POV: Kiyan
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.Annoying.Like I missed the memo where life upgraded itself to nightmare difficulty and forgot to send me the tutorial.
I sat in the passenger seat of Nivaan's car, staring at my reflection in the window — eyes red, jaw clenched, heart pacing like it was training for a marathon.
This man was supposed to be dead tonight.Instead, a stranger who looked too much like him was lying in a morgue drawer.
Tell me that's normal.I dare you.
Nivaan drove like laws didn't exist, headlights slicing the city into broken film frames.I kept imagining that cold room again — the identical body, the tattoo, the silence.
If you ever wanna know what real fear feels like, try seeing a corpse that looks like your best friend, but… wrong.Wrong in ways you can't explain.Wrong like a glitch in the universe.
I dragged a hand over my face.I could still smell the antiseptic. Still feel the chill. Still hear Dr. Zareen's voice:
"Someone went to a lot of trouble… to replace you."
My stomach twisted.I didn't know whether to scream or puke or both.
"Stop thinking so loud," Nivaan muttered.
I blinked."Sorry," I said, then repeated — "Sorry," because that wasn't enough to cover all the things I should've said earlier… and didn't.
He glanced at me — eyes sharp, colder than I'd ever seen them.He wasn't shaken like I was.He was… calculating.Running simulations in his head.As if his brain came pre-installed with a 'Thriller Hero' operating system.
Meanwhile, I was just—human.
"Do you… have any idea who could've done this?" I asked.
"I have theories," he said.
Classic.Bro always spoke like a cryptic podcast guest.
"Wanna share?"
"No."
Beautiful. Love that for me.
I turned away, fighting the frustration crawling up my spine.It wasn't that I wanted to know everything —I just didn't want to be left blind when bullets started flying.
He suddenly braked, smooth and deliberate.We were in some random alley, neon lights flickering overhead like low-budget horror aesthetics.
"Get out," he said.
My brain short-circuited."Bro… excuse me?"
"Walk with me."
"Why do men always need to walk in alleys at night when trauma hits? Therapy exists."
He didn't laugh.Not even a soft exhale.
That's when I realized —He was afraid too.Just better at hiding it.
We stepped out, the air cool and heavy.Nivaan stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at the city skyline like it owed him answers.
"I wasn't supposed to be there tonight," he said quietly.
I frowned."What do you mean?"
"I changed my schedule last minute. No one knew — not even you."
Cold pinpricks crawled down my arms.Meaning…
"So the body—"
"—was planned," he finished.
Someone had tracked his routine.Someone had timed the fake "death."
And someone was now pissed he survived.
My pulse hammered."Do you think it's connected to… them?"
His silence was an answer.A terrifying one.
I hated that name.That group.That whole past we never fully unpacked.
Because to talk about "them" meant admitting things we swore we'd never say again.
My throat tightened."Ni… I never thought they'd come back."
He looked at me the way someone looks at a window they're about to break just to escape — desperate, but controlled.
"You think I did?" he said softly.
Guilt sucker-punched me right there.Because deep down, I knew this was inevitable.You don't walk away from certain people.You just delay the consequences.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked.
The question hit right where it hurt.Because he didn't know —I'd seen signs.I'd heard whispers.I'd noticed movement around him for weeks.
And I didn't say a word.
Cowardice wears many outfits.Mine was silence.
"I…" My voice cracked."I thought I was wrong."
"You usually are," he said—but not cruelly. Just… truthfully.
"I didn't want to drag us back there," I whispered.
"You should've."
We stood there — two idiots in an alley, breathing regret like smoke.
A stray dog trotted past, totally unfazed by our emotional damage.Valid.
"I didn't think it would go this far," I said.
Nivaan's jaw tightened.
"It always goes too far with them."
I swallowed. Hard.The memory hit —A basement.A man in a white shirt.A game with rules we didn't understand.A promise sealed with blood.A door we shouldn't have opened.
I blinked it away.Trauma flashback DLC was not welcomed today.
"What do we do now?" I asked.
He looked up at the sky — not for guidance, just calculation.
"We find who replaced me," he said."And we ask why."
"Ask," I repeated."Not— kill?"
He finally cracked a tiny smile."Corporate approach first. Violence later."
Professional. Smart. Scary.Typical Nivaan.
But even under all his nonchalant brilliance…I saw it.That flicker in his eyes.
Fear.Not of dying…But of what comes after.
A car passed by.Headlights washed over us.
In that fraction of a second —I saw something glittering on his wrist.
His tattoo.Phoenix.Sunset-red.
Alive.Real.
But for a second…I saw another wrist —Black ink.Dead.
I shuddered.
"Nivaan," I whispered, "promise me we'll get out of this."
He looked at me, and for once —he didn't lie.
"I can't promise survival," he said."But I promise I won't leave you behind."
I nodded.
Because that was enough.That was always enough with him.
We started walking back to the car…when my phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
"You should've stayed dead with him."
My breath vanished.
"What is it?" Nivaan asked.
I showed him the screen.
His eyes darkened —dangerous.Final.
"Looks like," he whispered,"they've started."