Arjun's POV: 

The door finally gave in with a loud crack.

I stumbled into the apartment, gun drawn, heart thudding so hard it drowned out every other sound. The scene in front of me froze time.

Prakash lay crumpled on the floor in a pool of blood, his eyes wide open, glassy, and lifeless. Neil was crouched beside Priya, whose hand still held the gun, her expression caught somewhere between horror and confusion. Her body was rigid, the aftermath of adrenaline still pulsing through her frame.

"Priya?" I whispered.

She didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on the body.

"Priya!" I rushed forward, grabbing her shoulders. She blinked, snapping out of the daze. But there was no fear in her—only shock.

"I didn't want to kill him," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted him alive... I wanted to find out who the real monster was. The one who made him do this."

Neil slowly stood up, hands trembling, blood spattered across his sleeves. "He came at her with a knife. I—I had to... I helped her shoot. I'm sorry... I didn't mean for it to end like this. I just wanted to protect her."

I looked at him, searching his face for sincerity. 

Before I could respond, Priya staggered back. Her hand went to the back of her head and came back slick with blood.

"Shit," I muttered, catching her just before she collapsed again.

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(In the hospital)

The sharp scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. Beeping monitors and murmurs of nurses floated around the hospital room as I sat by Priya's side, staring at her pale face. She looked strangely peaceful despite everything. A white bandage was wrapped around her head, and her left hand had an IV running.

The door opened and the doctor walked in, adjusting his stethoscope.

"She's stable now," he said. "The wound needed five stitches. A minor concussion, but nothing life-threatening. Still, she'll need rest—at least a week. No stress, no fieldwork."

I nodded in relief. "Thanks, Doctor."

As if on cue, Priya stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, confused at first, then sharp.

"Arjun?"

"I'm here," I said, leaning closer. "You're safe. You're at the hospital. It's over."

She exhaled and winced as the pain flared up. "Where's Nila?"

"I dropped her at the hostel. She's safe. Don't worry about her."

"Neil?" she asked next.

Before I could answer, Neil himself entered the room, a bouquet in hand and guilt painted across his face. He gave her a small, nervous smile.

"I... I just wanted to check in on you," he said softly. "I'm glad you're okay."

Priya sat up a little straighter, eyes narrowing just slightly. "How did you get there, Neil?"

He looked startled for a moment, then recovered. "I got a message. It was anonymous. Said you were being held captive and if I wanted to save you, I had to come there."

I exchanged a glance with Priya, but she didn't react. She only nodded slowly.

"And someone hit you from behind?" I prompted.

"Yes. I don't even remember reaching the flat. Everything went dark."

He looked genuinely shaken. But something was... off.

"I'm sorry about what happened," he said. "I know you didn't want to kill him. I should have let you handle it, but when he lunged at you with that knife, I panicked. I thought—"

"It's okay," Priya interrupted him gently. "You did what you thought was right."

I cleared my throat. "We've filed it as self-defense. You may need to attend a few hearings, but you won't face any major charges."

Neil nodded in gratitude, sitting beside her. "Thanks, Arjun."

Later that evening, after she'd rested, Priya asked the doctor if she could go home. The man hesitated but finally relented when she promised not to exert herself.

"I'll go with Neil," she told me as we left the ward. "Can you complete the formalities and email me a copy of the report?"

"Sure," I said, though I wasn't entirely comfortable letting her out of my sight. But Priya was Priya. If she wanted to be alone, she had a reason.

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Author's POV:

Mumbai's skyline glittered like a thousand secrets hidden in plain sight. The streets were quieter now, and the city's chaos had faded into an almost deceptive calm.

Neil steered the car with one hand, the other resting lazily on the gear. "Let's grab something on the way?" he asked. "You need rest, not cooking duty."

Priya gave a soft nod, her head still aching but her thoughts sharper than ever.

"Chinese?" he offered, already pulling into the parking space near her favorite takeaway joint. "You love the burnt garlic noodles from this place, right?"

She blinked. He remembers that? She forced a smile. "Yeah, sure."

While Neil stepped out to pick up the order, Priya sat in silence, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Her eyes lingered on the rear-view mirror, where the last fragments of dusk clung to the city skyline like blood on broken glass.

Something didn't sit right.

Everything about the day gnawed at her from the inside.

They reached her flat in silence. Neil unlocked the door, let her in, and said, "Go freshen up. I'll set the table."

Priya obeyed, more out of habit than comfort. In the bathroom, she stared at her reflection. Her face looked different now—warier. The woman looking back wasn't just recovering from an attack. She was suspicious. Watching. Unfolding a puzzle inside her mind.

By the time she stepped back into the living room, Neil had already set the table. Two plates. Two glasses. Even the soy sauce had been opened and poured into a small ceramic bowl like he'd done this a hundred times.

She sat down quietly.

He smiled, warm and domestic. "I figured you'd want something familiar."

They ate in silence at first. The noodles were just like she remembered—spicy, oily, fragrant. But the taste turned to ash as her mind stirred.

She glanced at him. His back was perfectly straight. Too perfect. His face, unbothered. His jawline clean. His neck—smooth.

And then it hit her.

'There was no wound.'

No bruise. No bandage. No blood-soaked hair. Nothing.

He had claimed to have been knocked out from behind. But his body had been placed—deliberately. When she woke up, he had been lying face-up next to her, his shoes neatly by her side. Not kicked off, not out of place. Arranged.

There was more.

The flat where she'd shot Prakash—spotless. No signs of a struggle. No broken furniture. No sign of the chaos that should have followed if a violent scuffle had occurred.

It had been too clean.

And the way Neil had grabbed her hand just before she fired the gun... how his fingers clamped around hers, how he pushed her finger against the trigger while shouting "Shoot!"

Prakash had dropped the knife. He'd stopped moving. He was crying. They were this close to capturing him alive.

But Neil didn't want that.

He wanted him dead.

Dead men tell no tales.

And then old man's words echoed in her mind again.

"Only that young guy used to visit him before."

Her fork slipped from her hand, clattering against the plate.

Neil looked up. "You okay?"

Priya slowly stood up.

Her voice was low. Steady. Deadly.

"It was you."

He blinked. "What?"

"You were the one visiting Prakash. You knew where he lived. You reached before Arjun. You staged your own 'knockout.' You pushed my finger on the trigger when he had stopped attacking. And the flat—there wasn't a drop of your blood. No swelling. No injury."

Neil's face tightened, lips parting slightly—but no denial came.

"You're God, aren't you?" she whispered, the words tasting like venom. "The one who controlled him. Manipulated him. You fed his hate. You used him to punish women who broke your twisted moral code."

Neil's eyes narrowed.

For a second, he looked confused.

Then he smiled.

Not his usual charming smile.

This was different.

Slow. Sinister. Cold.

"Bingo."

The word landed like a slap.

"I was wondering how long it would take you," he said, pushing the plate away. "You always were the brightest one in the room."

That's all she remembers before blacking out.

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