The world outside the ruined temple felt too bright.
Like the sun was trying too hard.
Like daylight didn't belong on a street where ancient stone had just breathed.
Zoya and Manraj didn't stop running until they reached a clearing — a derelict bus stand half-swallowed by weeds and peeling paint. Only then did Zoya let go of his wrist.
Manraj bent forward, hands on his knees, chest burning beneath the number.
30.
Zoya paced a short, frantic line in front of him.
"We should NOT have been in there," she muttered. "We should NOT have touched the altar. We should NOT have—"
"Zoya," Manraj gasped.
She didn't hear him.
"—a severed site is supposed to be dead. Contained. Dormant. Not—NOT—burning. Not aware."
"Zoya," he said again, louder.
She finally looked up.
His eyes were wide.
Frantic.
Shaking.
"It followed us."
The air went still.
Wind died mid-gust.
The world around them exhaled — quietly, too quietly.
Zoya's jaw tightened.
"How close?" she asked.
Manraj pressed a palm to his chest.
"It's not here physically. It's… brushing the edge of the count."
She didn't like the sound of that.
"How?"
"It touched the number."
Zoya froze.
"It WHAT?"
Manraj swallowed.
"I can feel it. Not pulling. Not whispering. Just… touching. Like someone running a finger across the inside of a drum."
Zoya felt her stomach clench.
"So the thirty? That's not just time."
Manraj met her eyes.
"It's distance."
A new kind of fear rose between them — sharper, colder, more precise.
Zoya grabbed his shoulders.
"Manraj. What happens when it hits zero?"
He shook his head.
"I don't know. But whatever crawled out of that altar… it wants something."
"What?"
He looked down at his hands.
"…me."
Zoya let go of him.
Her Silence shivered in her palms — not aggressive, but protective.
"We're not letting anything take you," she said. "Not the entity. Not the Root. Not the shadows. And definitely not that thing."
Manraj almost smiled.
But then—
The ground under the bus stand vibrated.
Soft.
Measured.
Like footsteps beneath the earth.
Zoya moved instantly, grabbing his hoodie and shoving him behind a concrete pillar.
"DOWN. NOW."
He crouched.
The tremor passed.
Quiet returned.
But something had changed.
The air felt thicker.
Like the space between breaths was longer.
Zoya whispered:
"…It's moving."
Manraj nodded.
"Toward us?"
"No," she said. "Not yet. It's circling."
He frowned.
"Why?"
She didn't break eye contact.
"It's learning your location."
The words hit hard.
A pulse struck Manraj's ribs — not painful, but deep.
30 → 30 → 29
Manraj stumbled.
Zoya caught him.
"HEY—stay with me. Manraj. Look at me. NOW."
He forced his eyes open, panting.
"It's not touching me," he whispered. "It's touching the number. Like it's checking how far away I am."
Zoya's voice sharpened.
"It's tracking you."
He nodded weakly.
"By the countdown."
Zoya pushed him back, making him sit on the broken step. She crouched in front of him.
"Okay. Then this changes everything."
"How?"
"We thought the countdown was until the Under-Root awakens."
She shook her head.
"It's not."
"It's until it reaches me," Manraj whispered.
Zoya grabbed his hand.
"No. Until it THINKS it's reached you."
A strange silence settled.
Manraj blinked slowly.
"What does that mean?"
Zoya's grip tightened.
"It means the number isn't your death clock."
He swallowed.
"What is it then?"
"A tracking device," she said.
"And if it's tracking you…"
Her breath hitched.
"…then maybe we can confuse it."
He stared at her.
"You want to jam the Under-Root?"
"I want to scramble the countdown," she answered. "Mess with the distance markers. Make it think you're somewhere else."
"That sounds impossible."
Zoya stood.
"It also sounds like something Azhar would've done."
Manraj exhaled sharply.
"He's not here."
Zoya looked toward the ground.
Her eyes softened — but only for a second.
"He is," she whispered. "Just not where we can reach."
The earth trembled again.
A slow, thoughtful pulse.
29 burned brighter.
Manraj's pupils dilated.
"It's getting closer."
Zoya's expression hardened.
"Then we move."
He looked at her.
"Where?"
She pointed to the opposite end of the deserted road — toward a narrow alley leading deeper into the old part of the city.
"To the place Azhar visited most," she said.
Manraj felt something strange stir inside his chest.
"Why there?"
"Because if anyone left something behind that can scramble a tracking system," Zoya said, "it's him."
She adjusted her backpack.
Her Silence crackled subtly at her fingertips.
"Come on," she said.
"We're going to Azhar's old anchor."
Manraj stood — unsteady, but determined.
"And after that?"
Zoya met his gaze.
"After that," she said softly,
"We start learning how to lie to the Under-Root."
The number pulsed again.
29.
And the Under-Root pulsed back.
Watching.
Learning.
Counting.
The hunt had officially begun.