Pearl's breath was sharp, uneven. Her finger trembled on the trigger. She didn't want to shoot him.But she also didn't know who he was anymore.
Vansh raised both hands slowly. His voice was cracked open.
"I swear to you, I didn't know. I was just following orders. I didn't choose that file name, I didn't choose to lead—"
"But you chose to stay," Pearl cut in. "You chose to lie. You chose me."
"I didn't know how to leave."
"And now I don't know how to forgive you."
The library lights suddenly flickered—just once.And then a voice rang out.
Not in the room.
From her phone.
The same voice that had haunted her inbox, her messages, her mind.
"You always had to find out eventually, Pearl."
Her head snapped to the table. Her phone screen lit up on its own. A message app opened. A video began to play.
A voice distorted by a modulator — robotic, smooth, wrong.
"He was never just the protector. He was the lock and the key."
Vansh stepped toward the phone, face hardening. "No. Don't listen to them. They're trying to twist it."
Pearl's voice was barely a whisper. "Love_peace…"
The screen flickered again.
A photo appeared.
A younger Vansh. Dressed in black. Standing outside her burning house.
Behind him — a figure with a blurred face, wearing a symbol on their jacket: a chess piece.A knight.
Below the image, one line:
"You were never the only pawn."
Pearl's knees almost gave out.
She turned to Vansh, voice cracking."Who else was there that night?"
He didn't answer.
Not fast enough.
Not before the voice said it first:
"Ask him what your father did.Ask him what he covered up."
Pearl looked at Vansh — truly looked.Not at the boy she'd hated. Or the boy she kissed.
But the one standing in the wreckage of every truth she thought she knew
Pearl didn't speak. Didn't breathe.Her eyes were locked on him — the boy she thought she hated, the boy she almost trusted, the boy she kissed.Now just a stranger standing in the ruin of every lie.
Vansh didn't look away.
He couldn't.
So he did the only thing he hadn't done in years.
He told her the truth.
His voice was low. Broken.
"That night… I wasn't supposed to be there. Not like that."
Pearl stayed silent.
"I was just the observer. I'd been watching your house for weeks. I knew your routines. Your mom's late-night tea. Your dad's obsession with locking every window. Your light always on too late."
He looked down."I knew your laugh. I knew when you were alone."
Pearl's jaw tightened.
"I told myself it was just a mission. A girl on a list. A family that crossed the Order. But when the fire started—"
His voice cracked.
"—I saw you at the window. Screaming. Trapped. And I froze."
He ran a hand through his soaked hair, breath sharp.
"And then your dad ran out the front door alone."
Pearl's head snapped toward him. "What?"
Vansh met her eyes. "He left you behind."
The words hit like a bullet.
"He ran to the street — didn't go back. Didn't yell for you. Just… ran."
Pearl's heart was breaking in slow motion. "You're lying."
"No. I watched him do it. He didn't mean to be cruel. He just panicked. But the Order saw it as betrayal. They said he'd made a deal. That he chose himself over the mission. Over you."
He stepped closer, voice shaking. "They punished him for that. And they put me in charge of watching what was left."
Pearl's voice trembled. "And what was left… was me."
He nodded. "You. The girl in the fire. The one I couldn't save."
Tears threatened to fall, but she held them back.
"And all this time," she whispered, "you let me believe he was the hero. That I just survived."
"I wanted to protect you from that pain."
"But you gave me another one instead."
Vansh reached for her hand — slowly, gently.
This time, she didn't pull away.
"I was your enemy once, Pearl," he said, voice thick, "but I never stopped being on your side"
Pearl stared at him, her chest tightening like the world was folding in on itself.
"You never stopped being on my side?" Her voice was a jagged whisper, half disbelief, half pain. "Then why did you lie? Why did you let me suffer in the dark while you stood there watching?"
Her eyes flashed with anger — but beneath it was something deeper. A crack in the wall she'd built around herself.
"You had one job, Vansh. One."
She shook her head, bitter laugh escaping. "And you failed."
Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides, trembling. "I don't know if I can trust you. I don't know if I want to."
But then, just for a heartbeat, the fire in her gaze softened — because despite everything, despite the years of silence and pain, she still wanted to believe.
Vansh stepped closer, voice low, rough. "I don't expect you to forgive me. But I'm here now — not as your enemy."
Pearl swallowed the lump in her throat, the rain mixing with tears she refused to shed.
"I'm not sure I'm ready for anything — except to find out what else you're hiding."
Her words weren't a surrender. They were a challenge.
And Vansh accepted it without hesitation.
A sharp crack split the air—gunfire.
"Move!" Vansh shouted, grabbing Pearl's hand and pulling her into a sprint.
The rain hammered down, soaking them, but there was no time to care.
Shots echoed behind them.
Pearl's breath came fast, panic rising.
Suddenly—a searing pain exploded in her side.
She stumbled, eyes wide.
Before she could fall, Vansh caught her, his arms locking around her like a shield.
"Don't you dare go down," he growled, dragging her behind a crumbling wall.
His heart thundered as he checked the wound—blood seeping through her soaked shirt.
Pearl gasped, clutching him.
"We're not done," Vansh said fiercely. "Not yet."
Vansh pressed his back against the crumbling wall, keeping Pearl close. Her breath was shallow, each heartbeat a sharp stab in her side.
"We have to move," he muttered, eyes scanning the shadows for the shooter.
Footsteps thundered closer.
"Can you stand?" he asked, voice tense.
Pearl nodded, biting back a groan.
Vansh gritted his teeth, helping her up. His grip was firm, unwavering.
"Lean on me. We get out of here together."
They broke into a run again—rain blurring their vision, danger hot on their heels.
Pearl's fingers curled around his arm, trust and desperation tangled in the grip.
They weren't just running from bullets anymore—they were running toward the truth. Together