The first thing I felt was rain.
Cold. Heavy. Relentless.
Then I felt breathing. Not mine. Someone's chest pressed against my face, rising and falling in sharp, controlled bursts.
"Tejas. Tejas, look at me."
I blinked upward.
Vahni Aunty's face hovered above mine, streaked with ash and rainwater. Her hair was soaked. Her eyes were sharp, scanning me for injuries. Her grip on my shoulders was tight enough to hurt, but I didn't care.
"Where… where's Ma?" I asked.
Her expression didn't move. Only her eyes softened for half a heartbeat.
She didn't answer.
Behind her, the apartment was collapsing inward. The third floor was half gone. Smoke rolled out of the shattered windows, mixing with the rain in thick grey clouds. Sparks jumped from broken wires. Nothing looked like home anymore.
My father lay nearby, half conscious. His right arm was twisted in a way arms shouldn't twist. Every time he breathed, pain shot through his chest. He tried to sit up, failed, then tried again.
"We need to move him," Vahni said.
Her voice trembled—barely—but enough for me to catch it.
She crouched beside him and slid his uninjured arm over her shoulder.
"Raghav, stay with me. Can you walk?"
He groaned, then coughed violently. Blood stained his lips. His eyes were glassy, unfocused.
"Ma…" I whispered again.
Vahni didn't look at me, not yet.
She wasn't avoiding the truth—
she was trying to survive it.
She turned back toward the apartment's remains, toward the spot where my mother had dissolved. Something in her posture cracked then—something sharp, something deeply human.
She knelt beside the debris.
There were still grey wisps floating there. Ash that drifted like lost thoughts. Ash that might have once been my mother's hands, her hair, her voice.
Vahni cupped her palms and gathered what she could. Carefully. Reverently. Every movement slow, like touching something sacred.
She folded the ash into a piece of her dupatta and tied it tightly, pressing the knot as if sealing a promise.
Only then did she turn to me.
"Come," she said, her voice low and firm. "We cannot stay here."
A sudden burst of metallic static erupted from below. A voice shouted through a device:
"Team A, move! Sector 3 is compromised!"
More voices followed.
"Confirm target radius."
"Third floor collapse noted."
"No survivors expected."
"All Cinder units, prepare for containment."
Cinder.
The name alone made Vahni's spine stiffen.
Boots thundered up the stairs inside the building. Flashlights cut through the darkness like sharp white knives. The sound of radios crackled through the smoke.
"Protocol engaged. Contain, control, cleanse."
I grabbed Vahni's arm. "Who are they? Why—"
Her hand clamped over my mouth.
"Quiet."
She pulled my father up again, practically dragging him. His breath stuttered with each step. Every sound from him felt too loud, too dangerous.
We slipped into the corridor just as a squad of black-armored Cinder agents reached the landing below. Their helmets glowed faintly along the edges, white sigils pulsing.
One of them spoke into his radio:
"Third floor heat signature detected. High anomaly. Teams surround entry points."
Vahni pushed us against the wall and pressed a finger to her lips.
The footsteps were right beneath us.
Another voice spoke:
"Metal contamination confirmed. Melt residue on floor."
"Ember activity involved?"
"Most likely."
"Standby for ash retrieval."
Ash retrieval.
My stomach twisted.
They were going to take what was left of her.
Vahni's eyes sharpened like blades. She tightened her grip on the dupatta knot at her neck.
Not tonight.
She guided us down the opposite staircase, the one half-broken from the collapse. The railing wobbled. Rain blew in through the shattered windows.
A sudden flash of white light shot upward from the corridor behind us. A Cinder scanner.
"Heat anomaly detected on north side! Move!"
Vahni pulled us faster.
I stumbled. My father nearly collapsed again.
"We're almost there," she whispered. "Just a little more."
The last few steps gave way under our weight. Vahni jumped with us, landing hard on the second-floor landing. My father cried out as his ribs pressed against her shoulder, but she didn't slow.
Outside, the storm was raging.
Police sirens echoed through the street.
Neighbors gathered behind barricades.
Firefighters fought the blaze clawing through our old home.
We wove through the shadows beside the building.
"Hold on to my hand, Tejas," Vahni said.
I did.
I held on like her hand was the last solid thing in the world.
We slipped through the narrow gap between buildings, hidden from sight as Cinder units swarmed the entrance. Their scanners swept the area with sharp beams of white.
A voice shouted:
"Confirm the ash count!"
"Not found!"
"Search perimeter!"
"No one leaves this block!"
My heart pounded.
Vahni kept moving.
Her breathing grew harsher. Rain plastered her hair to her forehead. Her clothes clung to her skin with soot and water.
We finally reached a dark alley behind the neighboring building. A broken sign hung above a shuttered shop. A street dog barked at us once, then backed away, sensing something wrong about us.
Vahni lowered my father against the wall. He sagged, wheezing, but alive.
She knelt in front of me, cupping my face just like my mother used to.
"Tejas," she said softly. "You are going to listen very carefully."
Tears blurred my vision. "Is Ma… is she…?"
Her voice cracked. Only once.
"She saved you," Vahni whispered. "And she gave everything she had to do it."
I pressed my forehead against her shoulder.
She held me tighter.
It wasn't the same warmth as my mother's.
But it wasn't empty.
Somewhere behind us, the building collapsed inward with a deafening crash. Flames burst out of the windows, swallowed by the rain.
Cinder voices echoed:
"No ember residue found."
"White flame signature confirmed."
"Secure the sector."
"Full cleanse protocol authorized."
Vahni stood and pulled me and my father close again.
"We have to leave this city," she said.
"Tonight."
The rain fell harder, hiding our footprints as we walked into the night.
I didn't know it then, but the ash she carried would shape the rest of my life.