By morning, the bus station had already turned into a story. Three men, left in blood and broken teeth. One with his jaw hanging loose, another who might never walk again. No one remembered what started it. No one even remembered the boy's face. They only remembered the violence.
The whispers spread through Lahore like smoke. "Some villager… some animal… tore them apart with his bare hands."
At a tea stall near Lakshmi Chowk, Younas sat with swollen knuckles, drinking quietly. His eyes scanned the crowd without hurry. Men glanced his way, then looked quickly elsewhere, as if eye contact might drag them into something they couldn't escape.
A stranger slid onto the chair opposite him. Short, wiry, with slicked hair and a cheap jacket. His eyes lingered on Younas's fists.
"You fight like a mad dog," he said, half-amused, half-wary.
"No one walks away from three armed men. But you…" He let the sentence dangle.
Younas didn't answer. He let the silence hang heavy, like the pause before a blade drops.
Finally, the man leaned in.
"My boss… he likes men who don't think twice. Men who don't stop. Last night, you made noise. Big noise. And noise, in Lahore, doesn't go unnoticed."
Still, Younas was silent. His stare was enough.
The man coughed, covering his nerves.
"Come. Meet him. He wants to see the dog that bites."
---
The den above a butcher's shop reeked of sweat and smoke. Cards slapped against the floor, pistols glinted at men's waists. When Younas entered, the chatter thinned. Eyes tracked him — not curious, not welcoming, but measuring.
At the far end sat Rauf Malik. A heavy man with a gold chain cutting into the fat of his neck. He didn't rise. He only stared.
"So…" Rauf's voice was slow, deliberate. "This is the one who turned three men into meat?"
A ripple of laughter moved through the room. But Rauf didn't laugh. His eyes stayed fixed on Younas, searching for fear.
There was none.
"You've got rage," Rauf said finally. "But rage isn't enough in Lahore. Rage gets men killed. What matters is how you use it."
Rauf gestured lazily to one of his lieutenants.
"Tonight, you'll prove yourself. A shopkeeper down the road refuses to pay. Hides behind excuses, thinks the city's too big for us to touch him. Go… remind him."
The room chuckled, but Younas spoke for the first time, his voice low and steady.
"What do I do?"
Rauf's lips curled.
"Do whatever you want. Burn his shop. Break his bones. Kill him if you feel like it. But by tomorrow, his money comes to me."
Younas leaned forward, eyes glinting.
"Then by tomorrow, you'll have more than money. You'll have fear."
For the first time, Rauf smiled.
"Yes," he murmured. "That's what I wanted to hear."