The street looked too normal for what had just happened.
A rickshaw rattled past. A boy tossed a cricket ball against a wall. A woman scolded her child for dropping a packet of biscuits.
None of them knew the ground beneath their feet had just chosen someone.
Marked someone.
Claimed someone.
Manraj's lungs tightened as he leaned against the nearest shutter. His pulse thudded violently under the glowing 27, each beat syncing with something cold beneath the surface of the world.
Zoya kept hold of his wrist like it was the only thing anchoring him to the correct reality.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
He could feel her Silence trembling around her — strained, thinning, flickering in and out like a dying neon sign.
"Zoya…" he whispered.
She didn't let go.
"Give me a second," she said, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm trying to…"
She inhaled sharply.
"…shut out the echo."
Manraj blinked. "You heard something too?"
Zoya opened her eyes.
They weren't scared.
They were furious.
"It wasn't a voice. It was pressure. Like something brushing against the inside of my Silence."
He shivered.
"It touched both of us."
Zoya shook her head.
"No. No, it touched you. I only felt the backwash."
The number pulsed again.
27 → 27 → 27
Waiting.
Watching.
Learning.
Manraj pressed a hand to his ribs.
"It's not pulling. It's… listening."
Zoya's jaw clenched.
"Yeah. And I don't like what it's hearing."
---
THE IMPRINT THAT WON'T LET GO
Zoya motioned for him to follow and pulled him into another narrow lane. Not safer — nothing was safe — but empty.
The quiet kind of empty.
Manraj exhaled shakily.
"That mark back there… the sigil… it felt like a warning."
Zoya shook her head.
"It wasn't a warning. It was a tether."
He froze.
"A tether to me?"
"A tether to your core," she corrected. "It doesn't care about the rest of you."
He felt sick.
"Zoya… does that mean it can find me anywhere?"
"No," she said slowly. "Not yet. Tethers don't pull. They point."
"Point to what?"
"Your location relative to the Under-Root."
He swallowed.
"You mean like… coordinates?"
"Yeah." Her voice was tight. "Coordinates written in shadow."
Manraj staggered.
"Zoya… what if it can see the number?"
She didn't answer at first.
Then—
"…Then it's tracking your distance in real time," she said.
"And every drop in the countdown is the Under-Root taking a step closer."
The words hung in the air like cold breath.
Manraj whispered:
"Then twenty-seven… isn't time."
Zoya nodded grimly.
"It's proximity."
His breath hitched.
"So what happens at zero?"
Zoya didn't sugarcoat it.
"It reaches you."
He swallowed.
"Reaches me or… touches me?"
"Manraj…" She looked away for a moment, then back at him. "…it doesn't want to touch you. That thing wants to complete you."
The word hit like a blade.
Complete.
Complete what?
Complete whom?
"Zoya… the Root didn't finish whatever I was supposed to become."
She nodded once.
"And the Under-Root is trying to finish it in the worst way possible."
---
THE CITY FEELS THE MARK
A soft vibration rippled through the ground.
Manraj grabbed a wall.
Zoya's head snapped toward the source instantly.
"That was close."
"Too close," he whispered.
The vibration came again.
But this time…
It wasn't one.
It was three.
Short. Sharp. Rhythmic.
Steps.
Beneath the street.
Zoya shoved him backward, positioning herself between him and the pavement.
"Don't move," she whispered. "It's checking the mark."
Manraj's heart pounded.
"How?"
"The sigil wasn't just a mark."
Her voice trembled.
"It was a scent."
The steps stopped.
Silence.
Manraj leaned forward, whispering shakily:
"Is it right under us?"
"No," Zoya breathed.
Worse.
"It's deciding."
A dry crackle spread across the pavement — tiny fractures spiderwebbing in silent slow motion.
It wasn't breaking.
It was scanning.
Manraj's breath hitched.
"Zoya—"
"I know."
"What do we do?"
Zoya slowly, carefully, reached for the back of his hand.
"We don't run," she whispered.
He stared at her.
"What?"
"If we run, it'll track direction. If we hide, it'll track stillness. We stay neutral."
He blinked hard.
"Zoya, this isn't a predator in the forest—"
"No," she said.
"But it hunts the same way."
The footsteps beneath the street shifted again.
Moving sideways now.
Circling.
Testing.
Searching for the signal it sensed moments ago.
Zoya leaned close, her voice barely a breath.
"It's probing for the nearest piece of unfinished light."
The number pulsed—
27 → 27 → 26
Manraj winced.
"It's closing the gap."
Zoya's grip tightened.
"Then listen to me very carefully."
He nodded.
"If we want to survive this, if we want to keep even ONE step ahead… you have to stop reacting."
"But—"
"Stop reacting," she repeated firmly. "Every spike in your heartbeat, every flare of fear, every instinct to run… the mark amplifies it. It turns your emotions into coordinates."
He felt cold wash through him.
"So… I have to stay calm?"
"No," she said.
"You have to stay blank."
Blank.
Emotionless.
Unreadable.
Like a shadow.
Like Azhar.
He swallowed.
"I don't know if I can."
Her fingers brushed the back of his knuckles.
"You don't have to," she whispered. "You just have to try."
The ground beneath them went utterly still.
Then—
One final tremor.
Soft.
Almost curious.
And the Under-Root pulled back.
The number softened.
26 → 27
Zoya's breath caught.
"It lost you," she whispered. "Just for a second."
Manraj collapsed against the wall, shaking uncontrollably.
"Zoya—I can't do this—"
She grabbed his face and forced him to meet her eyes.
"You just did."
He swallowed hard.
His pulse steadied.
A little.
Not enough.
But enough to move.
"Where now?" he whispered.
Zoya didn't hesitate.
She turned toward the lane leading deeper into the city — away from the anchor, away from the sigil, away from the footsteps beneath the road.
"To the only place the Under-Root can't follow," she said.
"Where?" he asked.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Where the Root died."
The number flickered.
27.
Somewhere far below, something answered.
The hunt wasn't over.
It had barely begun.