The night stretched its long fingers across the city, shrouding everything in its quiet embrace. The streets were mostly empty, the occasional echo of distant engines and stray dogs breaking the silence. Above, the sky was a deep, unbroken black, heavy with the promise of rain.
Hasib Jackson stood near the window of his home, staring into the night, his thoughts tangled in the memories of the battle that had unfolded hours ago. His reflection stared back at him, illuminated only by the pale moonlight leaking through the glass. His fingers drummed against the windowsill in a slow, absent rhythm.
Then, a sound.
The soft purr of a car engine rolling to a stop outside. A door opening. Then closing.
He turned just as a gentle knock rapped against the door. Before he could move, Tommy and Tiger were already alert, their ears twitching, their bodies tense. But they didn't growl.
They knew this visitor.
Hasib reached for the knob and pulled the door open.
And there she was.
Nafisa stood there, the golden streetlight behind her casting a faint glow around her figure. Her long black hair, slightly tousled from the wind, framed her delicate face. She wore a simple white salwar kameez, the soft fabric clinging to her body in the cool night air. Her deep brown eyes found him, and for a moment, the world felt smaller, quieter.
Without a word, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Hasib stiffened slightly before his body relaxed into the warmth of her embrace. He closed his eyes for a brief second, breathing in the scent of jasmine that lingered in her hair.
"You're okay," she whispered against his shoulder.
Hasib let out a soft chuckle. "Of course, I am."
She pulled back just enough to look at his face, her hands still gripping the sides of his jacket. "You did it."
"Yeah?" Hasib smirked. "Which part? The blowing up half a palace or scaring the hell out of Alexander?"
Nafisa shook her head, her lips curving into a small smile. "Both."
Before he could respond, a voice interrupted them.
"My dear Nafisa, you finally arrived."
Hasib's mother stood in the doorway, a warm smile spreading across her aged but graceful face. She wore a light blue saree, the fabric shimmering faintly in the soft glow of the hall light. Her eyes, sharp and observant, flickered between Hasib and Nafisa.
"Come in, child," she said, stepping aside.
The house smelled of cardamom and saffron, the aroma of freshly cooked biryani filling the air. Nafisa followed Hasib's mother into the kitchen, the space warm from the stove's lingering heat. The kitchen was small but well-kept, the countertops clean, pots and pans hanging neatly from the walls.
Nafisa took a seat at the dining table as Hasib's mother began preparing the plates. She moved with practiced ease, scooping fragrant rice onto ceramic dishes, her gold bangles clinking softly with each motion.
"You care for him, don't you?" she asked suddenly, not looking up.
Nafisa's breath hitched slightly. She glanced toward the living room where Hasib sat on the couch, absentmindedly rubbing Tiger's head while scrolling through his phone.
She turned back to Hasib's mother and nodded. "Yes. I do."
A small smile tugged at the older woman's lips. "I see it in your eyes. And in the way you hold him like he is the only thing keeping you steady."
Nafisa felt warmth creep up her cheeks. "He's reckless," she admitted. "But he has a good heart."
Hasib's mother placed a plate in front of her. "Then promise me something."
Nafisa looked up.
"If he ever loses his way, bring him back," she said gently. "He may be strong, but even strong men need anchors."
Nafisa swallowed and nodded. "I promise."
Somewhere far from the warmth of Hasib's home, in the aftermath of destruction, a door creaked open.
The room was suffocatingly dark, the air thick with the damp scent of old wood and sweat. The floor was littered with dust, and the walls bore the stains of years of neglect.
And in the center of the room, bound to a chair, was Shagor.
His head slumped forward, his face barely visible in the faint candlelight. His clothes were torn and smeared with dried blood and dirt. His wrists, raw from the chafing of the ropes, trembled slightly as Sohana's hands worked quickly to untie him.
The moment the last knot loosened, he jerked back, his eyes snapping open.
Sohana took a small step back, her black saree swaying slightly with the movement.
Shagor's lips were cracked, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He blinked up at her, confusion clouding his gaze. "Why… why did you do this?" His voice was hoarse.
Sohana hesitated, pressing her lips together. "I had no choice."
Shagor scoffed, his expression darkening. "No choice? You tied me up. You left me to rot in this—" His voice cracked, and he looked away, jaw clenched.
Sohana reached for him, but he stepped backward, the betrayal in his eyes sharp and unforgiving.
"I trusted you," he whispered. "I loved you."
Her own eyes filled with unshed tears. "Shagor, please… If I disobeyed Alexander, he would have killed my brother Selim and his wife's children."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and cold.
Shagor took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. "Then let's leave. Now. Let's get away from all of this."
Sohana hesitated. "If you ever need me, just call my name," she said softly. "I will come."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he took one last look at her, his face unreadable, and turned toward the door.
Sohana watched him go, her fingers gripping the edges of her saree tightly.
Outside, the wind howled through the alleyways. A storm was coming.
And she knew—this wasn't the end.
Not for her.
Not for Shagor.
And not for Hasib Jackson.
Chapter 34: Whispers in the Night
The scent of warm spices still lingered in the air, wrapping around the house like a comforting embrace. The dinner plates had been cleared, the last of the biryani tucked away in the fridge, and now the house had settled into a peaceful quiet.
Hasib stretched his arms over his head, feeling the exhaustion of the night creeping into his muscles. Across from him, Nafisa tucked her hair behind her ear, her eyes flickering with something soft—something unspoken.
His mother had already retired to her room, leaving just the two of them in the dimly lit space. The faint glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows on the walls, stretching their figures across the room like ghosts of a moment waiting to unfold.
Hasib exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "So… are you going to tell me why you were so worried?"
Nafisa scoffed, crossing her arms. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you took on the most dangerous man in the city?
Hasib smirked, leaning back against the bed's headboard. "This mission was successful because of you. You helped me plant the explosives that tore through Alexander's fortress. Thank you, dear."
Nafisa shook her head, exasperated but amused. "I Love You."
Hasib chuckled, reaching for her hand. "I Love You More."
She sighed, allowing him to entwine his fingers with hers. "I don't want to lose you, Hasib. Not to Alexander. Not to revenge."
The words settled between them, heavy but honest. Hasib tightened his grip on her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against his own.
"Come here," he murmured, shifting slightly to make room for her on the bed.
Nafisa hesitated for only a second before sliding closer, resting her head against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against the fabric of her dupatta.
"You smell like jasmine," he said, voice quieter now.
She smiled against his shirt. "And you smell like trouble."
Hasib laughed softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I'll take that as a compliment."
She lifted her head, their faces inches apart now. Her dark eyes searched his, and for a moment, the world outside the room didn't exist.
"You scared me," she admitted.
"I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I had to do it."
Her fingers brushed against his jawline, tracing the faint stubble there. "Just… promise me something."
"Anything."
"No matter what happens, don't become like him."
Hasib's expression softened, and he cupped her face gently. "I won't. I swear."
She closed her eyes as his lips brushed her forehead—a quiet, lingering kiss.
For a while, they just sat there, wrapped in each other's presence, listening to the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall.
Hasib exhaled deeply. "Do you think we'll ever have a normal life?"
Nafisa looked up at him, her gaze thoughtful. "Do you want one?"
Hasib hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe. Someday."
She rested her palm against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Then we'll find a way."
Hasib smiled, but there was a shadow behind it.
He knew in his heart that Alexander wouldn't allow him to leave that simply.
The forest was alive, but not in the way nature intended.
The towering trees, their gnarled branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal fingers, stood as silent witnesses to the unspeakable ritual unfolding beneath them. The air was thick with an unnatural fog, rolling low across the damp earth, curling around the black-robed figures gathered in a perfect circle.
Their chanting was rhythmic, guttural—a sound that didn't belong in this world. It rose and fell like a tide of whispers and screams, the syllables foreign, ancient, forbidden.
And at the center of it all was Sohana.
Her black saree clung to her body, its once beautiful silk now stained with something darker. She stood barefoot on the cold, damp ground, her arms raised, her fingers twitching as the ritual demanded more from her. The moon above, full and watching, bathed her in silver light, making her sweat-slicked skin glisten like polished stone.
Her lips moved, whispering incantations that tasted like ash on her tongue.
Tonight, she would offer her soul.
Tonight, she would become something more.
Something powerful.
Something unholy.
A man, his face hidden beneath a heavy hood, stepped forward from the circle. He carried a bowl—an old, rusted thing with jagged edges—filled with thick, black liquid. It smelled of burnt flesh and something older, something rotten.
He knelt before Sohana, his voice raspy as he spoke.
"You come to the gate willingly?"
Sohana's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "I do."
The hooded man nodded and dipped his fingers into the viscous liquid. With slow, deliberate movements, he smeared the substance onto her forehead, drawing symbols that pulsed like open wounds. The coldness of it sent a shudder down her spine, but she did not flinch.
"And do you accept the terms?"
"I do."
A second figure stepped forward—an old woman, her body frail but her eyes burning with an unnatural fire. In her hands, she carried a dagger, its blade carved with runes that seemed to shift in the firelight.
"Then the pact must be sealed in blood."
Sohana extended her arm without hesitation.
The old woman's bony fingers wrapped around her wrist, holding it steady as the dagger's edge pressed against her skin.
A sharp pain. A thin line of crimson blossomed against her pale flesh.
The robed figures inhaled deeply, their bodies swaying as if they could already feel the power shifting. The ground beneath them vibrated—subtle at first, then stronger.
Somewhere in the distance, animals cried out in fear. Birds scattered from the treetops, their wings frantic against the sky.
And then, the flames appeared.
A ring of fire erupted around them, burning blue, unnatural and cold. It encircled the gathering, trapping them in this unholy space between the living and the damned.
The shadows within the flames twisted and stretched, forming something—not human, not beast, but something in between.
Something waiting.
Something hungry.
Sohana lifted her bleeding arm, tilting her head back as she spoke the final words.
"I give what is mine so that I may take what is yours."
The shadows lunged.
Pain. Sohana gasped as it tore through her—a fire that wasn't fire, a cold that burned through her veins like liquid ice. It crawled beneath her skin, carving itself into her bones. Her fingers curled, her nails digging into her palms as the unseen force coiled inside her, twisting, reshaping.
She could feel something pressing against her soul, something massive, something ancient.
It spoke without words, its voice echoing in the hollow spaces of her mind.
"Mine."
And then, silence.
For a long, breathless moment, Sohana stood frozen, her body trembling. The flames around them flickered, then snuffed out in an instant, leaving only thick, choking darkness.
The robed figures remained kneeling, their heads bowed in reverence.
The old woman, still gripping the dagger, leaned in close. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"It is done."
Sohana opened her eyes.
They were no longer human.
To Be Continued…