26.
The road twisted like a serpent, narrowing the farther they drove. Streetlights had long vanished, replaced by thick fog and the hush of the outskirts. Even Aarav, who'd memorized every alley and back road in the city, furrowed his brows at the unfamiliar terrain.
"Where the hell are we going?" he asked, keeping his voice even.
Ravi didn't answer right away. His hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes scanning the dark horizon.
"This place isn't on any map," he finally muttered.
Aarav frowned, turning his face to the window.
The silence between them wasn't hostile — just heavy with all the words neither wanted to say.
The car rolled up a cracked gravel path and stopped in front of an old, decaying house that looked like it hadn't seen life in decades.
Broken shutters. Peeling paint. A single flickering bulb above the door.
Even the air felt wrong — still and cold like something was holding its breath.
They stepped out.
Ravi scanned the perimeter like a wolf, his instincts razor-sharp. The tension in his posture shifted — subtly at first, but Aarav caught it.
"What is it?" Aarav asked quietly.
Ravi's eyes narrowed. "Trouble".
Aarav followed his gaze and saw movement in the shadows beyond the overgrown fence. Six, maybe seven figures slipping between the trees. They moved too confidently to be lost civilians.
Mercenaries.
"Do you have your gun?" Ravi asked without looking at him.
Aarav pulled his coat aside, revealing the handle tucked into his waistband. "Always."
"Good." Ravi cracked his knuckles.
The next few seconds were soundless, charged.
And then the first shot fired.
Ravi ducked, rolled behind a concrete pillar, and returned fire.
His pistol barked into the night, dropping one of the attackers instantly.
Another man charged him with a blade — a mistake.
Ravi's massive frame turned with precision, and he grabbed the man mid-swing, slamming his elbow into his nose with a sickening crunch.
The attacker collapsed like dead weight.
Aarav, meanwhile, was all speed and precision.
He darted between cover, moving like a shadow.
One man tried to shoot him at close range, but Aarav had already closed the distance — he kicked the gun from the attacker's hand and delivered a punishing punch to the throat, then a brutal knee to the ribs. The man dropped, gasping for air.
Another attacker lunged at Aarav with a chain. Aarav ducked the swing and slammed the back of his gun into the man's temple.
Ravi laughed — a rare, unhinged sound — as he flipped a man over his shoulder with terrifying ease. Blood spattered across the dirt as he delivered a bone-shattering punch to the next guy's jaw.
"You've gotten rusty, Sir," Ravi called out mid-fight, shooting two more without blinking.
Aarav ducked a knife swipe and fired into his attacker's leg. "Shut up and focus!"
Within minutes, the clearing was scattered with unconscious or writhing bodies. Two tried to flee — Ravi grabbed one by the back of his collar and slammed him headfirst into a tree.
Breathing heavily, Ravi wiped the blood off his knuckles.
"That all of them?" Aarav asked, eyes scanning the woods.
"For now."
There was a pause.
Then Ravi turned, eyes sharper than before. "I'll clean up the rest. You go inside. Shaurya's in there"
Aarav hesitated. His pulse still thundered from the fight, and the taste of adrenaline coated his tongue.
But Ravi's voice dropped lower. "He needs you. C'mon don't back off. You were the one who was willing to come here".
Something in those words stilled Aarav. The fight outside was over.
The real one — the one he'd been avoiding for six years — was just inside.
He turned toward the house and stepped into the darkness, heart pounding for a different reason now.
The old house creaked like it had a memory of pain.
Aarav stepped inside, the heavy wooden door groaning behind him before closing with a quiet thud. Darkness swallowed the space whole — thick, absolute. No lights. Just silence, except for the muffled throb of wind pressing against the rotting walls.
He pulled out a flashlight and clicked it on.
The narrow beam cut through dust and shadow, sweeping across a gutted sofa, cobwebbed corners, and paint peeling off the walls like burned skin. The air smelled of iron, mildew, and something darker. Something metallic. Something red.
"Shaurya?" he called softly, voice barely above a whisper.
No response.
He moved through the hallway, the flashlight steady in his grip, his gun in the other. Each step echoed like a challenge. A cold shiver crept down his spine — this house wasn't just abandoned, it was stained. Stained with violence. He could feel it in the air, in the floorboards under his boots.
A door ahead was ajar.
Aarav slowed, his instincts sharpening. No sound came from beyond it, just the faintest flicker of movement in the narrow gap. He stepped closer, holding his breath. With practiced silence, he pushed the door open with the edge of his foot and entered the room.
Then he saw it — a figure, creeping forward, crouched low, the dim light glinting off the blade in his hand. He was inching toward someone seated at the far end of the room.
Shaurya.
Aarav didn't think.
He surged forward, locked his arm around the attacker's throat, and yanked him back with brutal force.
The man struggled, clawing, choking — but Aarav didn't give him the chance to breathe.
He twisted the knife from the man's grip, threw it aside, and with a cold snap of muscle and instinct, twisted his neck.
The body fell limp, collapsing to the floor with a sickening thud.
Silence returned.
Aarav's chest rose and fell in heavy breaths as he stepped over the body and turned his flashlight toward the figure sitting in the shadows.
Shaurya.
He was slouched on the ground, legs stretched out in front of him, leaning against the wall as if he hadn't heard a thing. His black shirt was soaked in blood — some his own, some not. His face was calm, too calm, and his eyes... empty.
Aarav's flashlight swept sideways — and that's when he saw it.
A headless body lay sprawled beside Shaurya. Limbs twitching slightly, blood pooling in thick puddles beneath. The air was metallic and heavy with death.
Aarav stepped forward, cautiously, slowly, like approaching a broken animal that might still lash out. He knelt down beside Shaurya and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Shaurya didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even breathe like a man anymore.
"Shaurya..." Aarav whispered.
He crouched in front of him, slowly, his breath trembling in his chest. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he raised both hands and gently cupped Shaurya's face.
His palms were shaking.
Not just from fear, or from adrenaline — but from something rawer. Deeper. That ache he never admitted out loud.
"Shaurya, it's me. Look at me."
For a moment, nothing.
Then Shaurya blinked and slowly turned his head until their eyes met. And something flickered in those dark, exhausted eyes — something human.
"Say something," Aarav murmured, the words feeling unfamiliar in his mouth.
Shaurya's lips parted.
"Aarav," he said, simply.
It sounded like both a prayer and a confession. Aarav exhaled sharply, his fingers trembling as they moved up to gently brush through Shaurya's hair — hair now damp with sweat, dust, and traces of blood. The world around them blurred. All the chaos and violence melted for a second.
"Aarav..." Shaurya said again, this time weaker, broken, like the syllables themselves hurt.
Aarav leaned forward, closing the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around Shaurya, pulling him close, even though every part of him screamed not to. His heart thundered, torn between memory and fury.
Shaurya sighed, but he didn't move. Didn't lean into him.
"Stop this," Shaurya said softly.
"No," Aarav cut in, voice sharp. "Shut up. Don't talk."
His arms tightened, though he hated how instinctively they did.
"I didn't want to hold you. I shouldn't hold you," Aarav said, his voice shaking. "You thought I would break down just because you randomly show up after six years?"
Shaurya turned his head slightly, not smiling, not taunting — just observing. Quiet.
"You're breaking down," he said.
And Aarav hated how right he was.
He hated how that simple truth made something inside his chest sting. Tears didn't fall, but his throat closed. His arms were still around the one man who had hurt him — and he didn't let go.
"I hate you".
"You should", Shaurya said, his eyes never leaving Aarav's.
The door creaked open behind them.
Ravi stepped in, blood on his knuckles, breathing slightly heavy. He paused at the scene in front of him — two bodies on the floor, one still warm, one long gone. And in the center of it all: Aarav, clinging to a man covered in blood, broken in more ways than one.
Ravi's jaw tightened.
"Aarav Sir," he said quietly.
Aarav blinked and looked up, fingers reluctantly falling away from Shaurya.
"Help me get him up," he muttered, voice rough.
Ravi walked over without another word. Together, they pulled Shaurya to his feet. He wavered but didn't resist. His head dropped slightly, his weight more emotional than physical.
"Take care of the bodies," Aarav said to Ravi, avoiding looking at the corpses.
Ravi nodded once. "You take him. I'll clean this mess."
Aarav steadied Shaurya, looping one arm around him. The warmth of his body, the scent of blood and cold sweat clinging to him — all of it dragged Aarav backward into a place he wasn't sure he could survive again.
But still... he didn't let go.