weaved through the trees, keeping low, our breaths controlled. The cabin was already out of sight, but the sound of boots crunching against the forest floor told us we weren’t in the clear yet.

Just a little more, just a few more meters, and we could lose them. But then—

“Hoy! Nandito sila!” A voice shouted from behind us.

Gunfire erupted. Bullets tore through the trees, splintering bark. We dove for cover behind a fallen log, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Run!” Clifford barked, shoving me forward.

I didn’t argue. We bolted, dodging branches, pushing past thick foliage. But they were fast. Too fast.

And then, we hit a dead end.

A rocky incline loomed ahead, too steep to climb in a rush. Clifford cursed under his breath.

The men closed in.

I spun, ready to fight, but Clifford shoved me behind him.

“No.” He growled. “Stay down.”

Three men lunged at him. Clifford met them head-on.

The first man swung. Clifford ducked, then delivered a brutal punch to his ribs. The guy staggered, but another attacker grabbed Clifford from behind. He twisted, slamming his elbow into the man’s jaw. The third thug charged in, but Clifford was faster, he kicked the guy’s knee hard, sending him crumbling.

But then, I felt an arm wrap around me.

I gasped, struggling, but the grip was ironclad. A gun pressed against my side.

“Stop fighting, or I shoot.” A gruff voice hissed in my ear.

Clifford’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto mine. His fists were still raised, blood on his knuckles, his breath ragged.

The men around him smirked, wiping their wounds. The tables had turned.

We were trapped.

Clifford gritted his teeth as the men took advantage of his distraction, launching at him all at once. A solid punch connected with his stomach, followed by another to his face. He staggered but didn’t fall.

Another man swung at him, but Clifford caught his wrist, twisting it hard until a sickening crack echoed in the air. The guy screamed, but Clifford shoved him aside just as another fist collided with his jaw.

He spat blood, blinking rapidly to stay focused. His body ached, his breathing labored, but he wasn’t done yet.

With a sharp movement, he reached for his gun. He pulled it out, but before he could aim, one of the men kicked it from his grip. The gun clattered against the forest floor, lost in the dirt.

Damn it.

The man restraining me tightened his grip, his arm digging into my ribs as he cursed. He must’ve realized Clifford was winning, his companions were groaning on the ground, barely able to stand.

I can feel his heavy breathing, as if contemplating. “Putangina!” He shouted as he aimed his gun at Clifford.

My heart lurched.

No.

Without thinking, I slammed my heel into his groin. He grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench myself free.

I ran toward Clifford.

His eyes widened when he saw me moving. “A’ISHAH!!”

One of the fallen men struggled to his feet, his gun now aimed directly at me.

Clifford’s body reacted before I could even scream. He grabbed me, turning us around in a split second.

BANG!

The gunshot echoed in my ears.

A sharp gasp left Clifford’s lips. His body jerked, and I felt something warm splatter onto my hands.

He staggered. His grip on me weakened.

No. No, no, no—

He fell to his knees, dragging me down with him.

“Clifford!” My voice broke as I caught him. My hands pressed against his back, but I could already feel it—warm, sticky, spreading fast.

He’d been shot. He was bleeding.

His breaths came in shallow gasps, but he still turned his head slightly, looking at me. His usual sharp, teasing eyes were dimmer now, heavy with pain.

“Run.” He gasped.

I shook my head. “No, I—I’m not leaving you—”

The men hesitated now, realizing Clifford had taken down most of their group. But I didn’t care about them anymore.

All I could think about was keeping Clifford awake. Keeping him alive.

But the blood… so much blood.

“Stay with me.” I whispered, my fingers pressing harder against the wound. “Just stay with me.”

Clifford barely had time to catch his breath before another man stormed toward us.

“Tumayo ka diyan!” His voice was low, threatening.

Clifford, barely holding himself together, didn’t move fast enough.

The man grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up, forcing him to stand despite the blood soaking his back. Clifford groaned in pain, his legs wobbling under him.

“Huwag! Please, he’s hurt!” I begged, my hands reaching out, but before I could do anything, the man threw a brutal punch to Clifford’s already bloodied face.

The impact sent him reeling, but he refused to fall. He clenched his jaw, spitting blood to the side. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes burned with defiance.

“Gago ka.” The man hissed before landing another punch to Clifford’s stomach.

I screamed. “TAMA NA!”

But my plea was drowned out by another set of heavy footsteps.

I barely had time to react before rough hands grabbed me from behind.

It was him.

The man I had kicked earlier.

His grip was like iron as he yanked me back, his fingers digging painfully into my arm. His face twisted with rage, still contorted from the pain I’d inflicted on him earlier.

"You think that was funny, huh, bitch?" He snarled, his voice dripping with anger.

I struggled, but his hold only tightened. His grip was crushing, his nails biting into my skin.

“You’re gonna regret that.” He growled, dragging me closer. His breath was hot and furious against my cheek.

I turned my head away, refusing to let him see my fear, but my heart pounded violently in my chest.

Clifford lifted his head, his bloody face contorting into pure rage when he saw the man holding me. He tried to move, but the man in front of him shoved him back, keeping him off balance.

“Let her go!” Clifford spat, his voice hoarse but filled with venom.

The man holding me let out a low chuckle. “Oh, now you care? Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you fucked with the wrong people.”

My mind raced. We were outnumbered. Clifford was shot. We had no weapons.

But I wasn’t going down without a fight.

I gritted my teeth, my body tense, waiting for the right moment.

Because no matter what happened next… I was getting us out of here.

I had to act fast.

I glanced at Clifford, locking eyes with him for the briefest moment. I subtly shifted my fingers… three, two, one.

He understood.

I inhaled sharply and let my body go limp, making the man holding me loosen his grip just slightly. That was all I needed.

With all my strength, I slammed my heel down on his foot and twisted my body, throwing my elbow into his ribs. He grunted in pain, his grip faltering. I didn’t hesitate.

“Clifford, now!” I shouted.

Clifford lunged forward, despite his injury, his hands shooting out toward the closest armed man. Before the guy could react, Clifford wrenched the gun from his hands, twisting his wrist at an agonizing angle. The man screamed as the gun clattered into Clifford’s grasp.

Without missing a beat, Clifford raised the weapon and fired two precise shots, hitting two of them in the feet. They crumpled to the ground with agonized cries. The others scrambled in shock, momentarily caught off guard.

“Move!” Clifford barked.

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I darted forward, grabbing Clifford before his knees could give out. He groaned as I threw his arm over my shoulder, supporting his weight.

“Come on, we need to go!” I urged.

He clenched his jaw, pushing through the pain as we stumbled toward the trees. Behind us, the injured men cursed and shouted, struggling to recover.

We didn’t look back.

The second we reached his car, I yanked the door open and practically shoved him inside.

“Keys.” I demanded.

He weakly patted his pocket. I grabbed them, my hands shaking as I jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life.

“Buckle up.” I muttered.

He barely managed to click his seatbelt in place before I slammed my foot on the gas. The tires screeched against the dirt road as we sped off.

I gripped the wheel tightly, my pulse hammering in my ears. My breaths were shallow, and my entire body was still trembling from the adrenaline.

Clifford groaned beside me. I flicked my gaze toward him, my stomach twisting at the sight of his bloodied form.

“Hang in there.” I whispered, my voice barely steady.

He gave me a weak, lopsided smirk. “You… drive like a maniac.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Shut up and stay awake.”

The hospital wasn’t far.

But I prayed we’d make it in time.

The moment I pulled up to the hospital entrance, I didn’t even bother parking properly.

I slammed the brakes, shoved the car into park, and threw the door open.

“Help! I need help!” My voice was raw, panicked.

Two nurses and a security guard rushed out with a stretcher. I ran to the passenger side, yanking the door open.

Clifford was slumped against the seat, his head tilted to the side, his face unnervingly pale.

“Clifford.” I choked out, shaking him. He didn’t respond.

I felt my chest tighten, my breath coming in short gasps.

No. No, no, no…

“Please, help him!” I begged as the nurses carefully lifted him onto the stretcher.

One of them quickly assessed his pulse. “He’s still alive. Let’s move!”

I followed them, my legs moving before I could think. My hands were still stained with his blood. My vision blurred, but I forced myself to focus, to keep up.

They wheeled him through the emergency room doors. I tried to follow, but a doctor blocked my path.

“Dito ka nalang sa labas maghintay.” She said firmly.

“No, please, I—” My voice cracked.

“We’ll do everything we can. Let us work.”

The doors swung shut in my face.

And I was left standing there, shaking, gasping for air.

My knees gave out, and I dropped onto one of the waiting chairs. My hands covered my face as hot tears spilled down my cheeks.

He had saved me. Again. And now, he was fighting for his life.

Hours passed, but I barely noticed.

I sat there, unmoving, my fingers curled tightly around the small piece of wood I had taken from the cabin, something, anything to keep me grounded.

The hospital buzzed around me, people coming and going, nurses speaking in hushed voices, the distant beeping of machines.

But all I could do was stare at the doors of the operating room.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Praying.

Please, Clifford. Please, don’t leave me too.

~~~

Thank you for reading! 💛