POV: Nivaan
I'd forgotten how loud silence can get— especially when it walks into the room uninvited.
Kiyan's phone screen still glowed between us.His fingers were trembling.Mine weren't.
Not because I wasn't scared.Just because fear and I were old roommates.We'd learned to ignore each other.
"You should've stayed dead with him."
Cute.
They really thought I'd break on the first warning shot?They must have confused me with my copy lying in the morgue.
I pocketed Kiyan's phone and started walking.He jogged to catch up.
"Nivaan— what the hell are we supposed to do? Someone's threatening us."
"Someone's announcing themselves," I corrected."There's a difference."
He hated when I got technical.But precision is survival.
We reached the car.The air felt wrong — not cold… just watched.
I paused before touching the door.Kiyan saw it too.
"You feel that?" he whispered.
"Yes."
I crouched, inspected around the wheel, mirror, underbody — neat, quick movements.Old habits don't die.Even when you're supposed to.
No trackers.Good.Or stupidly bad — because it meant they didn't need to track us.
They already knew everywhere I'd go.
I slid into the driver's seat.Kiyan hesitated.I started the engine without waiting.
"Seatbelt," I said.
He clicked in, breathing uneven.The message rattled him more than the corpse had.
I respected that.Dead bodies are simple.Threats are… personal.
He tried to speak.Didn't.Started again.
"Do you think they meant… the guy in the morgue?"
My grip tightened on the wheel.
"No," I said."That message wasn't about him."
It was about someone else.Someone I hadn't seen in a long time.
A face flashed in my mind —quick, soft, buried under layers of should-have and never-again.
Not now.Focus.
Kiyan exhaled shakily.I didn't blame him.He wasn't built for this.Nobody is — not at first.
But survival is a muscle.And he was about to get a gym membership he didn't ask for.
I turned onto the highway.City lights blurred — streaks of gold and red slicing the darkness.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To see someone who owes me answers."
He didn't ask who.Smart.The fewer names spoken, the better.
After ten minutes, he tried again.
"Do you think we're… being followed?"
Always.But right now?
"No."
He blinked."How are you so sure?"
"Because if they wanted to follow us…"I switched lanes, eyes on every mirror,"…we'd never know."
He swallowed.Good. Fear sharpens people.
I took an exit toward the older part of the city —roads narrower, shadows thicker, everything smelling like secrets.
Old Mumbai was honest about its chaos.
We parked near a closed garage.Metal shutters rusted, walls covered in peeling posters.
Kiyan frowned."This place looks like tetanus with a side of kidnapping."
I smirked."That's the charm."
I knocked three times.Silent.Then once more —a rhythm no normal person would know.
Metal scraped from the inside.A slit opened.
A pair of eyes studied us.Female.Sharp.Unimpressed.
"Password?" she asked.
Kiyan blinked."We have a password??"
I ignored him.Leaned closer.
"Fire never dies," I said.
A beat.Then—
"Only the coward does," she finished.
Locks turned.Three of them — heavy, mechanical.
The door lifted.Dim warm light spilled out.
And there she was.Same calm stare.Same hair tied back like she didn't have time to care about appearances.Same scar tracing her jawline like a signature.
Meher.
If Dr. Zareen was the scalpel,Meher was the bullet.
She looked at me first.Then at Kiyan.Her eyebrow twitched.
"You brought deadweight," she said.
Kiyan sputtered."I— excuse me?"
I walked past her.He scrambled behind me.
The place was a workshop —machines, welding tools, wires, monitors… everything humming with purpose.
Meher shut the shutter."You should not be alive," she said, blunt as ever.
"That makes two of us," I replied.
Her eyes narrowed."You were targeted."
"Obviously."
She gestured impatiently."Details."
I gave the short version —the ambush, the body, the tattoo, the message.
Meher's expression didn't change…until the last part.
"You should've stayed dead with him."
She froze.Hands clenched.Jaw locked.
Kiyan noticed.So did I.
She knew something.Or someone.
"Say it," I said.
Meher took a step back, breathing harder."When did you get this?"
"Twenty minutes ago."
She paced —not in fear…in calculation.
"That message isn't random," she said."It means the past is reopening."
Kiyan stared."What past?"
She ignored him.
"Nivaan…" she said slowly,"they're not after you because you survived."
I waited.
"They're after you because you remember."
The room tilted.Not physically —just the feeling.
Because she was right.I knew things.Things no one was supposed to know.Things I tried to forget.
And if they were resurfacing…We were on a timer.
"Who's 'him'?" Kiyan whispered.
Meher looked at me —eyes hard.
"You didn't tell him?"
"No."
"Tell me what?" Kiyan demanded.
I inhaled.
"There was another person," I said."Someone who died… because of us."
Kiyan went still.His lips parted, confusion shifting to shock.
"Who?" he whispered.
Before I could answer—Meher marched to a locked steel cabinet.Scanned her fingerprint.Typed a code.Turned a key.
Three-tier security.Not casual.
She pulled out a old file —thick, sealed with red tape, stamped with a simple word:
CLASSIFIED
She tossed it onto the table.Dust scattered.
Kiyan stared.I knew what was inside.That's why I didn't open it.
Meher crossed her arms.
"If you're in this again," she said,"it won't end the same."
I met her eyes.Unflinching.
"It better not."
Because last time?
Only one of us made it out alive.