Shivam pushed open the gate quietly, hoping the lateness of the hour would work in his favor. The street outside had already gone silent, most of Neighborhood was tucked in for the night, shops shuttered, stray dogs curling into doorways. His sneakers scuffed against the concrete, betraying his attempt at stealth.
The faint porch light revealed a familiar figure waiting just inside. His mother. Arms folded, eyes sharp, the kind of look that pierced deeper than any words.
"You said practice ends at seven," she said evenly, though the undercurrent of anger was clear. "It's ten, Shivam. Where were you?"
Shivam froze for a moment, then forced a sheepish half-smile. "I know… I know, Maa. I was with Bhumika. We had to work on the project. It went longer than I expected. I dropped her to her hostel after."
Her gaze softened, but only slightly. "You could have called. Do you know how many times I looked at the clock tonight?"
He nodded, slipping past her into the living room, bag slung over one shoulder. "I'm sorry. Really. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."
Before the tension could dissolve completely, a voice floated down the staircase.
"Ohhh… so brother has found another Princess."
Dikshant leaned against the railing, grinning wide, eyes dancing with mischief. He made exaggerated quotation marks in the air as he said the word.
Shivam groaned. "Really, Dikshant?"
"Hey, don't blame me. I just report what I see." He laughed, pushing off the railing and heading back to his room. "Next thing you know, Maa will be buying wedding cards."
"Dikshant!" his mother snapped, but the boy only laughed louder, disappearing behind his door. Shivam shook his head, muttering under his breath as he trudged upstairs.
In the hallway outside his room, Dikshant's door cracked open again. His tone was lighter now, almost conspiratorial. "Relax, bhai. I'm not that mean. Aman gave me something for you."
Shivam paused, curious. "What do you mean?"
Dikshant slipped out, holding a small cardboard box. He pressed it into Shivam's hands. "Said it wasn't safe to talk about… you know, the stuff with Anchal Rathod and her team… on phone or WhatsApp. Too easy to track. So, they came up with this."
Inside were two plain, black phones, nothing fancy, almost outdated by modern standards.
"Burners?" Shivam raised an eyebrow.
"Exactly. I already filled in the numbers," Dikshant explained, tapping the box. "Aman, Naina, Aanchal, Rathod, me. Only us. No one else."
Shivam exhaled slowly, a weight settling in his chest. "You actually bought these?"
Dikshant smirked. "You're welcome. Don't worry, I didn't use Paa's credit card. Anyway, Aman's serious, this is how we talk from now on."
Shivam turned one of the phones over in his hand. It was heavier than it looked, like carrying it meant accepting a different kind of responsibility.
"You realize this makes us sound like we're in one of those spy movies, right?" Shivam muttered.
"Yeah, except this isn't a movie," Dikshant replied, his grin fading for the first time. "And you should know better than anyone, bhai… we can't afford to be careless."
The words hung between them. Shivam thought of Bhumika's trembling voice in the café, of her sketches that mirrored his buried memories. Of the visions she claimed clawed through her head.
He slipped the burner into his pocket, giving a quiet nod. "Alright. Thanks."
Dikshant shrugged, retreating toward his room. "Don't thank me. Just… don't get yourself killed, okay?"
Shivam entered his own room. The glow from the streetlamps filtered faintly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the walls. He sat on the edge of his bed, the burner phone heavy in his palm.
Shivam didn't sleep immediately. The house was quiet, his mother's door closed, Dikshant's muffled music faint behind the wall. He sat at his desk, the burner phone lying in front of him like it was daring him to pick it up.
Finally, he powered it on. The screen blinked awake with a faint glow, no frills, no apps, just numbers. Simple, almost too bare. He scrolled through the saved contacts until he saw the one name he needed: Aman.
He hesitated, thumb hovering. Then he pressed call.
The line clicked after two rings.
"You finally got it," Aman's voice came through, low but steady.
"Yeah," Shivam said, leaning back in his chair. "Dikshant handed it over. He's probably enjoying this more than he should."
Aman gave a short chuckle. "He likes playing courier. But good, now we don't have to worry about someone snooping through our chats."
Shivam let out a slow breath. "That serious, huh?"
"You've seen how fast SynerTech's shadow is spreading," Aman replied. "Rathod and the others thinks half our phones are already compromised. We can't risk it."
The weight in Shivam's chest deepened. "Makes sense." He paused, then shifted. "Aman… I need to tell you something. About Bhumika."
There was a silence on the line. "Go on."
"She's… different," Shivam started carefully. "I saw it up close today. She's been having dreams, visions, really. Not random ones. She drew the same thing that I saw 4 nights before on that ridge. Orange crystals. Almost exactly like the Noctirum shards."
The static on the line seemed to thicken for a moment. Aman's tone sharpened. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Shivam's voice dropped lower. "And it's not just drawings. She described… pain. Like something carving into her head. Said she's seen tunnels, machines, shadows of us. Of me."
Aman's voice softened, but only slightly. "Shivam… that's not normal dream territory."
"I know." Shivam ran a hand over his face. "It gets worse. When I tried to push a little, she… she had some kind of episode. Like a seizure, almost. And she whispered something. Words she shouldn't even know."
"What words?" Aman asked sharply.
"Subject Seventeen," Shivam said, each syllable heavy.
The line went quiet for several seconds. Only the faint hum of static filled Shivam's ear.
Finally, Aman exhaled. "What does that mean Subject 17?? Was there anything like that you saw on ridge??"
"I don't know. But she said it. Like it was happening in front of her and not just visions."
Aman cursed under his breath. "Alright… listen to me. You need to keep her close. Whatever's happening, she could be linked, maybe directly, to what we've been circling all this time."
Shivam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gripping the phone tighter. "And if keeping her close puts, her in more danger?"
Aman didn't answer right away. Then his tone hardened. "She's already in danger. That's not a question anymore."