Arora walked — but slowly. Painfully slowly. Each step felt like she had to drag an entire world behind her. She was someone who always walked with the wind, who always cut through corridors like a blade, who never allowed hesitation to stain her movements.
But today…
Today her feet were heavy.
As if invisible chains were tied around her ankles. As if time itself wanted to mock her by stretching every passing second into an eternity.
She'd fought men twice her size.
Conquered gangs older than her.
Stared death in the face without blinking.
But this…
Facing her brother…
Facing the truth she didn't want…
It was harder than any knife, any bullet, any battlefield she'd ever crossed.
Miso followed her from behind, keeping a respectful distance. She watched her leader's shoulders — usually firm, proud, unshakable — now subtly trembling under the weight of everything she carried.
But Miso didn't dare say a word.
Some silences weren't meant to be broken.
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