The coffee arrived at 3 AM.
Black. No sugar.
Still steaming.
Bharat stared at the cup on his desk like it might explode. He hadn't ordered coffee. Hadn't asked anyone to bring him anything. He'd been alone in the apartment's study for the past six hours, cross-referencing temple records while the bells in his skull tried to split him open from the inside.
GONG.
GONG.
GONG.
"You should drink it before it gets cold."
Ayesha.
Standing in the doorway like she'd materialized from shadow. Still in her driver's uniform—black jacket, white collar, hair pulled back severe. But her eyes were different. Sharper. Like she'd peeled off a mask he hadn't realized she was wearing.
"How did you get in?"
"I have keys to every property Mira owns."
She stepped into the room. Set down a small leather case beside the coffee.
"Part of the job."
"Breaking in at 3 AM is part of the job?"
"Keeping her alive is."
She opened the case. Inside—two syringes. Clear liquid. Medical labels in script Bharat couldn't read without his vision fracturing.
"What is that?"
"Sedative. Medical grade. Strong enough to knock out the pain for about four hours."
"I don't need—"
"The bells are at 80 decibels now," Ayesha interrupted. Voice flat. Clinical. "By tomorrow they'll hit 100. That's when most people start screaming. Day after that—"
"I know."
"Do you?"
She picked up one syringe. Held it to the light like she was checking for air bubbles.
"Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who thinks willpower is going to save them. It won't. The Guardian's Oath doesn't care about determination. It just eats you. Piece by piece. Until there's nothing left but noise."
Bharat's hands clenched.
The bells screamed.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
Like his skull was a drum and something inside was trying to beat its way out.
"How long did you last?" he asked quietly.
Silence.
Ayesha's expression didn't change.
But her hand—
The one holding the syringe—
Trembled.
Just once.
"Six days," she said finally. "Before I broke. Before they had to cut the binding and send me back. Arjun lasted eight. You're on day three."
"You were chosen."
Not a question.
"Everyone who works for this family gets chosen eventually," Ayesha said. "That's how it works. The temple doesn't just want vessels. It wants servants. People who've been broken just enough to be useful."
She set the syringe down. Pushed up her right sleeve.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Revealing her forearm.
The skin was marked.
Not a tattoo.
Not a scar.
A binding seal.
Faint—almost invisible unless you knew what to look for—but absolutely there. The same script that covered the temple walls, that glowed in the sanctum, that wrapped around Mira's wrist like chains.
Bharat's Contract Vision activated without permission.
Layer 1: Physical reality
Ayesha's arm. The seal. Faded but intact.
Layer 2: Contract overlay
Threads of binding energy still attached to her—weak, frayed, but not broken. Leading somewhere. Toward the temple. Toward something darker.
Layer 3: System analysis
╔═══════════════════════════════════╗
║ BINDING DETECTED: AYESHA SHARMA ║
║ TYPE: FAILED GUARDIAN CANDIDATE ║
║ STATUS: DORMANT (UNSTABLE) ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════╣
║ RESIDUAL AUTHORITY: 3/100 ║
║ RISK LEVEL: MODERATE ║
║ WARNING: REACTIVATION POSSIBLE ║
║ IF HOST ENTERS TEMPLE SANCTUM ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════╝
"Jesus," Bharat whispered.
"It never fully goes away," Ayesha said. "That's the secret they don't tell you. Once you're marked, you're theirs. Forever. The binding just... sleeps. Waits."
"For what?"
"For you to get close enough to trigger it again."
She pulled her sleeve down. Buttoned it. Her face was expressionless—years of practice making emotion look like weakness.
"That's why I can't go with you," she said. "Into the sanctum. If I get within fifty feet of the source, this—" she tapped her arm "—wakes up. And I become their weapon instead of yours."
"Does Mira know?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because she'd try to save me."
Ayesha's voice was soft. Almost gentle. Like she was explaining something to a child.
"And I can't be saved. Neither can Arjun. Neither can you, probably. But Mira—"
"Can."
"Maybe. If you don't die first."
She picked up the coffee. Held it out.
"Drink. You'll need the caffeine."
Bharat took the cup. His hands were shaking—not from fear, from exhaustion. The bells had been screaming for three days straight. Sleep was a memory. Food tasted like ash.
The coffee was bitter.
Perfect.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked.
"Because Mira asked me to."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Ayesha opened a folder on his desk—one he'd been working through before the bells got too loud to think. Temple financial records. Donations. Transactions. All perfectly legal on the surface.
All rotted underneath.
"The temple's funding comes from three sources," she said. "Legitimate donations. Blackmail. And organ trafficking. You've found the first two. The third is harder."
"Because it's hidden."
"Because it's protected. By people with power. Money. Connections that go all the way to the top."
She pulled out a sheet of paper. Handwritten notes in precise script.
"This is the route they use. Temple to warehouse. Warehouse to private clinic. Clinic to international buyers. The whole chain is airtight—customs, police, hospitals, all bought off."
"How do you know this?"
"Because I drove some of those shipments."
Silence.
Bharat looked at her.
Really looked.
At the woman who'd been Mira's driver, bodyguard, silent protector. Who smiled politely and opened doors and never spoke unless spoken to.
Who had blood on her hands she'd never be able to wash off.
"You're telling me this why?"
"Because you're going to need access," Ayesha said. "To the warehouse. To the clinic. To places a civil servant with a fake marriage contract can't just walk into."
She pulled out another paper. This one had codes. Sequences. Passwords.
"These will get you past the outer security. But once you're inside—"
"I'm on my own."
"Yes."
"And if I get caught?"
"You die. Slowly. And they use your organs to pay off whatever debt your mother's treatment incurred."
Bharat's stomach turned.
The bells screamed.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
Like applause.
"There's one more thing," Ayesha said quietly.
She reached into her jacket. Pulled out the second syringe.
"This isn't sedative."
"What is it?"
"Emergency termination. For the binding."
"I thought you said it never goes away."
"It doesn't. But this—" she held up the syringe "—can sever it. Completely. Instantly."
"At what cost?"
"Everything."
Her eyes met his. Dark. Tired. Haunted by things she'd never say aloud.
"You inject this, the binding breaks. The bells stop. The Contract Vision shuts down. The Guardian Authority disappears."
"And?"
"And so does the antidote contract. Your mother dies. Mira loses her only protection. And you become just another person the temple will hunt down and kill."
Silence.
Just the bells.
And rain starting outside.
Soft at first.
Then harder.
"Why give this to me?"
"Because you should have a choice," Ayesha said. "Arjun didn't. Most people don't. But you—"
She set the syringe on the desk beside the coffee.
"You get to decide how this ends."
"That's not a choice. That's a trap."
"Welcome to the family business."
She turned to leave.
"Ayesha."
She stopped.
"The seal on your arm. Does it hurt?"
Silence.
Then—
"Only when I remember I used to be someone else."
She was gone before Bharat could respond.
Just the sound of the door closing.
And bells.
Always bells.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
Bharat looked at the two syringes on his desk.
One that would let him keep fighting.
One that would let him stop.
The question wasn't which one to use.
Was when.
And whether he'd be the one making that choice.
Or whether the bells would make it for him.
His phone buzzed.
Message from Mira:
"Ayesha said you're still working. You need to sleep."
He typed back:
"Can't. Too loud."
"The bells?"
"Everything."
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
"I'm coming over."
"Don't. It's 3 AM."
"I don't care."
"Mira—"
"I'm already in the car."
Bharat closed his eyes.
The bells screamed.
And beneath them—
Arjun's voice:
"She's going to watch you break. Just like I did. Just like everyone does."
"Shut up."
"You can't save her. Can't even save yourself."
"I said shut up."
"The seal on Ayesha's arm? That'll be on Mira's too. On yours. On everyone who gets too close. The temple doesn't just take vessels—"
"—it takes everyone."
Bharat opened his eyes.
Looked at the codes Ayesha had left.
At the route to the warehouse.
At the path that would either free them all—
Or kill them trying.
"Two days left," he whispered to the empty room.
The bells answered.
GONG.
GONG.
GONG.
Like a countdown.
Like a promise.
Like the sound of something hungry getting closer.