POV: Meher
People romanticize loyalty.Mostly because they've never seen the price tag on it.
I learned early:Devotion is a weapon.And whoever wields it better be ready to bleed.
Nivaan and Kiyan stood across my workshop table like mismatched chess pieces —one sharp and deliberate,the other shaky and clueless.
I resented them equally for different reasons.
"So," I said, tapping the old file,"This is where we start… or where we burn."
Kiyan flinched.Nivaan didn't blink.Typical.
He never reacted to threats.It was charming when he was seventeen.Now?It's suicidal.
"Open it," he said.
"No."I folded my arms."Once we open Pandora, there's no shutting her again."
Kiyan swallowed."I feel like I don't know what's going on."
"You don't," I said."And ignorance is your best trait right now."
He shut up.
I sighed.Walked around them — circling, assessing, testing.Old instincts settling like dust on forgotten furniture.
It'd been years since I stood this close to Nivaan.And yet…the air remembered.
"Who texted you?" I asked him.
"If I knew," he replied evenly, "I'd be sending flowers to their funeral."
Cocky.Deadly.Stupid.
"You're making jokes," I said, "but you don't get it.If they're back… your little sense of invincibility won't save you."
His eyes hardened.
"Are they back?"
I hesitated.That was answer enough.
He exhaled.Kiyan looked between us like a kid accidentally sitting in a mafia board meeting.
"Can someone," he asked, "explain who the hell 'they' are?"
I stared at him."Fine.Short version:They're the reason Nivaan isn't supposed to be alive."
Kiyan blinked like his brain glitched."Cool. Great. Love that.Who exactly—"
"Not yet."I held up a hand.
Storytime could wait.First, we needed facts.
I grabbed a remote and flipped on the dusty projector.Static.Then—a photo.
A young man.Black hair.Warm smile.The kind of face you'd trust with your secrets.
Kiyan frowned."Who's that?"
Nivaan didn't move.He just stared, jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack.
It had been years,but even I remembered that expression.
Grief wearing an old disguise.
"His name was Rivan," I said."Nivaan's twin."
Silence slammed into the room.
Kiyan's mouth fell open."You… you had a twin?"
Nivaan didn't answer.
So I did.
"He wasn't just a twin.He was the better version."
That earned me a glare — sharp, quiet.I ignored it.
"He could lie cleaner.Fight smarter.Disappear faster.He was what they wanted."
"And I wasn't," Nivaan murmured, voice flat.
It wasn't self-pity.Just truth.
"Where is he?" Kiyan whispered.
I waited.Let the weight settle.
"He's dead," Nivaan said.
Kiyan froze."Oh."
Not dramatic — just shattered.
"He died because of us," I added.
Kiyan blinked, confused."Us?"
"Yes," I said."Me. Nivaan. And Rivan."
We were a trio.A unit.A weapon they tried to sharpen until we broke.
And we broke.Hard.
Kiyan sat down.His legs gave out — understandable.His world just changed timelines.
Nivaan leaned against the workbench, silent.Haunted.
He looked like someone walking through a memory he'd spent years trying to bury.
"You never told me," Kiyan whispered.
Nivaan's gaze stayed on the projection."He didn't want you in it."
I scoffed."Correction: YOU didn't want him in it."
His jaw ticked.Truth hurts.
Rivan was the glue.The one who believed we could get out.The one who thought loyalty meant safety.
He was wrong.
Kiyan rubbed his face."So… the message —'you should've stayed dead with him'—They meant Rivan?"
"Yes."I nodded."They're reminding Nivaan his survival was an accident."
"It wasn't an accident," Nivaan said quietly."It was Rivan."
Ah.There it was.The knife he still kept in his chest.
Rivan had traded his life for Nivaan's.We all knew it.None of us said it out loud.
Kiyan stared."You mean he—"
"Yes," I said."He chose to die so Nivaan could walk out."
Dead silence.Just breathing.And regret.
I turned off the projector.Enough ghosts for the night.
"Now," I said,"someone staged a fake version of his death again.Placed a duplicate.Sent a warning."
"This time," Nivaan murmured,"they want me alive… but erased."
"That's the problem," I replied."They don't want your body.They want your identity."
Kiyan's brows knitted."Why? What do they want from him?"
I looked at Nivaan.He looked at me.
Neither of us wanted to say it.
So I did.
"They want what's in his head."
Kiyan blinked."What's in his head?"
"Access," I said."To the thing Rivan died protecting."
Nivaan closed his eyes.Pain flickered — small, controlled.
Kiyan stared."What thing?"
My lips curled.
"That," I said,"is something only he can tell you."
I turned to Nivaan.He held my stare.
"Tell him," I said."Or we're all already dead."