Everyone turned to him. He opened one arm toward her. "Come, princess... let's go home."
Aisha's eyes softened at the word—home. Her walls crumbled in that moment. She stepped forward, faster, until she was wrapped in his embrace. Safe.
Her head rested on his chest, and the breath she released trembled as it left her. Like she'd been holding it for too long.
The others watched in silence—respectful, protective, aching for her.
And together, they left the warehouse. Quiet. United. Changed.

                                

                                    
                                
                                  
                                      
                                  
                                  
                                    
                                      
                                      
                                    
                                  
                                 
                                
                                
                              
                              
I sat on the cold concrete slab of the terrace, legs loosely dangling over the edge, head bowed under a night that looked just as hollow as I felt. The sky was a heavy shade of black—no moon, no stars. Just emptiness.
A cigarette rested between my fingers. Unlit.
In the other hand, a silver lighter kept flicking open and shut. Click. Flick. Click. Ten minutes, maybe more, I'd been at it. My fingers ached. My jaw clenched. I couldn't light it—wouldn't—but God, I wanted to.
Not for the high. Not for the addiction. But for control.
Because the weight of everything tonight was pressing too hard on my chest.
Too much happened.
I killed him. Another monster. Another ghost from my past buried six feet deep with my silence.
I cornered Kashish. Saw the Joshis. Tasted the rage. Swallowed the ache.
And all through it, one thought kept drilling into my mind like a relentless hammer:
Who the hell is behind this?
Who keeps pulling the strings? Who's still hunting me like I'm nothing more than unfinished prey?
If all of this had happened a year ago, or before I ever stepped foot into the Oberoi office—before I met my family, before I met Aan—I wouldn't have cared. I would've laughed. Gone with the flow. Danced with danger the way I always did.
But not anymore.
Now I'm scared. Too scared.
Not of dying. No. Death is peace.
But of what I'd leave behind.
The people who just found me... who opened their hearts and made me part of theirs...
If I died—if I got taken—what would happen to them?
They would shatter.
The thought alone is enough to make my lungs burn more than this cigarette ever could.
I squeezed the lighter shut with trembling fingers, knuckles pale. My breath hitched—because then there's her—my mother.
What if she's involved?
What if she is the woman behind all this?
The thought makes me cold inside. But... no. I don't want to believe that. I can't.
Dad described her like an angel, didn't he? So pure. So warm.