The road home stretched beneath them like a ribbon of stillness. In the Mustang, laughter had long since faded. The hum of tires filled the silence.
Rai sat in the passenger seat, his head tilted against the window, eyes closed—but his fingers twitched.
Inside his mind, the spiral spun.
He stood once more in that impossible cave. The figure—himself, but not—stood at the wall, writing.
This time, he turned fully, face hollowed by time.
"You weren't supposed to see this yet."
The spiral etched into the wall began to shift—glowing first, then spinning. Faster. Faster. The wall caved inward.
"Wake up. Before it sees you."
Rai's breath caught.
"Wake up!"
He jolted upright.
"STOP THE CAR!"
Cyrus yelped, yanking the wheel.
The Mustang veered off the road, tires skidding into gravel. It bounced once, twice, before slamming nose-first into a shallow ditch with a shudder and a loud hiss.
Everything went still.
Owen sat up slowly. "Everyone... alive?"
Rai's chest heaved. He couldn't speak. He stared through the windshield, eyes distant.
Cyrus looked at him, visibly shaken. "Man... what the hell was that?!"
Rai opened his mouth. Closed it. No words came.
By the time the rest of the group arrived at Rai's house, the car had been towed, and Cyrus had already told them what happened.
He paced outside in the driveway, muttering to himself. "It's my fault. I should've pulled over sooner."
Iris folded her arms, watching him. "How bad?"
"Bumper, alignment, maybe the steering column. It's not totaled—but it won't be cheap."
Rai stood by the steps, silent.
Cyrus turned to him. "Let me pay for it."
"No."
"You're not paying for my mistake—"
"I said no."
Owen stepped in, voice calm. "Hey, we all freaked out. No one's blaming anyone."
But the tension sat heavy in the air—until Iris, who had stayed quiet until then, looked at Rai carefully and said:
"Then how are you going to cover it, Rai? I mean… you work at a part-time MMA center."
Her tone wasn't judgment. Just concern. A gentle push.
The group fell silent.
Rai exhaled slowly, staring at the ground.
Then finally, he spoke.
"This house," he said softly, "was the last place my mother smiled."
They all turned to him.
"She used to cook in that kitchen. Chase me around the counter. That crack in the floor? She tripped trying to swat a fly and blamed it on spirits."
A smile tugged at his lips—but it didn't last.
"My dad was quiet, but... sharp. He didn't say much. But he taught me how to fight. How to ride. How to fix engines. When he died, he left me this place. And more."
He looked up.
"A bigger house I've never stepped into. Three apartment buildings I lease without caring. All of it feels... hollow."
He met Iris's gaze. "I don't fight for money. I fight because it's the only time the world shuts up."
No one spoke for a while.
Then Marin nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
Owen broke the silence with a grin. "I'm still stuck on you living like a broke college kid with that kind of inheritance."
Cyrus chuckled. "I'm calling your fridge the next time I run out of groceries."
Rai smiled faintly. "Want to see something better?"
He led them toward the garage.
The metal door creaked open slowly.
Inside, the scent of engine oil and old leather lingered in the air. Canvas sheets covered shapes that only made sense to motorheads.
Rai grabbed the edge of one and pulled it back.
The light caught the polished chrome of a Royal Enfield Bullet Classic 350, deep black with silver trim. It looked pristine—restored with reverence, not money.
Owen gaped. "You've been hiding this from us?"
Cyrus stepped forward like he'd found a holy relic. "That's not a bike. That's a statement."
Iris glanced at the other covered shapes. "Your father collected them?"
Rai nodded. "Said cars were for arriving. Bikes were for becoming."
He paused, then ran a hand across the seat. "He taught me to ride on this one."
Emma had been quiet this whole time.
Now she stepped forward.
Rai looked at her, then held out a spare helmet.
"You still want that ride?"
She blinked. "What makes you think I trust your driving?"
"You trusted me with everything else."
She took the helmet.
"Take me somewhere he'd be proud of."
The Bullet roared to life—deep, throaty, alive.
Cyrus muttered under his breath. "I just fell in love again."
Owen smirked. "Not with Rai, I hope."
The others laughed as Rai and Emma pulled out into the dusky street, the engine echoing behind them.
The laughter faded.
But the spiral?
It kept turning.