Chapter Text
Alibaba never remembered whose idea it was.
That felt important later, like the kind of detail investigators circle in red ink—but at the time, it only mattered that the fence had been lower than expected, the security light half‑broken, and that Aladdin had laughed the entire time they climbed it like this was a game instead of a very bad decision.
They hit the ground running.
“Ali,” Aladdin gasped, already grinning, “I think that was a government building.”
“Shut up,” Alibaba said, laughing so hard his ribs hurt. “It was abandoned.”
“You do not know that.”
Behind them, a voice tore through the night.
“HEY! STOP! BOTH OF YOU!”
That did it.
They bolted down the alley, shoes slapping against cracked pavement, lungs burning, adrenaline sharp and electric. Alibaba vaulted a stack of crates without slowing. Aladdin barely cleared it and nearly wiped out on the other side, but he was laughing too hard to care.
A security light flickered behind them—once, twice—before dying completely. Alibaba didn’t notice. Aladdin didn’t either. But someone did.
They cut left. Then right. Then straight through a narrow passage that smelled like old rain and rust.
The shouting faded.
They didn’t stop until their bodies forced them to. Alibaba bent over with his hands on his knees, sucking in air. Aladdin slid down against a brick wall until he was sitting, flushed and bright‑eyed.
“We are so dead,” Aladdin said happily.
“We are not,” Alibaba replied. “We got away.”
There was a pause.
Aladdin tilted his head. “Do you know where we are?”
Alibaba straightened slowly and looked around.
The alley was gone. The street was unfamiliar. The buildings were older here, shorter, their windows dark. No signs he recognized. No traffic noise. Just the low hum of the city and the sudden awareness that they had gone too far.
“No,” Alibaba admitted.
Aladdin laughed again. “Well. That sounds like a problem for future us.”
They started walking.
They followed the street as it curved, then curved again, until the city felt folded in on itself. Their laughter faded into quiet conversation, then into silence.
A black car rolled slowly past the end of the block. Its headlights didn’t brighten. Its windows didn’t reflect. It didn’t stop—but it didn’t hurry either.
Alibaba didn’t notice.
Aladdin did, but only enough to frown for a second before forgetting.
That was when they saw her.
A girl no older than Alibaba stood near the entrance of a worn apartment complex, hands tucked into the sleeves of a jacket too thin for the night. She was watching them with sharp focus, like she had noticed them the moment they stepped into view.
Alibaba slowed first.
Aladdin noticed a beat later.
They stopped a few feet away, suddenly aware of how loud they had been, how out of place.
“Are you lost?” the girl asked.
Her voice was calm. Not curious. Not hostile. Just precise.
Alibaba opened his mouth, then closed it. “Maybe.”
She studied them, gaze flicking over scraped knuckles, dirt‑streaked jeans, the way Aladdin leaned too close like he expected the world to knock him over at any moment.
“You ran,” she said. “Someone was chasing you.”
Aladdin lit up. “Yes.”
Alibaba elbowed him.
She didn’t smile. “You should not run around here like that.”
“Noted,” Alibaba said. “Do you know how to get back to Fifth Street?”
Her brow furrowed slightly. “That is far.”
Of course it was.
She hesitated, then sighed like she had already decided and resented it. “I can walk you to the bus stop.”
“You do not have to,” Alibaba said.
“I know.”
She turned without waiting, expecting them to follow.
They did.
As they walked, Alibaba noticed how alert she stayed, how her shoulders never fully relaxed. Aladdin noticed everything else—the rhythm of her steps, the way she watched reflections in windows instead of the street ahead, the way she kept them on the inside of the sidewalk like she was shielding them from something.
“I am Aladdin,” he said, cheerful as ever. “This is Alibaba.”
She glanced back once. “Morgiana.”
That was it.
No last names. No explanations.
Just three kids walking through a city that did not belong to them yet.
****
Nineteen‑year‑old Alibaba Saluja woke to his phone vibrating against the nightstand.
For a moment, he was fifteen again. Breathless. Laughing. Lost.
Then the room came into focus.
A narrow bedroom. Secondhand furniture. The faint sound of traffic outside the window. Morning light leaking through uneven blinds.
He reached for the phone and squinted at the screen.
Unknown Number
He let it buzz out.
Alibaba sat up and rubbed his face. He had an early shift. He didn’t have time for spam calls.
The phone vibrated again.
This time, a voicemail notification appeared.
He frowned.
No one left voicemails anymore.
Alibaba padded into the kitchen and poured himself the last of yesterday’s coffee. It tasted burnt and stale. He drank it anyway.
He pressed play.
“Mr. Saluja,” a man’s voice said, calm and professional. “This is Daniel Cross from Havelock and Reed. We have been attempting to reach you regarding a matter of legal inheritance. Please return our call at your earliest convenience.”
Alibaba froze.
Inheritance.
The word felt wrong. Like it had been said in the wrong language.
He replayed it.
Same voice. Same certainty. Like there was no doubt they had the right person.
“Ali.”
Alibaba flinched.
Aladdin stood in the doorway, already dressed for school, backpack slung over one shoulder. He had stayed the night and passed out on Alibaba’s couch. His hair was still a mess, his expression far more awake than anyone his age should be.
“Why do you look like you are about to pass out?” Aladdin asked.
Alibaba handed him the phone.
Aladdin listened once. Then again.
“That is a real firm,” he said quietly.
Alibaba scoffed. “You do not know that.”
“I do,” Aladdin replied. “They handle estates and trusts.”
Alibaba stared at him. “Why do you know that?”
Aladdin shrugged. “Foster care paperwork gets strange.”
That shut him up.
Alibaba exhaled slowly. “This is a mistake.”
“Probably,” Aladdin said. Then, after a moment, “But probably not harmless.”
There was a knock at the door.
Alibaba’s stomach dropped.
Morgiana stood in the hallway, already dressed, posture straight, eyes sharp. She didn’t come inside until Alibaba waved her in.
“You both look tense,” she said. “What happened?”
Aladdin held out the phone.
She listened once.
“That is not a prank,” Morgiana said. “He expects you to respond.”
Alibaba laughed, short and hollow. “There is nothing to inherit. My mom didn’t leave anything behind. My father worked odd jobs, and he disappeared. That is it.”
Morgiana watched him carefully. “You remember him.”
“Barely.”
“That still matters.”
Silence settled between them.
Aladdin broke it gently. “You do not have to call back today.”
Alibaba nodded. Then shook his head. “If I do not, it will not stop.”
Morgiana stepped closer. Not touching. Just there. “We will go with you.”
Not if. Not maybe.
Alibaba looked at them. Really looked.
For the first time since the phone rang, the tightness in his chest eased.
“Okay,” he said.
None of them noticed the second missed call that came in an hour later.
This one from a number already saved in Sinbad’s contacts.