The air in Zoya's apartment felt too thin.
Not hostile.
Not dangerous.
Just tight, like the walls were holding their breath.
Manraj sat perfectly still, fingers pressing against the symbols beneath his shirt. The burn of 32 vibrated against his ribs — not painful, not loud, but absolute.
A number that didn't belong to him, yet lived inside him like a pulse.
Zoya paced the length of the dining room like energy couldn't settle in her body anymore. Every step was sharp. Controlled. Quiet.
"Thirty-two," she muttered. "Thirty-two, thirty-two, thirty-two — That's not enough time."
Manraj lifted his head.
"It doesn't matter how much time it is," he said quietly. "It's what we do with it."
Zoya stopped pacing.
She didn't answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was small and unguarded in a way she rarely allowed:
"Manraj… this thing is older than anything we've fought. It's not the Root. It's not the river. It's not the entity. And it's not Azhar."
A beat.
"It's something the Root feared enough to bury alive. What exactly do we think we're going to do in thirty-two days?"
He didn't flinch.
"Understand it."
"And after that?"
"Stop it."
Her eyes flickered.
"Before it completes you."
That settled between them like dust.
He looked away.
"Before it completes anything."
The symbols beneath his skin pulsed again in a low, painful wave. Manraj clenched his jaw against the sensation. This one wasn't a burn. It was a pull — something tugging at the thread inside his chest.
A reminder.
A summons.
Zoya noticed instantly.
"Manraj. Look at me."
He did.
She stepped closer.
"What did you feel just now?"
He hesitated. "A… tug."
"Direction?"
He shook his head. "Not physical. It's like… someone tapping the inside of my ribs. Like a heartbeat that isn't mine."
Zoya covered his hand with both of hers.
"Okay. Then we build around it."
He blinked. "Build what?"
"A response system," she said. "Not just running from the shadows. Not just reacting. We plan. We test. We learn its language. We use its rules against it."
"You sound confident."
"No," she said. "I sound angry."
She squeezed his hand.
"Whatever's under the Root thinks you're a piece of something unfinished. A tool. A vessel."
Her eyes darkened.
"We prove it wrong."
Manraj exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
"Okay," he said.
Zoya nodded. "Okay."
She grabbed her notebook, flipped to a blank page, and wrote in large letters:
SHADOW RESPONSE PLAN — DAY TWO
Under the title she listed:
1. Track tug-direction.
2. Test Silence interference.
3. Study Under-Root mimicry patterns.
4. Map Azhar's last shadow imprint.
5. Look for what the Root discarded.
6. Find a way down there without opening anything.
7. Don't die.
Manraj huffed a dry laugh. "Good last step."
Zoya smirked. "It's the most important one."
But the humor didn't last.
The floor trembled again.
Just once.
Soft.
But deep.
Not a quake.
A warning.
Zoya froze in the middle of writing.
"Manraj…"
"I know."
They listened.
The tremor faded.
But the feeling didn't.
Not fear.
Not pressure.
Presence.
Zoya tightened her grip on the pen until it cracked.
"Manraj," she whispered. "It's not the tunnel anymore."
He swallowed.
"It moved."
Zoya's eyes snapped to his chest.
The number didn't burn.
It glowed.
32 throbbed like a quiet beacon.
Like something answering from the other side.
Manraj's pulse stuttered.
"It's closer," he whispered.
"No," Zoya said, stepping protectively between him and the door.
Her Silence rippled around her in a soft, deadly aura.
"It's counting with you."
Between them, the room dimmed—just a flicker, a passing shadow.
Not a presence.
Not an attack.
Just a signal.
A pulse from underground.
A second heartbeat.
Manraj felt something cold curl around the edges of his mind.
A voice—soft, distant, patient—pressed against the back of his thoughts:
"…unfinished…"
He gasped, hands flying to his temples.
Zoya grabbed him immediately.
"HEY—HEY—stay with me, come on—focus on my voice—stay with me—"
The whisper faded.
The pressure lifted.
Manraj collapsed back into the chair, shaking.
Zoya knelt in front of him, hands on his face.
"Manraj. What. Did it. Say."
He swallowed hard.
"…one word."
"Tell me."
He looked into her eyes.
"It said… 'unfinished.'"
Zoya closed her eyes briefly.
Then opened them with new steel.
"Okay," she said. "Then we finish nothing. We give it nothing. And we make sure whatever it wants stays buried."
She stood.
Pulled him up with her.
"Thirty-two days," she said. "But we're not losing any of them."
Manraj nodded.
"Where do we start?"
Zoya grabbed her jacket.
And her voice dropped to a cold, determined whisper:
"We start where the Root threw its monsters away."
She opened the door.
"And then we find what's hunting you."
Manraj stepped into the hallway beside her.
Together.
The number 32 pulsed again.
Not fear.
Not danger.
A signal.
A clock.
A challenge.
Manraj breathed out:
"Day Three begins."
And the Under-Root listened.
Waiting.
Counting.