Chapter 3 The Price of Trust

Trust was a currency Mia Harper no longer carried.

The safehouse Jonas led her to wasn't marked on any map. It wasn't even above ground. Hidden beneath an abandoned shipping yard, it was a bunker built during a different war, for a different kind of survival. The air smelled like oil and dust. The lighting was dim, flickering. Cameras blinked in the corners.

"This will be your home for the next six months," Jonas said, dropping a heavy duffel on the floor. "You'll sleep here. Eat here. Bleed here."

Mia glanced around the concrete room. A cot, a desk, a punching bag, a wall-mounted monitor displaying live feeds from half a dozen city locations. Everything had a purpose. Nothing was soft.

"I can work with that."

Jonas raised an eyebrow, as if measuring her.

He didn't waste time.

Training began that night.

It wasn't like the self-defense classes she took in college or the Krav Maga workshop Daniel once bought her for her birthday and then forgot about. This was Warcraft. Brutal, methodical, and relentless. Jonas taught her to fight dirty-pressure points, joint breaks, and improvised weapons.

"Forget fair. Forget honor. If they see you coming, you've already failed."

He drilled her in surveillance: how to spot tails, disappear in crowds, switch license plates, clone keycards. She learned to hack phone systems, crack passwords, and falsify data trails.

Then came the emotional training.

"You can't afford real tears," Jonas said, one day after a particularly harsh sparring session that left her with a split lip and a ringing ear. "Pain is a tool. Use it. Don't show it."

By the third week, Mia could hold her breath for three minutes, fire a weapon without blinking, and lie so convincingly she almost believed herself.

But trust? That was different.

Even in this place-this underworld of rebirth-there were ghosts.

One of them arrived in the form of a woman named Evie.

Jonas brought her in without warning.

She was tall, with inked sleeves and eyes like cut glass. She moved like she didn't believe in hesitation. Former intelligence, like Jonas. Younger. Meaner.

"She's here to test your blind spots," Jonas told Mia. "She's going to pretend to be your friend."

Evie smirked. "Or maybe I won't have to pretend."

Mia didn't respond.

The first week was a game of cold war glances and feigned civility. Evie offered her food, shared stories, and even handed over a hair tie during weapons drills. Mia didn't let herself forget the warning: She's here to test you.

By the end of the second week, Evie tried to get into Mia's encrypted files. Mia caught her and said nothing-just changed the password and moved the hard drive. The next day, she slipped broken glass into Evie's combat boots.

On day twenty, Evie went too far.

They were practicing disarmament. Mia was unarmed. Evie wasn't supposed to strike-only guide.

Instead, she pulled a real knife.

It happened fast-Evie lunged, Mia dodged, fell, rolled, and came up behind her. In one clean motion, she had Evie in a chokehold with her own blade at the woman's throat.

Jonas stepped in from the hallway. He didn't look surprised.

Evie spat on the floor and grinned. "She's ready."

Mia released her.

That night, Jonas sat her down.

"You didn't trust her."

"She was testing me."

"So am I."

Mia stared at him. "So, this was about me letting my guard down."

"No," Jonas said, lighting a cigarette. "This was about teaching you that no one-no one-is ever entirely on your side. Not even me."

He took a long drag and exhaled smoke through his nose.

"Trust is the most dangerous thing in the world. It's what got you burned the first time."

Mia nodded slowly.

"Then consider me flameproof."