Mumbai's neon heart thumped. Colaba's lanes churned—rickshaws shrieking, vendors slinging vada pav, air thick with salt, smoke, and sweat. Nisha's heels stabbed the cracked pavement, her breath a blade in her throat. Arjun's shadow led her through the chaos, his leather jacket a dark slash against flickering signs.
"Faster," he hissed, eyes cutting into hers. Her skin prickled, Aether clawing inside—a caged storm starving to break free. Every step sent sparks through her veins, her body betraying her with want.
The paper in her pocket burned like a coal against her thigh. That hooded figure from the alley haunted her, its gaze a cold claw sinking into her spine. Who slipped this into her pocket? Syndicate, her gut screamed, but doubt gnawed deeper.
Her phone buzzed—Rhea. Nisha's thumb hovered, then answered. "I'm okay. Stay at Vortex."
"Nish, it's a mess!" Rhea's voice cracked, music faint. "Cops, broken glass—what's going on?"
"Stay there," Nisha said, voice tight. She hung up, her hands trembling. Aether flickered silver at her fingertips, a secret too heavy to share. Rhea couldn't know. Nobody could.
Arjun yanked her into an alley, his grip sparking heat through her wrist. "Your hands," he said, voice low. "They're a damn beacon."
"Get off," she snapped, pulling free. Her skin burned where he touched, Aether singing for him. It echoed Rohan's betrayal, that old wound stinging fresh. Never trust that pull, she swore.
"Where's your safe place?" she asked, voice sharp. The alley reeked of damp brick and rot, Mumbai's pulse a distant throb.
"Close," he said, smirk flickering like neon. "Unless you'd rather dance here." His neck's mark pulsed, a dark vein under skin, calling her storm.
"Save it," she muttered, lips twitching despite herself. Damn that grin—it lit her up, and she hated it.
They wove through backstreets, the city's hum fading to a murmur. A rusted gate creaked open to a high-rise, its windows black as voids. Arjun keyed a code, the lock clicking. "My spot," he said. "We're ghosts here."
The safehouse was stark—a flickering bulb, sagging couch, air heavy with dust and old metal. Nisha's heels echoed on concrete, each step a spark. "Charming," she said, sarcasm sharp as her knife.
"Keeps us alive," Arjun said, locking the door. He stepped close, his scent—leather, smoke—coiling around her like a trap. Her Aether throbbed, a second pulse in her chest. "You holding up?"
"Don't," she said, stepping back. His eyes peeled her raw, seeing too much. She wasn't ready to crack, not for him.
She pulled the paper from her pocket. It glowed silver, a trapped star pulsing with her heartbeat. Unfolding it, she read: *Find the Veil. Trust no one.* The words shivered, Aether woven into the ink, alive and restless. Her breath caught, her scar tingling faintly.
Arjun leaned in, his breath grazing her neck, warm and dangerous. "That's no ordinary note," he said, voice low. "It's alive with Aether—like us."
"What's the Veil?" she asked, turning. Their faces were too close, her pulse a traitor. His mark pulsed, a dark tide pulling her storm.
"No idea," he said, eyes on her lips. "But it's trouble." His hand hovered near her cheek, heat radiating like a flame. "You feel this, don't you?"
"Back off," she whispered, frozen. Her Aether roared, a buried fire craving his touch. She wanted to shove him, but her body leaned closer, scars be damned.
His grin was wicked. "Liar." He didn't move, letting silence scream between them. Her hands glowed, silver light betraying her hunger.
Glass shattered below, a jagged sound ripping the air. Nisha flinched, Aether spiking like a blade in her chest. "What's that?" she hissed, knife out.
Arjun's face turned to stone. He grabbed a gun from the table, checking it with a flick. "Syndicate," he said. "They're here."
"How?" she asked, hands blazing silver. Her knife felt small against their hunters, her scar prickling with old fear.
"Doesn't matter," he said, pulling her to a back door. "Move."
The stairwell was a trap—echoes, smoke, no light. Nisha's phone buzzed, Rhea's name flashing. She answered, heart pounding. Static hissed, then a voice—not Rhea's—growled, "You can't hide." The call cut, leaving her skin crawling. Her Aether surged, hands glowing too bright.
"Syndicate," Arjun said, glancing back. His mark flared through his jacket, a dark star to her silver tide, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his nose.
A figure blocked the exit. Tall, scarred cheek, black coat. His blade shimmered with Aether, trailing frost in the air. "Running already?" he said, voice like venom.
Nisha's blood froze. Arjun stepped forward, gun raised. "Who are you?"
"Dhruv," he said, smirking. "Syndicate's messenger." His blade twirled, Aether humming, cold as death. "Give me the girl, Khanna."
"Try it," Arjun growled, his mark blazing, blood streaking his lip. Nisha felt his Aether surge, raw and fierce, tugging hers like a tide.
Dhruv's eyes locked on her. "That paper's a death sentence." His voice slithered, silence biting after. "Hand it over."
Nisha clutched the note, Aether sizzling in her hands, hot against the blade's chill. "Come get it," she spat, knife ready.
Dhruv lunged, his blade slicing air, frost trailing like a ghost. Arjun fired, the shot splitting her ears. The bullet grazed Dhruv's arm, but he moved like smoke, his Aether blade slashing at Nisha. She dodged, heels skidding, her Aether sizzling where the blade's frost grazed her skin.
"Run!" Arjun yelled, tackling Dhruv. Their bodies slammed the wall, Aether sparking like a storm. His mark blazed, blood dripping from his nose, face twisted with strain.
"No," Nisha said, slashing Dhruv's thigh. Blood sprayed, and he snarled, his blade grazing her arm. It burned like ice, her Aether flaring in pain, a caged fire fighting to break free. Her scar burned like the night her mother's hand went cold.
Footsteps thundered above—more Syndicate. Nisha's heart sank, her scar searing, a raw echo of that fire, her mother's fingers slipping away. She froze, the memory a knife in her chest.
Arjun smashed Dhruv's head into concrete, knocking him out. He grabbed Nisha's hand, their Aether clashing like lightning. "Out!" he roared, dragging her through the exit, blood smearing his chin.
Mumbai's chaos swallowed them—horns blaring, neon bleeding into the humid night, street food smoke curling in the air. Nisha's arm throbbed, blood sticky under her sleeve. Her scar burned like the night her mother's hand went cold, a wound that never healed. The paper glowed in her fist, heavier than before.
"Where to?" she gasped, Arjun's grip anchoring her. Their Aether tangled, a shared pulse too intense, like a heartbeat stolen from the earth.
"Find the Veil," he said, eyes fierce with something unspoken. He glanced at her wound, jaw tight. "You're bleeding."
"I'm fine," she lied, voice cracking. Dhruv's words clawed her mind: *A death sentence.* Her scar pulsed, tying her to the paper, to the fire, to her mother's loss.
They ducked behind a dumpster, Mumbai's pulse pounding around them. Nisha unfolded the paper, hands trembling. Below the note, a symbol flickered—a jagged circle, split like a wound, pulsing with Aether. Her scar burned like the night her mother's hand went cold, answering it. Arjun's mark flared, blood trickling from his nose again, his face paling, a shadow crossing his eyes.
"This symbol…" he murmured, voice rough. "Last time I saw it, three people died." He didn't elaborate, his silence a weight that pressed against her.
"What is this?" Nisha whispered, fear coiling like smoke. The symbol's pulse matched her Aether, a buried starfire calling her name.
A low hum filled the alley, deep and pulsing like static under her skin. Her breath caught as pressure built behind her eyes, like something ancient was trying to break in. Nisha's Aether surged, her hands glowing like dying stars. Her scar screamed, raw and alive, bound to the symbol's pulse. Something was here—its hunger a shadow creeping beneath Mumbai's neon skin, reaching for her light.