Page 430 of Eternal
My heart’s already racing, like it remembers her better than I do.
119
AZRA
“Everything Means Nothing To Me” by Elliott Smith
Present
The map of the estate is still open on my screen, outlined in satellite images, red-ink sketches, and notes that read more like warnings than plans.
A fortress. Figures it’d be tonight…Fourth of July. Fireworks and flags. A symphony of distraction.
They built this day to make people forget how violent this country is.
What it took. What itstilltakes.
I’ve never celebrated it, never felt like it was mine to begin with.
When I was little, my mother used to lie, the soft kind, the kind meant to keep me safe.
She’d tell me the fireworks were for me. Every year, I’d stand on the balcony with bare feet on warm concrete, watching the sky split open, colors, smoke, chaos stitched into beauty.
“They’re celebrating you,” she’d whisper, kissing my hair. “All of this… It’s because you were born.”
And I believed her, because I wanted to, but even then, I knew what it felt like, the stares when she called mehabibtiin public.
The way they’d look at her, at me, at our skin.
The way she’d squeeze my hand a little tighter when we walked past certain stores.
Like she knew we were being watched, and worse, measured, judged almost.
My mother had to leave her country to survive. I was raised in the aftermath, in the corners of rooms not built for us, in schools that never said our names right, in streets where freedom was something you learned to fake.
So no, this day was never mine, and now the governor, the man at the top of it all, is hosting his annual celebration, with champagne, speeches and hidden basements.
I sip what’s left of the coffee Damir made me, still warm, still bitter. He left early this morning, quiet as a ghost. But he made breakfast, like always.
He doesn’t know what this place really is, only that I said I had something to finish.
I didn’t tell him about the man in the hospital, or the badge, or that my mother died chasing this same threat, not today, not on what’s supposed to be my birthday.
I glance at my jacket, the note he left is still there, tucked in the inner lining, soft against my ribs.
If we’re not together at midnight… read this.
I really need to focus, the estate is monstrous, a sprawling compound tucked in the hills north of the city.
It’s not a simple house, it’s a network, paved roads, outbuildings, private fencing, even a helipad, no clear entrances unless you’re on the list, and I’m not.
I’ve been tracing the perimeter for hours through satellite maps, old zoning permits, anything I can find. Most of it’s scrubbed, but there’s a narrow utility road behind the east tree line, gravel, not paved, like it’s used for maintenance or trash pickup, it leads to a side structure marked “Storage,” but if the file I found is right, that building sits directly on top of an old root cellar that links into the main property from below.
No cameras on it, no light fixtures, forgotten, a vulnerability, if I can get close without tripping motion sensors, that’s my way in.
My coffee’s gone cold next to me when my phone starts buzzing.
Vik & Kat calling…
