The knock echoed again—three sharp raps against the wooden door, steady and deliberate.
Nayra's fingers dug into Vihaan's sleeve. The boy pressed himself against the wall, his eyes wide with fear. The lamp in the corner sputtered, casting trembling shadows across the room.
Vihaan raised a finger to his lips, signaling silence. They waited, the only sounds the heavy rain outside and the pounding of their own hearts.
Another knock followed. This time slower. Louder. Whoever stood outside was in no hurry.
Nayra whispered, "What if it's them?"
Vihaan moved quietly toward the door, pressing his ear against the wood. At first, nothing but the patter of rain. Then—faint breathing. Someone was standing there. Listening. Waiting.
"Who is it?" Vihaan called, trying to sound firm.
A pause. Then a voice answered, muffled by the wood.
"Open. Quickly."
It was a man's voice, deep, hurried, yet strangely familiar.
The boy shook his head violently. "Don't. Please, don't."
But the door creaked anyway. The innkeeper stepped inside, his tall figure filling the doorway. His hair was damp from the rain, his coat dripping water onto the floor. His eyes darted around the room, finally settling on Nayra.
"You shouldn't be here," he said in a low tone. "They know."
Vihaan stiffened. "What do you mean?"
The innkeeper shut the door behind him and lowered his voice. "The police. The Circle. They're searching. Word's spread you were at the mansion. They'll come tonight."
The boy paled. Nayra's lips parted in a silent gasp.
Vihaan narrowed his eyes. "And how do you know this?"
The innkeeper didn't answer right away. He looked at the boy, then at Nayra, then back to Vihaan. "Because I used to run with them. I know how they move."
The room fell into silence.
"You were one of them?" Vihaan's voice hardened.
"I was forced," the man said quickly. "Years ago, when my brother disappeared. They came to me, promised safety. What choice did I have? But I left. I built this place to stay hidden. Still… I hear things. And tonight, I heard enough."
Nayra stood, her hands trembling. "If you were one of them, why should we trust you now?"
The innkeeper met her gaze, his expression heavy. "Because I have nothing left to lose. And because… I remember your face. You used to walk past this inn with books in your arms. Always smiling. I never thought they'd touch you."
Nayra's throat tightened. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
Vihaan studied him carefully. The man's words carried weight, but so had the warnings of others. In Ramgarh, trust was as dangerous as betrayal.
"Then help us," Vihaan said. "Tell us what you know. Tell us who's behind this Circle."
The innkeeper shook his head. "Names are dangerous. Speaking them is like inviting death itself. But… there is someone in this town who works closest with them. A face you've seen. A voice you've heard. You'll think them harmless, but they are the hand that feeds the shadows."
"Who?" Nayra whispered.
The innkeeper opened his mouth—
A crash downstairs cut him off.
Glass shattering. Heavy boots stomping against wood. Voices shouting.
The innkeeper cursed under his breath. "They're here."
The boy bolted to the window. "We have to run!"
Vihaan pulled Nayra toward him. "Is there another way out?"
The innkeeper nodded quickly. "Back stairs. Leads to the alley."
But before they could move, footsteps thundered up the stairs. A door slammed open down the hall. Then another.
"They're searching room by room," the boy whispered in panic.
The innkeeper yanked open a small cupboard built into the wall. Behind it, a narrow passage sloped downward. "Go! Now!"
Nayra hesitated only a second before climbing inside. The boy followed. Vihaan lingered, glaring at the innkeeper. "If this is a trap—"
"It isn't," the man snapped. "Now move!"
Vihaan ducked inside. The innkeeper shoved the cupboard shut just as the door to their room burst open.
Darkness swallowed them. The passage was damp, musty, barely wide enough to crawl through. Nayra's breath came in quick gasps. The boy scuttled ahead like a frightened animal. Vihaan followed, trying to keep calm, though the claustrophobic walls pressed against him like a coffin.
Shouts echoed faintly from above. Heavy boots. The sound of furniture overturning. The Circle's men were tearing the inn apart.
They crawled for what felt like an eternity before the passage opened into a small stone chamber. A wooden ladder led upward to a trapdoor. The boy pushed it open cautiously. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain and mud.
They emerged into an alley behind the inn. The storm had not relented. Water rushed through the cobblestones, lightning split the sky, and thunder roared across the mountains.
"Where do we go?" Nayra asked, her voice shaking.
The boy pointed toward the forest beyond the town. "They won't follow us there tonight. Not in this storm."
They ran, their feet splashing through puddles, their clothes heavy with water. Behind them, the inn blazed with lantern light, shadows moving wildly inside. Shouts rose above the storm—furious, relentless.
But the forest loomed ahead, dark and unwelcoming. The trees swayed violently in the wind, their branches clawing at the sky. The rain drummed against the canopy, creating a constant hiss.
Nayra stumbled, nearly falling, but Vihaan caught her arm. "Keep going," he urged. "We're almost there."
They plunged into the trees. The storm's roar dimmed slightly, muffled by the thick canopy, but the darkness here was deeper, heavier. Every branch creaked like a whisper. Every shadow seemed to move.
Finally, they stopped in a small clearing. All three collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
Nayra pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes wide. "We can't keep running forever. They'll find us."
"They already have," the boy whispered. His face was pale, his eyes fixed on the edge of the clearing.
Vihaan followed his gaze. Through the curtain of rain, a figure stood among the trees. Motionless. Watching.
It was the stag-mask.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the pale horns, the hollow eyes, the mask dripping with rain. For a heartbeat, the figure did not move. Then it lifted a hand, pointing straight at them.
Nayra let out a cry. The boy scrambled backward. Vihaan stood protectively in front of them.
But before the masked figure could step closer—
A gunshot split the night.
The sound echoed through the forest, sharp and violent. Birds erupted from the trees, screeching as they vanished into the storm.
The stag-mask staggered, then disappeared into the shadows as though swallowed by the rain.
Vihaan's ears rang. Nayra's scream caught in her throat. The boy stared in shock.
Another figure stepped into the clearing, gun in hand, smoke curling from the barrel.
Vihaan froze, recognition slamming into him.
It was the police officer he had met days earlier—the same one who had told him Nayra's case was closed, the same one who had threatened him to leave Ramgarh.
Now the officer lowered the gun slowly, his eyes glinting in the dim light. A crooked smile spread across his face.
"Looks like you found trouble again, journalist," he said coldly. "And this time… I decide who walks out alive."
The rain poured harder, drowning the silence that followed.