Aria
The first sign something is wrong is how Zara's laugh changes.
Normally, her laugh is loud, unbothered, and inappropriate in the best way—like she refuses to let the world make her smaller. But tonight, we're in our usual booth at a tiny late-night diner near campus, and her laugh is quiet. Flat.
That's not normal.
"You're stewing," I say, pushing my empty milkshake aside and narrowing my eyes at her. "You only poke your fries like that when you're thinking about burning down a system."
Zara drags a fry through ketchup, stares at it, then drops it again. "You ever notice how many missing people posts we scroll past and just… double tap and keep going?"
"That's a heavy opener, babe," I say carefully. "You okay?"
She unlocks her phone and turns the screen toward me. A missing girl poster fills it—smiling, pretty, maybe nineteen. Underneath: Last seen leaving a nightclub near the pier. No contact since. Family desperately seeking information.
"Yes. I have seen them too"
"And she's the third one this month," Zara says, voice sharp, eyes hard. "Same area. Same time of night. Same nothing from authorities. Like they just slipped into a crack and disappeared." Her tone drops to dull.
"I think they are being kidnapped" she whispers
"Trafficking," I says bluntly, like the word tastes bitter and I refuse to sugarcoat it. "Girls don't vanish in patterns like that for fun." My stomach twists at the thought.
"If it was only kidnappings, why only girls? Why girls under eighteen and nineteen? Have you ever heard or seen a news where a kidnapper of one of these girls make demands or at least their bodies have found after years? None, right. It has to be what Lucas said."
"I thought… that stuff happened somewhere else. Overseas. In movies." She looked like she's suddenly sick.
"Capitalism and evil don't need passports," I said. "And this city has always had rot in its foundations. We're just better at hiding it with neon now."
I sit back, suddenly cold.
"Why were you looking into this?" I ask.
"It was impossible at one point to ignore, you know. I've seen more posts of missing persons than guys on motor cycles and masks lately"
"Lucas said something similar yesterday. While we were walking to my house" I feel the gentle comforting touch of his thumb on my hand. A smile creeps on my face. Then I remembered what we were talking.
"He showed me sign. A tattoo." I lean closer on the table so that only she could hear my whisper "Something looked like a barcode but there was a human silhouette if you observe closely. He said they are some human trafficking ring and I should be careful. I think they have something to do this, maybe"
She hesitates, then shrugs. "My cousin knows a girl from Queens whose roommate disappeared after a 'modelling meetup.' No trace. Just gone. Cops treat them like they ran away. But runaways don't leave their favourite shoes."
"You think it's connected?"
"I think the world's not big enough for this many coincidences," she says. "And I think we live in a city that pretends it's too busy to notice which women stop coming home."
The diner's hum of conversation feels distant now. My mind flashes through all the late nights I've walked with headphones in. All the rallies I've gone to. All the "I'm almost home" texts I forgot to send.
Suddenly, Lucas's voice echoes in my head: You're not here to learn. You're here because it's exciting.
"What should we do?" I ask quietly.
Zara lifts her chin. Her curls bounce like punctuation. "What we always do. We learn. We dig. We watch who's not talking when they should be. And we don't let them pretend these girls never existed."
"And me?" I ask.
She gives me a look like I've asked the dumbest question in the world. "You are going to keep going to that gym and learn how to break a nose properly if someone ever tries you. And you are going to text me your location whenever you go anywhere weird, you hear me?"
"Yes, Mom," I say, but my voice comes out softer than my usual teasing.
The thing is… she's scared. And if Zara is scared, I should be terrified.
But instead, what I feel is something closer to anger. A hot, shaking rage that someone out there is treating women—girls—like they can be scooped off the street and sold like things.
"I hate this," I say, clenching my napkin in my fist. "I hate feeling like a… a target. I want to do something."
She puts her hand over mine, squeezing. "We are doing something. Step one: we don't ignore it. Most people do."
I nod slowly.
My phone buzzes on the table.
Lucas: You home?
The way my heart jumps is embarrassing.
I type back:
Me: Not yet. Fries with Z. Why, miss me already?
His reply is fast.
Lucas: Send me your location.
I stare at the screen, then snort.
"Your man is clingy," Zara says, leaning in.
"He is not my man." 'Not yet' the words ring in the back of my head.
"You typed that too slowly for it to be true."
I bite my lip, then share my location as requested.
Me: Happy? 👑
Lucas: Yes.
No emoji. No lecture. Just that yes, like an exhale.
Zara watches my face soften and hums. "You trust him," she says.
"Yeah," I admit, surprising myself with how easily it comes out. "I do."
"Good," she says after a beat. "If we're going to live in a messed-up world, the least the universe can give us is one or two people who genuinely have our backs."
"And you ditched me yesterday for him" she crosses her arms. Demanding an answer
I shut my eyes tight. I was secretly happy she forgot about that.
"I'm sorry" I admit
"At least tell me, you got something for my sacrifice. Did he kiss you. Empty gym. Both sweaty and hot. Irresistible lust." She winks at me
Suddenly I feel my face hot and flustered. "Hate to break it to you but no, nothing happened" I pop a cheese nugget in to my mouth "but he did some… flirtation though."
Her face lit up at that. "Lucas? Flirting? Don't stop, continue"
I blush "There is nothing to gloat. But he might have tried to touch my lip in disguise of wiping chocolate syrup" I barely spoke the words out loud and shoved the thought to the back of my mind and squeezed my legs tighter.
Lucas
I shouldn't check my phone this much.
Darius calls it "emotionally compromised," Theo calls it "pathetic," but they both shut up when I glare, so I'm counting it as a win.
The black sedan is back again tonight. Same spot, engine idling. They stay long enough to make a point, then leave before we get a plate we can run. Professional.
"Same pattern," Darius murmurs by the window. He's dressed in gray sweats and a hoodie, but he has the posture of a soldier in full gear. "They're watching your routines."
"They're watching hers," I say.
He doesn't argue.
Theo sprawls on a bench, pretending he's scrolling memes. I can see the tension in his jaw. "You think this is the same crew from Queens?" he asks.
"Traffickers like them don't like competition," I say. "If two groups were running girls in the same territory, there'd be more bodies."
"So, one group," Theo says slowly. "One well-organized, well-funded, well-connected group. Cozy."
My phone buzzes again.
Aria: Fries with Z. Why, miss me already?
The corner of my mouth betrays me with a twitch. I ignore the way Theo raises his eyebrows knowingly.
Me: Send me your location.
Darius glances over.
"She's fine," he says. "Zara's with her. And you taught her well to land a punch"
"That doesn't mean she doesn't get targeted," I say. "Patterns—bars, protests, near the water. They like crowds. Noise."
Noise.
Aria loves noise.