Tanvir never slept again.
Not because he couldn't—
But because sleep had become irrelevant.
Time bent around him now. Hours stretched, folded, collapsed into moments. The concept of "night" felt like a human illusion he no longer needed.
He stood on the rooftop, watching the city breathe.
Lights flickered like dying stars.
"So fragile," he murmured.
Tanzila stood behind him. "You're not seeing people anymore, are you?"
"No," Tanvir replied calmly. "I see patterns. Movements. Endpoints."
"That's not normal."
"I'm not normal."
Silence settled between them.
Below, a scream echoed.
Tanvir tilted his head slightly—
Then vanished.
He reappeared in a locked apartment.
A man stood frozen in front of him, eyes wide with terror.
"How did you get in?" the man stammered.
Tanvir didn't answer.
Instead, he raised his hand.
The air twisted.
Reality bent like glass under pressure.
"You were always going to die tonight," Tanvir said softly.
"That's not fate."
"It is now."
The man tried to run—
But his body stopped responding.
His limbs froze.
His breath halted.
Like the world had denied him permission to exist.
Tanvir stepped closer and traced a symbol in the air.
It burned into the wall instantly.
The man collapsed.
Gone.
Not dead.
Erased.
Back on the rooftop—
Tanzila looked at him, eyes trembling.
"You didn't even touch him."
"I didn't need to."
"That wasn't killing," she whispered.
Tanvir looked at her, emotionless.
"No," he agreed.
"It was correction."