"When a group begins to doubt itself,
the cracks appear first in the places where trust once lived.
Then the cracks grow teeth."
Night fell like a blade.
Sharp.
Sudden.
The kind of darkness that didn't just obscure—it suffocated.
The haveli's lanterns burned low.
Conserving oil.
Conserving hope.
The group sat in fragments throughout the main hall.
No longer arranged in a circle.
No longer pretending at unity.
Rohit paced by the far wall.
His agitation visible in every movement.
His hands clenching and unclenching.
His jaw working silently.
But every few moments, his eyes would drift toward Meghna.
Who sat rigidly on a bench.
Her fingers picking at a loose thread on her dupatta.
Not looking at him.
But aware of him.
Aware of his awareness.
Priya huddled near the lantern with Saanvi.
Their shoulders almost touching.
Their conversation urgent but too quiet for others to hear.
But there was a gentleness there.
A way Saanvi's hand hovered near Priya's back.
Like she wanted to comfort her but wasn't sure if she had the right.
Like they'd been dancing around something for days and the apocalypse hadn't changed what was already brewing between them.
Yashpal remained on the table.
His body having settled into a kind of permanent exhaustion.
His eyes open but unfocused.
Like he was looking through the wall.
Through the stone.
Through time itself.
Occasionally, his fingers twitched.
As if he was writing something invisible.
Documenting what he'd seen in the forest.
What the thing wearing Kabir's face had told him.
What the village had whispered into his ear.
And in the far corner, Abhay and Diya sat close.
But not touching.
Not speaking.
Just existing in the same space.
And the way Abhay watched her was wrong.
It wasn't affection.
It was something closer to obsession.
Something closer to ownership.
"This is ridiculous," Rohit said suddenly.
His voice cutting through the careful silence.
"We're falling apart."
"We're turning on each other."
"This is exactly what it wants."
Meghna's eyes flickered toward him.
Just for a moment.
Then away.
"It?" she asked quietly.
"The village," Rohit said.
His pacing intensifying.
"The thing. Whatever's out there."
"Do you remember what they said in the office?"
He stopped.
Looked at them all.
"Before we even came here. The rumors. The folklore."
Priya's hand tightened on her camera.
"People disappear in Bhairavpur," she said softly.
"That's what I heard."
"Hikers, travelers, entire search parties."
"One year, a whole expedition went in and only one person came back."
"And he said—he said the village was alive."
"He said it remembered."
"He said it kept things."
Saanvi's face had gone pale.
"My grandmother used to tell stories," she whispered.
"About a village in the north where time doesn't work right."
"Where if you stay too long, you forget you were ever leaving."
"I thought she was just trying to scare us."
Yashpal's voice came from the table.
Hoarse.
Thin.
"She wasn't."
"The folklore was accurate."
"I've been trying to calculate it."
"The timeline doesn't add up."
"How long have we been here?"
They all went silent.
Trying to remember.
Trying to count the days.
The nights.
The endless cycles of fear and hope and collapse.
"I don't know," Meghna said finally.
"I can't... I can't remember how many times it's been dark."
Rohit's hand clenched.
"Three days," he said.
"It's been three days since we crashed."
"No," Priya corrected quietly.
"It's been longer."
"I remember things I haven't experienced yet."
"I remember conversations about Marcus before he arrived."
"I remember his body in the forest before we even searched for him."
The realization settled over them like ash.
Meghna stood suddenly.
"That's not possible."
"Memory doesn't work that way."
"We're just—we're just confused from trauma."
But she didn't sound convinced.
Rohit moved toward her.
His agitation transforming into something else.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
His voice softening.
Meghna looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And for just a moment, two people who had been strangers three days ago—or three weeks ago—or three years ago—connected.
"No," she said.
"I'm not okay."
"I'm falling apart."
Rohit's hand reached out.
Touching her shoulder.
Not romantic.
But present.
Human.
A small gesture of connection in the face of dissolution.
Across the room, Saanvi noticed.
She reached for Priya's hand.
Not speaking.
Just holding.
Just acknowledging that in the dark, people reach for each other.
Not always out of love.
But out of the desperate need to know they're not alone.
Abhay stood and moved to the window.
His silhouette sharp against the darkness.
Diya's eyes followed him.
Always following.
Always aware of where he was.
The way a plant follows the sun.
Or the way prey becomes aware of a predator.
It was impossible to tell which.
"Before we came here," Abhay said quietly.
"There were stories."
"Not rumors. Stories."
"My father told me about Bhairavpur."
"He said a man came out of the village once."
"Decades ago."
"And he could remember things that hadn't happened to him."
"He could see conversations between people he'd never met."
"He said the village hadn't let him leave."
"It had just... taught him to exist in multiple places at once."
"To remember multiple timelines."
"To be conscious of versions of himself that shouldn't be possible."
Priya's hand trembled on her camera.
"Are you saying—"
"I'm saying nothing," Abhay replied.
"I'm just remembering what I was told."
Yashpal sat up on the table.
His movement jerky.
Uncoordinated.
"My hands are changing," he said.
His voice flat.
Clinical despite the horror of the statement.
They all turned to look.
His fingers were longer.
Slightly too long.
The skin taking on a faint translucent quality.
Like something was visible beneath the surface.
Something moving.
"When did that start?" Meghna asked.
Her voice barely a whisper.
"I don't know," Yashpal replied.
"I don't remember it starting."
"It's like I'm just now noticing something that's been happening all along."
Rohit stepped back.
Away from Yashpal.
Away from the impossible.
"We need to leave," he said.
"We need to get out of this haveli."
"We need to find the van or the road or anything that leads out."
"There is no out," Abhay said.
His voice carrying certainty.
Diya turned to look at him.
Her expression unreadable.
"How do you know?" Priya demanded.
"Because I've already tried," Abhay replied.
Then he stopped.
As if he'd said something he shouldn't have said.
As if he'd revealed too much.
"What do you mean you've already tried?" Saanvi asked.
"We've all been here together."
"How could you have tried alone?"
Abhay turned from the window.
His eyes moving across all of them.
Landing finally on Diya.
"I remember," he said slowly.
"I remember walking out of this haveli."
"I remember the forest consuming me."
"I remember becoming part of the village."
"And I remember waking up here."
"In this room."
"With all of you."
"Like none of it happened."
"Like I'm stuck in a loop."
Meghna's hand found Rohit's.
She squeezed.
Hard.
Like holding on to him might anchor her to reality.
Priya and Saanvi moved closer together.
Their connection becoming physical.
Becoming necessary.
"We should try to sleep," Meghna said.
Her voice stronger now.
Determined.
"We should try to maintain some kind of routine."
Rohit nodded.
"I'll take first watch."
He looked at Meghna.
"You rest."
She wanted to argue.
But the exhaustion was too deep.
The weight too heavy.
"Be careful," she said.
And there was affection there.
Not romantic.
But real.
They arranged themselves for the night.
But sleep didn't come.
Instead, they lay in the darkness and listened.
Listened to Yashpal's fingers making sounds against the wooden table.
Sounds that shouldn't have been possible.
Listened to the walls breathing.
Listened to Abhay's steady breathing.
So steady it seemed mechanical.
Listened to Diya's silence.
Which was louder than any sound.
Around three in the morning, a sound came from somewhere deep inside the haveli.
A child's laughter.
High-pitched.
Impossible.
Because they knew.
They all knew.
There were no children in Bhairavpur.
The laughter continued.
Moving through the walls.
Moving through the darkness.
And no one moved.
No one spoke.
Because they all understood:
The thing that had taken Marcus.
The thing that wore Kabir's shape.
The thing that had whispered to Yashpal in the forest.
It was here.
In the haveli.
And it was learning their names.
"The village does not kill quickly.
It teaches.
It shows you what you could become
if you stayed long enough.
And then it decides if that's what it wants."