The question wasn't whether Dev was lying.
Was whether Mira could survive knowing the truth.
They drove through the night—Bharat at the wheel, Mira staring out the window, Vikram and two of his men in the back. The rest of the team had scattered, contracts fulfilled, loyalty expired.
Gone.
Like they'd never existed.
Except for the bruises and the empty vault.
The highway stretched before them.
Endless.
Dark.
Mumbai disappeared behind them—city lights fading to black, swallowed by rural nothing. The kind of darkness that felt alive, pressing against the windows like it wanted in.
Mira hadn't spoken in three hours.
Just sat there.
Hand pressed to the window.
Breath fogging the glass.
Bharat glanced at her.
"You okay?"
Stupid question.
But he asked anyway.
"No," she said quietly.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
Pause.
"Yes."
Pause.
"I don't know."
She turned to look at him.
Eyes red.
Makeup smudged.
Like she'd been crying and trying to hide it.
"He lied to me," she said.
"Yeah."
"For years. My whole life, maybe."
"Probably."
"And I never knew."
Bharat didn't answer.
What could he say?
That fathers were complicated?
That lies were sometimes kindness?
That betrayal could wear the face of love?
"I trusted him," Mira continued.
"I know."
"He was the only person I—"
Her voice broke.
She looked away.
Bharat reached over.
Took her hand.
"He's still your father."
"Is he?"
"Yeah."
Pause.
"Just a shitty one."
She laughed.
Bitter.
Wet.
"That's one way to put it."
Silence.
The road humming beneath them.
Headlights cutting through the dark like knives.
"What did your mother do?" Mira asked suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"To deserve this. To end up... wherever she is."
Bharat's jaw tightened.
"I don't know."
"But you're going to find out."
"Yes."
"And then what?"
"And then I save her. Or die trying."
Pause.
"Whichever comes first."
Mira looked at him.
"You're insane."
"Probably."
"This is suicide."
"Definitely."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because she gave up everything to keep me alive."
Pause.
"Least I can do is return the favor."
Mira's hand tightened around his.
"I'm scared, Bharat."
"I know."
"Not just for you. For me."
She pulled her hand back.
Pressed it to her chest.
Where the divine mark was.
Glowing faint gold through her shirt.
"It's getting worse," she said.
"How much worse?"
"I can feel it. All the time now. Like something's crawling under my skin."
Bharat's pulse kicked up.
"Show me."
"What?"
"The mark. Show me."
She hesitated.
Then pulled up her shirt.
The mark had spread.
No longer just a small sigil above her heart.
Now it covered half her ribcage—golden script branching like veins, pulsing with faint light.
Alive.
Or something close to it.
"Jesus," Bharat whispered.
"It started after the vault," Mira said. "The moment we left, it... activated. Like it was waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"I don't know."
Bharat activated the Codex.
Scanned the mark.
ANALYZING: Divine Contract Mark (Type: Parental Override)
Origin: Dev Kapoor (host's father)
Function: Loyalty binding + Life insurance
Current status: ACTIVE (Stage 2/3)
Progression: 67%
WARNING: If mark reaches Stage 3, host will become non-autonomous
Estimated time to Stage 3: 4 days, 11 hours
"Non-autonomous," Bharat muttered. "What the fuck does that mean?"
Peacock's voice crackled in his ear.
[PEACOCK]: Means she becomes a puppet. Mind, body, will—all controlled by whoever holds the contract.
[BHARAT]: Dev.
[PEACOCK]: Bingo.
[BHARAT]: Can we stop it?
[PEACOCK]: Maybe. If you break the contract before Stage 3.
[BHARAT]: How?
[PEACOCK]: Kill Dev. Or get him to willingly dissolve it.
[BHARAT]: Which is more likely?
[PEACOCK]: Neither. But murder's faster.
Bharat closed his eyes.
"We need to talk to your father. Now."
"He won't answer."
"Then we make him."
Mira looked at the mark.
At the way it pulsed.
Like a heartbeat that wasn't hers.
"Four days," she said quietly.
"We'll fix this."
"How?"
"I don't know yet."
Pause.
"But I will."
She looked at him.
"You can't save everyone, Bharat."
"Watch me."
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
Again.
He answered.
Put it on speaker.
"Bharat Singh."
Dev's voice.
Calm.
Like they were discussing the weather.
"We need to talk," Bharat said.
"I agree."
"Face to face."
"Also agree."
Pause.
"I'm sending you coordinates. Meet me there in six hours."
"Where?"
"The temple. The one from the photo."
Bharat went still.
"You knew."
"Of course I knew. I took the picture."
"Why are you helping now?"
"Because Mira's running out of time."
Pause.
"What do you want?" Bharat asked.
"To make a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
"The kind where everyone gets what they need."
Pause.
"You save your mother. I save my daughter. Rajan loses everything."
"And the catch?"
"You trust me."
"Not happening."
"Then Mira dies in four days."
Silence.
Mira staring at the phone like it was a snake.
"Six hours," Dev said. "Don't be late."
The line went dead.
Mira looked at Bharat.
"He's lying."
"Probably."
"We can't trust him."
"I know."
"So why are we going?"
Bharat looked at her mark.
At the way the light pulsed faster now.
Like it could hear them.
Like it knew.
"Because we don't have a choice."
Six hours later.
Rajasthan.
Middle of nowhere.
The temple rose from the desert like a tombstone.
Old.
Crumbling.
Covered in sand and silence.
The structure was small—maybe twenty feet tall, walls carved with faded script, a single entrance leading into darkness. No priests. No pilgrims. Just emptiness and the wind.
Dev stood at the entrance.
Waiting.
Alone.
He looked older than Bharat remembered.
Thinner.
Like something had been eating him from the inside.
"Mira," Dev said softly.
She didn't answer.
Just stared.
"I'm sorry," he continued.
"For which part?" she asked. Voice cold.
"All of it."
"That's not specific enough."
Dev looked at Bharat.
"You have questions."
"Understatement."
"Ask."
"What did you do to my mother?"
"I tried to save her."
"From what?"
"The Singh family. They wanted her dead."
"Why?"
Dev hesitated.
Then:
"Because she was pregnant with you. And you were never supposed to exist."
Pause.
"Explain," Bharat said.
"The curse you carry—it's not random. It's intentional."
"I know that part."
"But you don't know why."
Pause.
"Your mother was a temple dancer. Low caste. Expendable. She had an affair with someone powerful."
"Who?"
"Your father."
Bharat went still.
"I don't have a father."
"Everyone has a father, Bharat."
"Then who—"
"Rajan Singh."
The world tilted.
Mira gasped.
Vikram stepped back.
"That's impossible," Bharat said.
"It's the truth."
"Rajan is—"
"Your biological father. The one who cursed you. The one who tried to kill you before you were born."
Pause.
"Why?"
"Because you were evidence. Proof of his indiscretion. A threat to his inheritance."
Pause.
"So he made a deal with a dying god. Cursed you. Paid to have your mother silenced."
"But she survived," Bharat said quietly.
"Yes. Because I intervened."
"How?"
"I made a counter-deal. Bound her to this temple. Kept her alive but... locked away."
"For twenty years."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you free her?"
"Because the binding was the only thing keeping her alive. Break it, and she dies instantly."
Pause.
"Unless you do it."
"Me?"
"You're her son. Her blood. The curse recognizes you."
Pause.
"If you break the binding, she lives."
"And if I don't?"
"She fades. Slowly. Painfully. Until there's nothing left."
Silence.
Mira looked at her father.
"And what about me?"
"What about you?"
"This mark. The one you put on me."
Dev's expression didn't change.
"It was insurance."
"Insurance against what?"
"Against you abandoning Bharat."
"You mean abandoning your guilt."
Pause.
"I needed you to stay with him," Dev said carefully. "To make sure he survived long enough to reach this moment."
"So you enslaved me."
"I protected you."
"By turning me into a puppet?"
"It was the only way."
Mira stepped forward.
Hand glowing.
The mark flaring bright.
"Remove it."
"I can't."
"You put it there. You can take it off."
"Not without killing you."
Pause.
"What?" Mira's voice broke.
"The mark is tied to your life force. Remove it prematurely, and your heart stops."
"Then how do I get rid of it?"
"You don't. Not until Bharat breaks his curse."
"Why?"
"Because the two bindings are linked. His mother's imprisonment. Your enslavement. Both tied to the same divine contract."
Pause.
"Break one, you break both."
"You used us," Bharat said.
"I gave you a chance to survive."
"By making us prisoners."
"By giving you purpose."
Bharat's hand closed into a fist.
"I should kill you."
"You could try."
"Don't tempt me."
Dev looked at him.
"I know you're angry. You have every right to be."
"Damn right I do."
"But killing me won't save your mother. Won't save Mira."
Pause.
"Only you can do that."
"How?"
"Go inside. Face the binding. Break it."
"And if I fail?"
"Then we all die."
Pause.
Mira grabbed Bharat's arm.
"Don't."
"I have to."
"Bharat—"
"There's no other way."
She looked at him.
Tears streaming.
"I can't lose you."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"No. But I'm going anyway."
He kissed her.
Long.
Hard.
Like it might be the last time.
Then he walked into the temple.
Into the dark.
Alone.
Inside, the air was cold.
Colder than the desert had any right to be.
Like winter had found a place to hide.
The walls were covered in carvings—divine script, prayers, warnings. All of it glowing faint gold in Bharat's vision.
And at the center:
A woman.
Suspended in light.
Eyes closed.
Breathing but not moving.
Alive but not living.
His mother.
Bharat stopped.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
She looked exactly like the photo.
Except older.
Thinner.
Like time had been eating her slowly.
Around her, golden chains.
Divine binding.
Holding her in place.
Keeping her prisoner.
Bharat activated the Codex.
TARGET: Maternal Prison (Divine Binding)
Strength: EXTREME
Break cost: 10 days lifespan
Success rate: 43%
Failure penalty: Host death + Mother's soul erasure
Proceed? Y/N
Ten days.
He had fifteen.
Minus ten = five.
Five days to find the Unmade City.
Five days to break the original curse.
Five days to not die.
Impossible.
But he pressed YES anyway.
The chains shattered.
Light exploded.
His mother's eyes opened.
And the mark on Mira's chest outside—
Went supernova.