Zara's Pov
The world shimmered. Cold but not freezing. Familiar but not quite home.
Zara stood in the middle of a narrow village path that sparkled like it had just rained, yet the ground was dry beneath her bare feet. The wind whispered through neem trees lining both sides of the road, their shadows long and trembling like ghostly arms. The moon—round, pale, too close—hung above her like an eye.
Then she heard it.
Hurried footsteps.
A figure in tattered grey emerged from the dark. A woman. Her face hidden beneath a fraying shawl, her form bent like she'd been running for miles.
Zara's heart thudded. There was no logic to it, but the connection was instant. Her soul reached toward the woman like a flame desperate for oxygen.
She stepped forward. "Who…?"
The woman stopped in front of the village square. Her breath ragged. Hands trembling.
And then she asked, in a voice not much louder than a whimper:
"Where is she?"
Zara's lips parted. The way the woman spoke—like the words were carved from her bones—made something in her chest crack.
"Where is she?" the woman cried again, louder this time, the edges of desperation bleeding into terror.
And then a voice responded behind Zara.
"Still not found."
Zara spun around. Vey.
He stood like he always did in dreams—too calm, too still. His eyes not on her, but on the woman.
"You're here," she whispered. "You see this too."
"You remember this," he said softly. "You just don't know it yet."
Zara looked at the woman again. "Is that… is she…?"
But before she could finish, the sky roared—like fire rushing through a tunnel—and the world broke apart into black, falling like glass shards around her.
—
She gasped awake, heart pounding like a war drum. Sweat clung to her brow. Her fingers were balled into fists against the stone floor.
The dim light of a single dying candle danced on the wall, casting runes she hadn't seen before. Strange. Ancient. Her breath caught in her throat.
Had they been there yesterday?
A cold wave crawled up her spine. She sat up slowly, pulling her knees to her chest. The iron cuff on her ankle clicked when she moved—it was getting tighter, she swore it was.
That dream… it wasn't just a dream. Her body still trembled with the echoes of it.
Who was that woman?
Why did she feel like home?
The candle flickered once—twice—and then went out.
Zara stiffened.
The room filled with pressure. Like something massive had entered unseen.
She opened her mouth to call for someone—again—but her voice barely left her throat.
She didn't need to. She wasn't alone.
A shape stood in the corner. Shadow. Watching. Familiar, but not Vey. Not yet.
Then a whisper slithered through the dark.
"She's near."
Her chest squeezed.
Then, silence.
Whatever had been there… vanished.
And before she could fully catch her breath, the door crashed open.
He was there.
Arjun.
—
He looked like he'd just run through a storm. Shirt wrinkled. Breath heavy. Eyes scanning her like he expected to find her torn open on the floor.
Zara blinked. "Expecting a bloodbath?"
He ignored the jab. "What happened?"
"I think i saw something," she said, brushing hair from her face.
His eyes narrowed.
"And then I woke up and there were runes glowing on that wall. The candle blew out. I heard a voice say, 'She's near.' Then you barged in, all hero and storm."
His silence pressed against her skin.
Zara tilted her head. "Your curse is starting to feel personal."
He exhaled, rubbed his face with both hands. Then, for the first time, he sat near her.
Not across the room.
Not guarded.
Near.
She should've taken that as a chance. Instead, she watched him.
Something in him had shifted. The scowl was still there, but it was hollowed. His brows were drawn not with anger—but with confusion.
He was scared.
She leaned closer. "You're worried I'll do something wicked, aren't you?"
"No."
"Liar."
He glanced sideways.
Zara's lips curved. "You think I'll seduce you?"
His jaw tightened.
"You're not that charming," he muttered.
"Oh," she grinned, "I beg to differ."
She shifted so their knees almost touched. "You're not as indifferent as you pretend."
He stood suddenly, running a hand through his hair. "Stop playing games."
"Who said I'm playing?"
"Everything about you is a game."
Zara stood too, chains clinking. The candlelight curved over her figure like a lover's hand. She took one step toward him. Just one.
"If I wanted to seduce you," she whispered, "you'd already be begging to let me go."
His breath caught.
She saw it. She *heard* it.
Saw the flicker in his throat as he swallowed.
He turned away again.
Zara laughed, soft and dangerous. "Gods, you make this too easy."
"You're not getting out of here with flirtation," he said sharply.
"Then what do you want from me?" she snapped.
Silence.
"Answers?" she went on. "Fine. I'm just as lost as you are. I didn't ask to be hunted. I didn't ask to be cursed."
He didn't move.
She dropped her voice again. "But you, Arjun Raisinghani… You're starting to see me as something else."
He met her gaze finally.
Her pulse stuttered.
For a moment, they just stared.
She felt his walls cracking—sensed it like heat rising off stone. He wasn't just looking for a cure anymore.
He was looking at *her*.
Like a riddle he didn't want to solve.
She stepped back, pulse wild.
She was… flirting. To manipulate him, of course. That was the plan. But somehow, her heart hadn't gotten the memo.
Damn him.
Damn his quiet eyes.
He left without another word.
But his silence screamed.
—
Zara sat in the dark long after.
The dream still lingered.
The runes. The voice. The burning question: *Where is she?*
If her mother was real—alive—then there was more to her blood than fear and fire.
Maybe there was power too.
Maybe… hope.
—
**That night, she barely slept.**
And when Arjun came back the next morning—holding a steel tray of food, his shirt freshly ironed, jaw tight and unreadable—she noticed.
He didn't meet her eyes.
But he set the tray down gently. No sharp remarks. No scolding.
Zara tilted her head and whispered, "You're different today."
He didn't answer.
But his hands? They shook.
And just like that, she knew.
The chain between them wasn't iron.
It was something far more dangerous.
And far harder to break.