The heavy wooden doors of the haveli groaned as Amar Veer Randhawa pushed them open. Dust rose in lazy swirls, dancing in the pale light of the moon streaming through broken windows. The courtyard inside was littered with fallen tiles and dry leaves, and a silence that was almost too thick to breathe hung over everything.
Shivangi Thakur followed closely, her steps light but deliberate. Her eyes scanned every shadow, every corner, like she had memorized the layout years ago. She didn't speak. Amar didn't expect her to. Words weren't necessary yet; instincts were.
"This place hasn't changed much," Amar murmured, almost to himself. The desert wind sneaked through cracks, carrying with it the smell of earth and old wood. "Still holds the same secrets."
Shivangi's eyes flicked toward him, sharp. "Some secrets… never leave. You just learn how to live with them."
He didn't respond immediately. His mind was running through patterns, exits, angles, and threats. The haveli wasn't just abandoned. It was alive in its own way—full of hidden corners, silent echoes, and the weight of memories that were too heavy to name. He had learned long ago that buildings could tell stories if you knew how to listen.
A narrow corridor led them deeper into the haveli. Dust-coated chandeliers hung precariously from the ceiling, and broken furniture lay scattered like forgotten chess pieces. Amar ran his hand along the walls, feeling the rough stone. Every step they took echoed softly, like a warning.
Shivangi paused in front of a large archway. "This way," she whispered. Her voice was low, calm, commanding—not loud, but enough to make him notice. She moved with confidence, the kind that came only from someone trained to survive situations where hesitation meant death.
Amar followed, keeping a few paces behind. He didn't speak, didn't need to. He could feel the same tension radiating from her—the same vigilance, the same awareness. She was no ordinary woman. She had been through what he had been through. They were connected by more than just this mission.
They entered a room where the walls were lined with faded paintings and shelves of old books. Amar's eyes caught something unusual—a faint scratch on the floorboards, almost like a deliberate mark. He bent down, running a gloved finger over it. "Someone's been here recently," he said quietly.
Shivangi nodded without turning. "Yes. And not by accident. This place… it's a message."
A sudden creak upstairs made them both freeze. Amar's hand went instinctively to the device in his pocket. Shivangi's eyes narrowed. Not a sound passed, but the room seemed to vibrate with tension. The past they thought they had left behind—the missions, the rules, the code—they were all alive again.
"Careful," Amar murmured, scanning the shadows. "Everything here… it's a trap if we aren't precise."
Shivangi's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "I know. That's why we're here together. You trust me, don't you?"
Amar didn't answer. He only glanced at her once, a silent acknowledgment. Trust wasn't given lightly. Not between people who had survived deserts, gunfire, and nights where silence meant danger. Yet here they were, stepping carefully, side by side, into the unknown.
The light that had appeared in the upper window earlier that evening flickered faintly through a crack in the ceiling. Amar noticed it. Shivangi noticed it too. They shared a look, almost imperceptible, before continuing deeper into the room.
Some things didn't need to be said. The haveli's secrets were calling, and Amar and Shivangi were ready to listen. But somewhere deep inside, both knew—the night was just beginning, and the answers they sought would not come easily.