“You always had a lot to say,” he muses, stepping closer, his shoes echoing faintly against the floor. “Nice to see that hasn’t changed.”
My breath comes faster, panic clawing its way up my throat. Think. Think. Where am I?
The room is small. Dim. There’s a single bulb overhead casting a harsh yellow light that makes everything look older than it is. The walls are bare. Stained. There’s a faint smell—dampness, maybe, or something metallic underneath it.
No windows. Or none that I can see. The door—behind him is closed, obviously. I force myself to stop struggling. Just for a second. Just to think. My chest rises and falls too quickly, but I try to steady it. Don’t panic. Don’t give him that. He sighs, like I’m tiring him out. “Alright,” he mutters, stepping closer again. “This is getting annoying.”
Before I can react, his hand grips the cloth in my mouth and yanks it out. Air rushes in so fast it burns. I cough, choking on it, my throat raw. “What do you want from me?” The words tear out of me, hoarse but sharp. “What is this? Why am I here?”
My voice echoes slightly. Too loud in this small space. Too desperate. He grins. “There she is.”
My jaw tightens. “I asked you something.”
“I know,” he replies, unbothered. My wrists shift again behind me, slower this time. Careful. The rope scrapes against the back of the chair, maybe if I try slowly, without him noticing, I can cut off the ropes around my hand.
“I have nothing you could possibly want,” I say, forcing each word out steadily, even as my pulse hammers against my ribs. “You’re wasting your time.”
He laughs. “Oh, I know,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Trust me, I know.” Something in his tone makes my stomach twist. “Poor, abandoned child,” he adds, almost casually. The words hit harder than they should. My breath stutters. My hands pause. Just for a second.
“But that’s not why you’re here.”
My throat goes dry. “What do you mean?”
He steps closer. I can see the details now. The way his eyes don’t soften. The way there’s no hesitation in him at all. “All I want,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the air feel heavier, “is your father.”
Everything inside me stops. No. No. My head shakes before I even realize it. “He’s dead.” The words come out fast. Immediate. Like a reflex. “I saw the reports. I tried to find him. There’s nothing—”
“On paper?” Krishna interrupts, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah.” My chest tightens. “But in reality…” His lips curl. “He’s very much alive.” The world doesn’t tilt this time. It drops. Like something solid beneath me has just…given way.
“No,” I whisper, my voice small now, shaking in a way I can’t control. “No, you’re lying.”
Because he has to be. Because if he’s not—If he’s not—Then everything I’ve lived with—Everything I’ve believed—It all breaks. “My father is dead,” I say again, louder this time, like I can force the truth back into place if I say it enough. “He didn’t come back. He didn’t—” My voice cracks. I swallow hard. He didn’t come for me. Krishna watches me unravel like it’s interesting.
“See,” he says lightly, crouching slightly so we’re eye level, “that’s the thing.” His gaze locks onto mine. “If there’s anyone who can bring him out…” My heart pounds so hard it hurts. “…it’s you.” My hands go still behind me.
“What?” The word barely forms.
“That’s the mission, babydoll.”
Mission. The word echoes. Mission. Was I—I feel sick. Is that why he vanished without a word?
“I was your mission?” I ask, the realization hitting too slowly, too sharply.
He smiles. “Yeah.” Something inside me splinters. Every memory of him twists. Rewrites itself into something uglier.
“You’re lying,” I say, but it sounds hollow now.
“Am I?”
I shake my head, tears spilling before I can stop them. “This doesn’t make sense,” I whisper. “Why would my father—why would anyone—”
“Because he has something I need,” Krishna says, his tone shifting. Colder now. More real. “And he’s not stupid enough to show himself unless he has to.” My breath trembles.
“And you,” he adds, gesturing lazily toward me, “are perfect leverage.”
Leverage. Not even a person. Just—Useful.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head again. “He won’t come.”
