POV: Meher
When people panic, they talk too much.When they lie, they talk too little.When they know something they're afraid to say…They go quiet in a different way.
Nivaan was that third kind.
Sitting in Kiyan's apartment, he looked like a glitch wearing skin. Alive, but… not aligned. Like his body remembered something his brain refused to translate.
I watched him, studying every micro-expression.
His pupils weren't dilating normally.His pulse was steady—too steady.
I'd learned early in medical school:Bodies don't lie. Brains do.
And his body was screaming a truth he didn't understand.
Kiyan moved around like the ground might collapse at any step.
"No offense," he muttered, "but should he even be here? What if—what if someone tracks him?"
Avni shot him a look."Where would you like him to go, genius? Back to storage?"
"Hey, I'm just saying—"He gestured wildly."There's no SOP for 'my dead friend is now not-dead'."
Fair.
He had a point.
There was no manual for this.
I kept my voice calm."What matters now is stabilizing him."
Nivaan blinked."I'm not falling apart."
His words were steady.His shaking fingers disagreed.
Avni sat across from him.She wasn't as collected as she wanted the world to think.Her knee bounced under the table.She was angry, afraid, and way too emotionally involved.
Dangerous combination.
"Tell us again," I said."Everything after you woke up."
He hesitated, eyes unfocused.
"I heard breathing. Not mine. Close. Then someone whispered—Not him."
Avni stiffened.Kiyan paled.
I pressed."And the vision?"
He swallowed."Just… a hallway. Metal floor. Blue lights. People walking."
"Faces?" I asked.
"No."
"Voices?"
"No."
But his hands clenched hard enough his knuckles blanched.
He remembered more.He just didn't trust us yet.
Or himself.
I needed clarity.Evidence.Something tangible.
"Show me your chest," I said.
His head snapped up."What?"
"You said you felt a hand. Pressure. Here."I tapped my own sternum.
He hesitated, then lifted his shirt.
I leaned forward.
Three things stood out immediately:
A faint mark over the sternum — circular, pale, not bruise, not burn.
Raised veins branching outward like lightning scars.
The skin was warm. Too warm.
I pressed the area lightly.He flinched.
"Hurts?"
"More like… humming."
Humming?
Before I could ask, Avni's phone buzzed.She glanced at it—her expression froze.
"What is it?" I asked.
She didn't speak.Just turned the screen toward me.
It was a message.No number.Just text.
STOP DIGGING.
Below it—a photo.
Of us.Right now.Through the apartment window.
My spine went cold.
"Holy—" Kiyan slapped a hand over his mouth. "Bro, we're in a movie."
No one moved.
I stood slowly, stepping toward the window.
Pulled the curtains aside.
Nothing.
Just the street.
Parked cars.Empty footpath.A stray dog sleeping.
No one holding a phone.No movement.
My thoughts raced.Someone was close.Close enough to photograph.Close enough to message.
And bold enough not to hide the fact.
I turned back.
"Do you know this number?" I asked.
Avni shook her head."Spoofed. No trace."
Nivaan stared at the floor.
"They know I'm here."
Not they.He'd said it like he recognized them.
"You remember something," I said.
He shook his head—
too quickly.
"I don't—"
"Don't lie to me."
He froze.
Kiyan stared between us."Uh—aggressive doctor arc—cool cool—"
But I held Nivaan's gaze.
"You're withholding."
His throat worked.
"You think I wouldn't tell you?"His voice broke."I don't know what's mine and what isn't. I don't know what's memory and what's… implanted."
The last word hung heavy.
Avni leaned forward."Implanted? Someone put something in your head?"
"Not my head."He tapped his chest."Here."
The humming under his sternum pulsed again—I could see it.
Like a faint heartbeat, separate from his real one.
What the hell are you?
I pulled a small penlight from my bag.Shined it over the branching veins.
They glowed.For a fraction of a second—blue.
I jolted back.
Avni's breath hitched.Kiyan whispered a curse.
Nivaan just stared at the floor, ashamed of something that wasn't his fault.
You can't shame a body for refusing to stay dead.
Whatever revived him wasn't biological.It wasn't natural.It wasn't accidental.
It was designed.
And whoever designed it wanted him monitored.Controlled.Or retrieved.
Alive.
I straightened, brain racing.
"We move," I said.
Kiyan blinked."Move? Where? A bunker? Goa?"
"Somewhere with fewer windows," I said."And fewer neighbors."
Avni stood."Safer place in mind?"
"Yes."
She raised a brow."Do I want to know?"
"Probably not."
Kiyan groaned."I hate how calm you are."
Inside, I was far from calm.
This was bigger than a medical anomaly.Bigger than a cover-up.Bigger than a rogue organization.
This was a system.A controlled cycle.
A resurrection pipeline.
I grabbed my bag.
"Nivaan, can you walk?"
He nodded, though he looked like standing might snap him in half.
Then, before we could move—
The power cut.
A soft click.Then—darkness.
Silence.
No fan.No hum.Nothing.
Even the street outside went black.
Not a coincidence.
A warning.
Or an invitation.
A low vibration rolled through the floorboards—and Nivaan gasped, clutching his chest.
Blue light pulsed under his skin again—brighter.
And then—
He whispered, terrified:
"They're here."