It was nearly dark now, and the building was engulfed in shadows. Rishi had been trapped inside since noon. No windows were open, and the door was locked. Even the window he had entered through was sealed from the outside. Rishi was growing increasingly frustrated. His phone had no signal, and he had no idea where Vedant was. He had banged on windows, tried breaking doors, but it was as if the building itself was cursed. Rishi couldn't understand what was happening to him. Was anyone even in this building, or was it haunted? And if someone was there, why couldn't he see them?
He had searched every corner of the building but found nothing—except construction materials on the upper floors.
"Why did Kabir Sinha schedule a press conference here? This is a construction site. Only the ground floor is complete—and that too, perfectly polished," he muttered to himself.
Only the ground floor was finished and fully set up. The upper floors were still under construction. Had Kabir deliberately chosen this location for the press conference? But why? Rishi grew more agitated. He had searched every inch of the ten-story building but found nothing noteworthy. Darkness was falling fast. As night came, the lights went out too. There was no point in going to the upper floors now—they were filled only with construction debris.
Rishi turned on his phone's flashlight. He was still scanning the hall, which had seemed grand during the day but now looked haunted.
"I never imagined this place would feel so haunted. Is Kabir Sinha hiding something? Is that why he chose this building for the press conference?" Suddenly, he heard a loud thud from the upper floor. He jumped. What could it be at this hour? He had seen everything during the day, and the place had been eerily silent like a graveyard.
His hands began to tremble. Before he could think further, he heard footsteps. His throat tightened. The footsteps were slow and ominous, as if someone had stepped out from the upper floor onto the stairs. Rishi immediately pointed his flashlight toward the staircase. At the very top stood a shadowy figure. Rishi screamed, and his phone slipped from his hand, hitting a large showpiece nearby.
It was pitch dark. Rishi didn't realize his phone had fallen into a flowerpot. He began searching the floor in the dark, but found nothing—only disappointment. His eyes kept darting back to the figure on the stairs. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting a faint glow on the figure. But the face remained hidden. What was visible was the tall, broad frame and long, messy hair falling over the forehead.
Suddenly, the figure took a step forward, and Rishi's heartbeat raced like a jet engine.
"W-w-who are you? D-d-don't come near me," Rishi stammered as he quickly pulled a knife from his bag and gripped it tightly with both hands, pointing it toward the shadow. The figure's steps paused slightly, but even in the darkness, Rishi could sense the sinister smile gleaming through the figure's eyes.
"Look… don't come any closer. I have a knife," Rishi said, clutching it tighter. By now, the shadow had reached him. It was too dark to see his face clearly, but Rishi could tell that his expression radiated the victorious grin of a psycho killer.
Rishi backed up against the wall, pushing the knife forward to scare him off. The shadow stood still. Rishi swallowed hard and, gathering some courage, lunged slightly forward to strike—but the figure grabbed both of Rishi's wrists with one hand and slammed him against the wall. Rishi's cheek was crushed against the surface, his arms pinned above him. The grip on his wrists was so tight that the knife slipped from his hand with a metallic clink and fell to the floor.
Rishi struggled, but the shadow's hold was firm. He leaned in so close that his lips brushed Rishi's ear. His warm breath grazed Rishi's ear and neck. Rishi's heartbeat seemed to stop. It felt as if his soul had left his body and was mocking him.
"You made the biggest mistake of your life by crossing paths with me, Mr. Rishi Thakur. Not even God knows about me unless I allow it—so who do you think you are?" Rishi froze. Was this the writer? He thought to himself.
"Yes, I am," the figure whispered.
Rishi felt death pass him by. He wanted to speak, but his lips wouldn't move.
"Did you think stalking me would help you uncover who I am? No—you'll lose your life instead. I am a walking death, Rishi Thakur. Following me is like chasing death itself." A chill ran through Rishi's bones. The figure traced a finger along Rishi's cheek. Rishi's eyes shut tight. His breathing grew heavy, and his chest and back heaved against the figure's own.
The shadow smiled in the dark. He leaned even closer and sank his teeth into Rishi's ear—hard enough to make Rishi scream in pain. Rishi shoved him back with all his strength. The figure hadn't expected that and stumbled backward. Rishi seized the moment, grabbed the knife, and with the agility of a cheetah, slashed it across the figure's arm.
A deep gash appeared, and blood spilled onto the floor—even in the darkness, Rishi could see it clearly. But the figure didn't flinch. Not even a gasp escaped him. Rishi was stunned. As the figure gave no reaction, Rishi staggered slightly.
Then came that crooked smile again, visible at the corners of his eyes. The figure clapped once. Rishi didn't understand, but suddenly four guards appeared. He tried to escape, but the muscular guards threw a bag over his head and tied his hands.
Rishi didn't know it yet, but this was the biggest mistake of his life.