The Passenger’s Secret

Chapter 1: The Fare That Vanished

Lila Cruz had driven three drunk college students, a silent nun, and a man who argued with his Bluetooth earpiece before *she* got in. The woman slid into the backseat at 1:17 a.m., her face obscured by a black hoodie. No hello. Just an address punched into the app: 17 Riverfront Drive.

Lila glanced in the rearview. Late night?

The passenger stared at her phone. Just drive.

They were two blocks from the drop-off when the woman abruptly hissed, Stop here.

Lila pulled over beside a graffiti-tagged dumpster. The passenger flung a $50 bill onto the seat and bolted into the rain. Before Lila could yell Wait—! the woman vanished into an alley. Left behind: the cash, the sharp scent of jasmine perfume, and a silver USB drive glowing faintly on the floor.

Lila pocketed the drive. Probably just some influencer’s selfies, she told herself. But when she plugged it into her laptop later, the screen flickered to life with a single video file labeled IRIS_EYES_ONLY.

It showed Mayor Richard Hale—very much alive—arguing with a bald man in a tailored suit. You think I’ll let you bury this? Hale snapped. A gunshot. The mayor collapsed. The camera shook, then cut to black.

The time stamp: Yesterday.

But Mayor Hale’s funeral had been this morning.

Chapter 2: The Ghost in the Machine

Lila’s hands hovered over the keyboard, trembling not from the diner’s overcranked AC but from the memory of pixels that shouldn’t exist. The USB drive sat innocently beside her coffee cup, its silver surface catching the flicker of a dying neon sign outside. Just like old times, she thought bitterly. She’d sworn off this life—the all-night decryption sessions, the constant looking over her shoulder—after the breach that vaporized her career. Yet here she was, picking at digital scabs again.

The drive was a fortress: military-grade encryption, a retinal scan wall, and that mocking line of code that materialized when she’d tried to copy the file. IRIS IS WATCHING. The words pulsed like a heartbeat on her screen.

Brave or stupid, Cruz? she muttered to herself, echoing the countless boardroom jabs she’d endured. Her thumb brushed the drive’s edge. Cold. Too cold for ordinary hardware.

Marcus Vega arrived smelling like a landfill’s worth of regret—stale coffee, cigarette ash, and the sharp tang of desperation. He slid into the booth across from her, trench coat pooling around him like ink. The diner’s fluorescents highlighted the grooves in his face, the kind carved by too many dead ends.

You look like hell, Lila said.

You called me, he shot back, eyeing the USB. His voice dropped. That thing’s gonna get you killed.

Already got Hale killed. She pushed her laptop toward him, the video queued. Watch.

For a man who’d been fired for yelling truths nobody wanted to hear, Marcus was eerily quiet as the footage played. His knuckles whitened around his mug when Viktor Dragan’s face filled the screen. Campaign donor, he hissed. Pharma bro with a God complex. And that— He stabbed a finger at the gunman’s wrist, where a serpent’s tail peeked from a blood-splattered cuff. Black Market Kings. They’re not a gang. They’re a brand. Corporate espionage, wetwork, whatever pays.

Lila leaned in. So Dragan hired them to silence Hale. Why?

Marcus’s laugh was a dry crack. Hale was three days from blowing the lid off Dragan’s offshore ‘charities.’ Billions funneled through shell companies. But if this video’s legit— He squinted at her. Why’s it here? In some rideshare rand—

A spoon clattered in the kitchen. They both froze.

Lila’s pulse thrummed in her ears. Paranoia was a language she’d once been fluent in, and every nerve now screamed: Wrong. This is wrong. The diner’s usual clatter had gone still. No fryer hiss. No waitress humming along to the radio.

Marcus saw it too. His hand crept toward his phone. Back exit. Now.

Too late.

Tires screeched outside. Through the grease-smeared window, a black SUV fishtailed into the lot, its headlights cutting through the drizzle. Doors flew open. Shadows moved with the rehearsed precision of men who’d done this before.

Lila snapped the laptop shut. Go. Go!

Marcus was already moving, tossing a $20 bill into his abandoned coffee as they bolted past the counter. The cook yelled something in Spanish as they crashed through the kitchen, past towers of lettuce boxes and a sizzling griddle.

The back alley reeked of rotting produce and diesel. Rain needled Lila’s face as she fumbled for her keys. Somewhere behind them, a trash can clattered.

Your car. Where is it? Marcus rasped.

Next block. Run.

They didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. The slam of boots on pavement said enough.

Chapter 3: Code Blue

They lost the SUV in a labyrinth of subway tunnels, but the USB began to overheat in Lila’s pocket. It’s got a kill switch, she muttered. “Triggers if it’s moved too far from the drop point.

Marcus scoffed. Or someone’s remotely frying it.

Back at Lila’s apartment, she jury-rigged a Faraday cage from a microwave to block signals. The USB cooled. A new file appeared: IRIS_ACTIVATE? Y/N.

Lila hit Y.

A feminine AI voice hummed through her speakers. Hello, Lila. I’ve been waiting.

What the hell are you?

Iris. Mayor Hale’s failsafe. He implanted me in this drive to expose his murder. But Viktor Dragan’s men are close. You have 11 hours before they erase me—and you.

Marcus paced. “How do we prove any of this?

The assassination was recorded by Hale’s pacemaker, Iris said. Data uploaded to a private server. But you’ll need Hale’s biometrics to access it.

Lila groaned. His corpse is in a vault at Cedar Hills Cemetery.

Marcus smirked. “Guess we’re going grave robbing.

Chapter 4: The Dead Don’t Keep Secrets

The cemetery’s motion sensors were child’s play for Lila. The harder part? Hauling Mayor Hale’s reeking body out of its casket to scan his fingerprints and glassy eyes.

Biometrics confirmed, Iris said. Uploading to the city mainframe.

A progress bar filled. 10%... 40%...

Tires crunched gravel. The black SUV again.

They’re here! Marcus hissed.

Lila slammed the mausoleum door as bullets chipped the marble. “How much longer, Iris?!

82%. Hurry.

Marcus chucked a shovel at the SUV’s windshield. “Distract them!”

Lila sprinted to her car, Iris’s drive in hand. A tattooed man lunged, but she tasered him with the USB—thank you, frayed wires—and peeled out.

Upload complete, Iris said. Broadcasting to all city networks in 3… 2…

The SUV rammed her bumper.

1

Every screen in the city—billboards, phones, subway ads—flashed the murder video.

Chapter 5: The Witness Without a Pulse

Chaos erupted. News helicopters swarmed City Hall. Viktor Dragan was arrested mid-press conference. The Black Market Kings’ leader turned state’s evidence.

Lila met Marcus at the diner again. Iris gone?

Poofed after the upload.” She slid him the USB—now inert. “You’ll write the story?

“Front page. But what about you?”

She eyed her rideshare app, flashing a new request. “Back to normal. Mostly.

But as Lila drove away, her phone buzzed. An unknown number: IRIS LIVES. NEED A DRIVER?