His phone buzzed again, but this time, it wasn't a reminder. A gruff voice spoke: "Sir, we spotted him."
Vihaan's blood turned to ice. "Where?"
"Grimfang Pass. It's a hideout for his kind—smugglers, traffickers… monsters."
Vihaan's grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles white. The name alone made his stomach churn. Grimfang Pass—a jagged, lawless stretch of cliffs where too many had vanished without a trace. Where he had hidden after…
"Send me the coordinates," Vihaan said, his voice cold and steady. "Today is the day he dies."
The man on the other end hesitated. "Sir, backup won't reach you for hours. It's too risky—"
"I don't care." The line went dead.
Vihaan stood, his hands trembling not from fear, but rage. This man—
this bastard—had been part of the gang that tormented *her*, that broke her before ending her life. For five years, he'd hunted them, one by one. This was the last.
As he strapped a holster under his coat, the door creaked open. His wife stood there, her eyes wide at the sight of the gun. "Vihaan…?"
"Stay out of this," he snapped, shoving past her.
She grabbed his arm, her voice fierce. "Whatever you're doing—it won't bring her back."
He froze, turning to face her. For a split second, he saw *her* in his wife's eyes—the same fear, the same plea to stop. But then the memory faded, replaced by the face of the woman who'd shared tea with him, who'd quietly slipped rose petals onto his desk.
"This isn't about bringing her back," he said quietly. "It's about ending what they started."
Before she could argue, he left, the roar of his car engine drowning out her final plea: "Come back alive."
The drive to Grimfang Pass was a blur of rain and recklessness. The clock on the dashboard glowed 9:30 PM, the storm raging harder as Vihaan sped through winding roads, headlights slicing through the downpour. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, rage and grief fueling his reckless speed.
A sudden flash of movement—a deer darted onto the road. Vihaan swerved violently, tires skidding on the slick asphalt. The car fishtailed, careening off the road and crashing into a tree with a deafening crunch.
The impact threw him forward. The steering wheel jerked into his ribs, glass shattering as his head snapped sideways. Blood seeped from a gash on his temple, blurring his vision. His hands trembled, slick with rain and blood, as he clawed at the seatbelt.
'No… not like this.' He fumbled for his phone, but his fingers slipped, too weak to grip. The world dimmed, the sound of rain fading into a distant hum.
As his eyes fluttered shut, the past surged forward—the memory of a night long buried…
Fifteen Years Earlier—
Rain. Always rain.
15-year-old Vihaan huddled in the backseat of his father's car, soaked and shivering. His father, the stern chairman of Pinnacle Industries, glared at him through the rearview mirror. "You embarrassed me tonight, Vihaan. Crying at the board meeting? You're not a child anymore."
His mother, sitting beside his father, didn't turn around. "Your father's right. Weakness is a luxury we can't afford."
Vihaan stared at his hands, still trembling after his panic attack. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
The car sped through the storm, the same reckless drive, the same cold silence.
Then—a truck, headlights blinding. A horn blared.
"Watch out—!"
The collision was brutal. Glass shattered. Metal screamed. Vihaan woke hours later in a hospital bed, his arm bandaged, his parents' faces gone forever. The doctor said he'd been "lucky." But luck felt like a curse.
Vihaan's eyes snapped open, the memory sharp as a knife. Blood dripped into his vision, mixing with rain. This isn't how it ends.
Gritting his teeth, he shoved the mangled door open, collapsing onto the muddy ground.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating Grimfang Pass in the distance—
a jagged silhouette mocking him. Pain shot through his leg, but he gripped the car's bumper, hauling himself upright. Every step was fire, but he lurched forward, leaning on trees and rocks for support.
Vihaan's boot slipped on wet rock, sending him crashing to his knees. The ghost of his father's voice snarled, "Get up."
Ahead, torchlight flickered in the shack. The gangster's laugh drifted through the storm. Vihaan's hand found the gun still holstered at his side.
"Tonight," he hissed, "ends now."
To be continued… 😊 😊