The storm had passed, but the air was still electric. The Rathore Palace lay in ruins from the previous night’s chaos — shattered glass, scorched curtains, and puddles reflecting the faint moonlight. Every shadow seemed to breathe, whispering the promises of danger that had not yet passed.
Saanvi sat on the grand staircase, veil draped around her like a second skin. Her fingers traced the edge of the fabric, memories of the ritual still fresh in her mind. She had broken Kabir’s immediate control, but the fear that had haunted her for years still lingered. And Kabir was not finished.
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