The street was empty, dimly lit by a flickering lamppost. Kiaan's small frame moved quietly, clutching his backpack tightly, his shoes scuffing the pavement as he walked. Each step felt heavier than the last, the night pressing around him like a living thing.
He hadn't expected anyone to be out here. No one could follow him this far—not without him noticing. And yet, a soft, deliberate voice called out, carrying warmth that immediately made his hackles rise.
"Kiaan… where are you going at this time of night?"
He froze. The voice—sweet, gentle, entirely too perfect—belonged to Rani. She stepped into the pale light of the street, her hair falling freely over her shoulders, moving with a soft, almost hypnotic sway.
Kiaan narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on his backpack. "Stop pretending," he spat, voice sharp. "There's no one else here. So stop putting up an act."
Rani tilted her head, those unnaturally perfect eyes fixed on him. "Pretending?" she asked softly, almost hurt. "Am I pretending?"
"Yes," Kiaan said firmly, stepping back. "I know you. I saw you. Don't try to act sweet to everyone else. It doesn't fool me."
Her lips curved into a small, venomous smile. "I'm not pretending, Kiaan. I… love you. And your papa. A lot."
Kiaan's eyes flickered with disgust and anger. "If you're going to put up this act… get out of my path."
The soft smile fell from her face. Her shoulders straightened. Her movements became deliberate, almost predatory. "Fine," she whispered, voice low, icy, dangerous. "If you want the truth… I'm tired of this pretense too."
Before Kiaan could react, she began to rise. Her hair, once neat and orderly, flowed wildly behind her, long and untamed, catching the dim light of the street. Her skin rippled unnaturally, veins glowing a dark, eerie green across her face. Her eyes—the same perfect green he had glimpsed before—ignited with a feral, supernatural light.
Kiaan froze, heartbeat hammering. He had seen this before—a year ago—but no one had believed him then. Everyone thought he had accused her falsely. But now… the proof was impossible to deny.
"I am Raatrani Pishachini," she declared, voice low, resonant, and carrying a weight that seemed to shake the air itself.
Kiaan's small body trembled, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—did not waver. He took a step back, already thinking, already planning.
This time… no one would dismiss him.
Khushi's eyelids fluttered as sleep tugged her into a haze of shadows and half-formed images. Faces swirled in her mind—blurred, familiar, yet terrifying. She glimpsed a figure with long, flowing hair, eyes glowing green, a voice calling her name, though she couldn't make out the words. Panic prickled at her chest, but the dream dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only a lingering sense of unease.
A sharp jolt shook her awake. Her eyes flew open.
The bus had stopped. Outside, the afternoon sunlight reflected off metal and dust, harsh and glaring. The engine was silent, hissing faintly as the driver and a couple of passengers inspected under the hood. Tools clinked, and someone muttered about a blown gasket.
Khushi sat up slowly, clutching her bag to her chest. Her heartbeat was still racing from the remnants of the dream, and a shiver crawled down her spine.
She glanced out the window, watching the road stretch endlessly through the trees. The silence felt heavier than the broken engine—it carried the echo of something she couldn't quite place, something that felt… watching.
Her fingers fiddled with the strap of her bag, pulling it closer, as if it could shield her from the shadowy figure lingering in the edges of her mind. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.
The bus driver waved, signaling that the problem would be fixed soon, but Khushi's eyes remained distant, her thoughts still tangled in the fleeting images of the dream. Something told her that what she had seen—or felt—was more than just imagination.
And somewhere, deep down, a tiny spark of unease whispered: the shadows were far from done with her.
The street was silent, only the hum of distant traffic filling the night. Kiaan stood squarely in front of Rani, his small frame tense but unyielding. His hand rested lightly on his phone, recording her every word, every movement—though she didn't suspect it yet.
Rani hovered before him, hair flowing in the wind, her green-tinged veins crawling along her face, eyes flickering dangerously. Her voice, soft yet edged with menace, sliced through the stillness.
"You've been such a pain, Kiaan," she said, tilting her head, green eyes fixed on him. "Always in my way. Always stopping me from being with your father. But now… now I've found a way to remove the obstacle you are."
Kiaan's fingers shifted slightly, ending the recording as subtly as he could, sliding the phone back into his grip. His dark eyes never left her. He was calm, collected—small but defiant.
Rani's gaze fell on his hand and the phone immediately. A sly, taunting smile curved her lips. "Recording me, naughty boy?"
Kiaan's lips twitched into the hint of a smirk. "If you have your own phone, why are you so interested in mine?"
Rani's smile hardened. "Over-smart little thing. Hand it over. Now."
Kiaan's gaze sharpened, unflinching. "Afraid your secret will come out if I don't?"
Her laugh was low, chilling. "Bold. I like that. But bold won't save you. You gave me the perfect chance tonight, walking out alone. Now… we'll see how brave you really are."
Kiaan's fists clenched subtly, the golden glow in his eyes struggling against the bracelet's restraint. He couldn't let it free—not here, not now—but he didn't back down.
The wind whispered through the empty street. Kiaan held his ground, phone in hand, and a single thought burned behind his young, determined eyes: she can't get away with this. Not this time.