Whispers in the Dark

It was 2:37 a.m. when the phone rang.

Lauren groggily reached for her cell, her heart pounding. Who calls at this hour? She glanced at the screen—Unknown Number. A chill ran through her as she hesitated before answering.

"Hello?" Her voice was hoarse from sleep.

Static. Then a whisper. "He knows. Get out. Now."

Lauren bolted upright. "Who is this? What are you talking about?"

The call cut off.

The room, once comforting, now felt sinister. The hum of the fridge, the soft ticking of the wall clock—everything seemed amplified in the eerie silence that followed. She sat frozen, her mind racing. Who knew what? And what was she supposed to be running from?

Lauren had moved to this small coastal town two months ago, seeking a fresh start after a messy breakup. She knew no one well enough to have enemies. But that call—it felt personal.

Her apartment suddenly felt too exposed. She peeked through the curtains. The quiet street lay under the orange glow of streetlights, empty except for a lone parked car—a dark sedan. It hadn't been there earlier. Had it?

Her phone buzzed. Another unknown number. She swallowed hard and answered.

"Lauren, listen carefully." A different voice this time, a man’s, urgent and low. "Leave now. There’s no time to explain. He’s already close."

"Who are you? What's going on?" she demanded.

The man ignored her. "The back door. Go now."

A loud bang came from her front door.

Lauren’s breath hitched. Someone was outside.

She grabbed her keys, slipped on her sneakers, and crept to the back door. The moment she turned the knob, the front door shook violently.

"Lauren!" A deep voice boomed from the other side.

Panic surged through her veins. She dashed out into the night.

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt from the ocean. She didn't stop running until she reached the end of her street. Her mind reeled. Who was that? Was it the "he" from the call?

She ducked into an alley, trying to catch her breath. Her phone buzzed again. She flinched before answering.

"Where are you?" The same male voice.

"Who are you? Why should I trust you?"

"Because I just saved your life. Look behind you."

Lauren turned—and gasped. A man in dark clothes stood under the streetlamp, holding up a badge.

FBI.

"We need to go. Now."

"What is happening?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"You're in danger. That call you got? It was a warning. Your ex—he’s not who you think he is. And he's not just your ex. He's wanted for multiple crimes, and we believe you have something he desperately wants."

Lauren felt her stomach drop. "That’s impossible. He—he’s just a—"

"A criminal. And he knows where you are."

A car screeched around the corner.

"Run!" the agent shouted.

Lauren bolted after him as gunshots rang through the night.

Her life had just turned into a nightmare—and she had no idea how it would end.


---

They sprinted through the narrow alleyways, the agent leading her through twists and turns. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins, but questions burned in her mind.

"Where are we going?" she panted.

"Somewhere safe," he replied, barely breaking stride.

They reached an abandoned warehouse near the docks. The agent unlocked a side door and ushered her inside. The space was dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights, the scent of damp concrete filling her nostrils.

"Start talking," Lauren demanded, crossing her arms despite her shaking hands.

The agent exhaled sharply. "Your ex, Michael, isn't who he claimed to be. He's involved in international smuggling—drugs, weapons, stolen artifacts. We’ve been tracking him for years, but he always stays ahead of us. Until now."

Lauren's mind reeled. "That makes no sense! We dated for three years. I would’ve known—"

"Would you? Think, Lauren. Did he ever disappear for long stretches? Come back with vague stories? Did he have large amounts of money with no clear explanation?"

She hesitated. There had been inconsistencies. Business trips that never added up. Strange men who called at odd hours. But she had brushed it off, trusting him.

"What does he want from me?" she whispered.

The agent hesitated. "We think you have something—a ledger, a drive, anything he left behind that could incriminate him."

Lauren shook her head. "I don’t—wait." A memory surfaced. A small, encrypted USB drive Michael had given her before they broke up. He had said it was nothing important, but insisted she keep it. At the time, she had thrown it in a drawer and forgotten about it.

"I might have something," she admitted.

The agent’s eyes locked onto hers. "Then we need to get it before he does."

Before Lauren could respond, the warehouse door burst open.