The air was thick with smoke, incense, and the stifling weight of grief. Jaipur's evening sky was painted in shades of orange and gray as the funeral pyre burned. Sid Verma's body lay on the wooden platform, his hands folded over his chest, a serene mask on his lifeless face that betrayed none of the violence that had taken him.
Lucy stood at the edge of the crowd, her umbrella useless against the drizzle of tears and rain. She felt numb, as if every drop of rain was a reminder of her failure. Around her, students, teachers, and family members whispered condolences, but their voices faded into a dull hum. She only heard Sid's name echoing in her mind.
> "Lucy…" she whispered, a shiver running through her soaked frame. "I'm so sorry…"
Nick Verma stood on the other side of the city, far from the funeral, but closer to its flames than anyone could imagine. He had managed to bribe a guard, just enough to hear of Sid's death before the authorities could shield him from the news. Sitting in the dim light of his cell, he saw the image on a flickering screen: Sid, lifeless, surrounded by mourners.
His fist slammed into the wall.
> "You took him from me… from all of us. You think this is justice? This is war!"
Every beat of his heart pulsed with vengeance. Nick knew he would not rest until he made the world pay for Sid's death. He started planning in the shadows, recalling every weak link, every past betrayal, every person who had wronged his family.
Back at the pyre, Lucy watched the flames consume Sid's body. Her tears fell into the fire, hissing as if the world itself was condemning her. She had been trained to take lives, to eliminate threats, but she had never been prepared to lose someone she loved — someone innocent.
> "This isn't over," she whispered to herself. "I have to stop him… I have to…"
The ceremony ended, mourners left, and the pyre turned to ashes. But Lucy couldn't leave. She knelt beside the ashes, gathering what little strength she had left. Sid's sketchbook, now charred at the edges, held the last traces of his life — his drawings of her, of their moments together, of a world that had been stolen.
Somewhere, Nick's eyes burned with the same fire that had consumed the city's streets for years. He was free in a few days, and when he walked out of that cell, the world would tremble.
Lucy rose, drenched and hollow. She did not know what awaited her, only that the storm — Nick Verma — was coming. And no matter what she did, it would leave no one unscathed.
The rain fell harder, washing away footprints, but not sins.
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