The room held its breath—sterile silence broken only by the soft beeping of machines.
Ayan sat rigid in the chair, fingers locked white in his lap. Hours passed. He barely moved, except to wipe away tears before they fell. He waited—believing warmth would return.
And then—it did.
A twitch beneath the sheets. A flutter of lashes.
Aarav's eyes cracked open to the bleached ceiling, light fracturing into blurred slivers. His chest hitched, ribs aching from the fight to stay alive. One heartbeat at a time, the world sharpened.
And there—Ayan. Still waiting. Aarav couldn't believe it… he was truly here, beside him.
"A-Ayan…" The word rasped from Aarav's lips, fragile, broken, alive.
Ayan's head snapped up, disbelief flooding him. "Senior…" His voice trembled, cracked with relief.
He surged forward, arms wrapping around Aarav with desperate care. "Are you okay?" he whispered, breath shaking.
Aarav winced but lifted an arm anyway, draping it weakly around him. A touch, soft but real.
"I thought I lost you," Ayan breathed, his face pressed to Aarav's chest.
Aarav's eyes shut, a faint smile pulling through the ache. "Never," he murmured. "How could I leave, when you love me this much?"
And then silence again—but different. No longer hollow with dread. Now, it hummed with healing.
Ayan pulled back, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I'll call Abhi. He's outside—been waiting too."
His voice lifted. "Abhi… come fast!"
Abhi appeared in the doorway at once. He froze. Aarav—awake. Eyes open. Breathing. Alive. The sight knocked the breath from his chest. He stepped forward, trembling.
"Brother…" The word was a whisper, almost broken.
Aarav managed a faint smile. "Did we scare you?"
That broke something loose in Abhi. He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Scare me? You left me to fight alone. I didn't sleep, I didn't eat. Every minute I thought—what if I lose you? What if I lose Father?" His voice cracked, spilling weeks of strength all at once.
His chest heaved, words tumbling out raw, like wounds that had festered too long.
Aarav's hand rose, weak but steady, curling around Abhi's face. That same faint smile lingered—gentle, tired, but full of quiet promise. He didn't need to say it. His eyes told Abhi: You don't have to carry it anymore.
"Are you tired?" Aarav asked gently, seeing the storm behind his brother's eyes.
Abhi blinked hard, as if he wanted to complain about everyone and everything—but instead he leaned in, holding his brother in an embrace heavy with all the pain he had carried alone.
Aarav smiled faintly, lifting a weak hand to ruffle Abhi's hair.
Across from them, Ayan watched—two brothers finding each other again. His chest rose with reverence. The moment felt sacred.
Then Aarav reached out, curling his other hand around Ayan's. His thumb brushed over Ayan's knuckles until their hands stilled together.
Silence stretched, steady and fragile.
Then Abhi pulled back, his face hardened. "Brother," he said low. "That day—do you remember anything?"
Aarav's brow furrowed. Memories came jagged, blurred. "We were ambushed," he murmured. "After the shots… someone came in. A man. I'd seen him before, I'm sure. But his face—" he shook his head. "It's all blurred. Like the room was spinning."
Abhi's jaw clenched. He breathed slow, forcing the fire down. "Don't push yourself. Just rest," he said gently, though an edge sharpened the words.
Aarav's grip tightened—weak, urgent. "Abhi…" His gaze locked on him, clear now, steady. "I know what you're thinking. That this leads back to Mr. Singh. But it doesn't. It can't."
His eyes flicked toward the other bed—Mr. Singh, pale and unconscious. "He never hated Papa like that," Aarav whispered. "They fought, yes. But to hurt him? No. He can't."
Abhi stayed silent, the storm behind his eyes unreadable.
"Promise me," Aarav pressed. "You won't become reckless."
A beat.
Abhi held his stare, then bowed his head with a soft exhale. Shoulders eased, restraint returning. He wanted to promise—for Aarav, he had to. But deep inside, the fire still burned.
---
[The hospital's back room]
The room was dark, airless. A thin blade of gray light leaked through the blinds, carving prison bars across the floor. Fear clung thicker than dust, souring every breath.
Two nurses crouched by the cabinets, eyes shivering, shoulders quaking. One let out a muffled whimper, then strangled it back when the men at the table shifted.
The door creaked. Another subordinate entered, head bowed, and laid a folder onto the black table like a sacrifice.
The leader flipped it open with precise hands. Inside—floorplans. The farmhouse unraveled in ink: every hallway, exit, and blind spot. His gaze sharpened. Fingers hovered over the phone, calculating. Then he dialed.
The silence stretched, broken only by shallow, uneven breathing.
"Master," one of the men said softly. "We found the place. And its blueprint."
The voice that answered was smooth, steady, lethal. "Good. Strike tonight."
A pause, the faintest hesitation. "Tonight?"
"Yes." The words cut like glass. "He believes he's safe—surrounded by family. Tear it away."
Then the voice dropped lower, colder. "And understand this: I'll be the one to kill them."
The line clicked dead.
The leader's gaze slid to the nurses curled against the wall. He stepped closer, crouching so they could see the smile that never reached his eyes.
"You will forget this," he whispered, soft as velvet, sharp as steel. "Or no one will ever find you—or your family."
A thud—the door clicked, closed. They all left.
---
The nurses sat frozen long after the men were gone. One pressed trembling hands to her mouth, sobbing.
Another's eyes darted to the phone half-hidden under the cabinet. She had kept it there all along, the same phone she used to quietly send updates about Mr. Rawat's condition. Each message carefully worded, never enough to draw suspicion, but enough that he would know.
Now, with the men gone, she pulled it free. Her hands trembled so badly she nearly dropped it.
The line clicked.
She swallowed. "M-Mr. Singh?"
Silence—then: "Yes. You." His tone was low, but there was recognition. He knew this number—she was the one who had kept him informed.
Her voice cracked. "They… they found the farmhouse. The blueprints. They're going to strike tonight. Their master said he will kill everyone himself… They might attack you too."
The weight of her words pressed into the silence.
Mr. Singh's voice was calm, but beneath it lay steel. "You saw their master?"
"No… only his men." Her breath shuddered. "But please—you have to protect my family. If they find out I helped you—" Her voice broke into sobs.
A pause. Then, the cold iron in his voice shifted, steadied.
"You've already done more than enough. I give you my word—no harm will come to your family."
Tears blurred her vision. "Thank you, sir…"
The line ended, but his words lingered—an anchor in the storm. For the first time that night, she allowed herself a fragile breath of hope.
---
[Later—Singh Mansion]
The study was quiet, lit only by the lamp on the desk. Mr. Singh sat in his chair, gun resting against the papers, eyes fixed on the door. He wasn't tense. He was waiting.
The first sound—boots. Then the crash of the door splintering. Shadows poured in.
Mr. Singh's gun lifted. One shot. A man dropped before he even raised his weapon. Another lunged forward—only to be cut down by a blade from the side. Singh's men, already in position, stepped out from the corners like wolves in formation.
Gunfire roared, but it wasn't chaos. It was precision. Each strike calculated, each movement controlled. Intruders fell one after another, their numbers useless against men drilled to kill with discipline.
A man tried to rush Mr. Singh directly, screaming through his mask. Singh didn't flinch. Two shots to the chest dropped him before his scream finished.
By the time Arun burst in through the main door, weapons ready, the fight was already over. The carpet was soaked in blood, bodies sprawled in heaps. Singh's men stood unshaken, reloading calmly, eyes scanning the exits.
Arun froze mid-step.
Behind him, Annaya walked in, her gaze sweeping from body to body. She stepped forward, urgency breaking her voice.
"Uncle—Papa headed to the farmhouse."
For the first time, Singh's eyes narrowed. He adjusted his cuffs, then turned sharply. "Let's go," he said, voice edged with command.
His men moved instantly, closing ranks. The study doors swung wide again—not with intruders this time, but with Singh leading the charge out into the night.