The hooded man finally reached her, his footsteps heavy against the cracked highway road. His grip tightened on the metal pipe, and with a hiss of breath, he raised it high above his head—aiming straight for Gauri.
But before the weapon could come down, Gauri's hands shot up, her fingers clutching the cold iron with all her strength.
Clang!
The impact never came.
The hooded man froze, stunned. His hidden eyes widened as he felt resistance—Gauri had stopped the blow mid-air.
Her arms trembled under the force, her palm burning where the pipe dug into her skin, but she held on. "Not this time…" she whispered through clenched teeth, her eyes burning with a fierce defiance that hadn't been there moments ago.
The hooded man tried to wrench the pipe free, jerking it violently, but Gauri tightened her grip, refusing to let go. For the first time, it wasn't her screaming, or running, or breaking down—it was him who looked startled.
Their gazes locked, predator and prey—only now, the prey had sharpened its claws.
The hooded man snarled under his breath, struggling to yank the pipe free, but Gauri's grip refused to loosen. Her heart pounded in her chest, but this time it wasn't out of fear—it was fire.
Her voice cracked with both rage and courage as she glared at him.
"Enough!"
The word echoed across the empty highway.
"You've haunted me enough!" she shouted, her voice trembling but firm. "Because of people like you… girls are never safe—not in society, not on the roads, not even in their own homes!"
Her eyes filled with tears, but her grip didn't falter. "And unless we take action ourselves… we will always live in danger."
With a sudden burst of strength, Gauri shoved the pipe forward and pushed him with all her weight.
The hooded man staggered back, his balance breaking, and with a thud he crashed onto the hard ground.
For the first time, Gauri stood over him—no longer prey, but fighter. Her breaths came heavy, her fists clenched, her eyes burning with a mixture of pain and newfound defiance.
Back at the kothari mansion
Vihaan's voice cut through the night like a blade. He stepped forward—no tremor in his stance, only the cold, controlled calm of a man who had chosen his side.
"You listen to me," he said, each word deliberate. "I have one mother. One family. Veena is my mother. This house—these people—are everything I will ever answer to. I don't want Kamini. I don't want your darkness. And I won't let you drag me into whatever hell you worship."
Nishigandha's yellow eyes flashed, a smile curving at the edge of her lips as if she expected him to waver. "You were born to it, Vihaan. The blood—"
"Shut up." He didn't raise his voice; he simply stopped her. "Not tonight."
The air around them thickened. Vihaan's fingers flexed. From his open palm a thin thread of crimson light unfurled, humming with restrained force. It coiled around Nishi like a living rope; the witch's braid twitched as if stung.
She laughed—a sound like silk tearing—then found herself lifted. Her boots scraped at the air. For a long, breathless second she hung there, suspended by that wound of light, eyes darting between the boy she had come to claim and the quiet mansion behind him.
"You won't touch them," Vihaan said quietly, the menace in his tone colder than any shout. "You'll never set foot near this house again. If you do—if you show your face near my mother, near any of them—I will not bind you. I will end you."
Nishigandha's smile faltered, replaced by something slick and dangerous. She twisted, trying to wrench free, talons scraping the halo of red. The light only tightened.
Then, with a motion that was almost casual, Vihaan flung his hand forward.
The crimson cord snapped taut and hurled her across the night like a ragdoll. Nishigandha slammed into the hedges at the far boundary of the lawn and vanished into the shadowed line of trees. The air where she'd been still smoked faintly with the residue of magic.
Silence reclaimed the balcony. The mansion behind him slept on, unaware of what had brushed so close to its walls.
Vihaan stood there a moment longer, chest rising and falling, the last ember of red fading from his palm. His jaw tightened as he whispered to the empty night—more vow than warning:
"Stay away."
Then he turned and walked back inside, each step steady, the house folding back into its quiet rhythm, blind to the battle just fought on its doorstep.
Nishigandha hit the undergrowth hard. Thorn-lashed leaves rasped across her skin; the air itself seemed to hiss as she rolled and pushed herself upright. Pain flared—sharp, electric—where Vihaan's crimson lash had torn through her defenses. She drew in a breath, lips peeling back in a slow, indulgent smile despite the sting.
"You may deny it, Vihaan," she rasped to the empty night, voice carrying through the damp green like a promise, "but Kamini's blood runs in you. The serpent's line does not die."
She flexed her fingers; the ache in them dulled into a manageable burn. Around her, the jungle answered in small, secretive noises—an owl's distant call, the quick scurry of something small through leaf litter. She tasted iron on her tongue and the faint hum of the thrown magic still thrummed under her skin, proof that he had felt—and feared—her.