The mark wouldn't stop burning.
Ayesha had stopped crying.
Now she just sat there, staring at nothing, while the symbol on her shoulder blade pulsed with heat that shouldn't exist.
Bharat could see it with the contract vision:
Threads.
Thousands of them.
Thin as spider silk.
Connecting the mark to something far away.
To the temple.
To the altar.
To whatever god or demon or THING they'd been feeding for centuries.
"Can you feel it?" he asked quietly.
Ayesha nodded.
"Like something's pulling. Like I'm tied to a rope and someone's reeling me in."
"That's exactly what's happening."
Vikram was pacing.
"We need to leave. Now. Before Suresh comes back with reinforcements."
"He's right," Peacock's voice crackled through Bharat's earpiece.
She'd been listening the whole time.
Of course she had.
"I'm two blocks out," she continued. "Extraction ready. But we need to MOVE."
"Agreed."
Bharat helped Ayesha stand.
"Can you walk?"
"I think so."
"Good. Because we're about to run."
They made it to the car.
Peacock was waiting.
Engine running.
Doors open.
"Get in!"
They did.
The car peeled out before Bharat even had his door closed.
"Where to?" Peacock asked.
"Somewhere they can't track us."
"Everywhere they can track you. You're Director of Temple Affairs now. You think they don't have your phone tapped? Your car GPS'd? Your movements monitored?"
"Then we go dark."
He pulled out his phone.
Removed the battery.
Threw both pieces out the window.
"Dramatic," Peacock muttered.
"Effective."
"What about the girl's mark? Can they track that?"
"I don't know."
"That's not comforting."
"Nothing about this is comforting."
They drove for twenty minutes.
Through back streets and alleyways.
Past neighborhoods where streetlights had stopped working years ago.
Finally stopped at an old warehouse near the port.
"One of mine," Peacock said. "Off the books. No cameras. No registry. Completely ghost."
"How many of these do you have?"
"Enough. You don't survive in this business without backup plans."
Inside:
Bare concrete. Minimal furniture. Medical supplies. Weapons. Everything you'd need for a siege or surgery.
Or both.
Peacock got Ayesha onto a cot.
Examined the mark.
"It's worse than I thought," she said quietly.
"How worse?"
"It's not just a symbol. It's a anchor. Like they've embedded a piece of the temple itself into her skin."
"Can we remove it?"
"Not without killing her. The mark's integrated with her nervous system. You try to cut it out, you'll sever major nerve clusters. She'd be paralyzed. Or dead."
"So we leave it."
"And let them pull her in at midnight? That's fourteen hours from now. Less, probably, if they accelerate the ritual."
Countdown: 14:34:09
"Then we have to break BOTH curses," Bharat said. "Mine and hers. Simultaneously."
"That's impossible."
"Impossible is all we have left."
Ayesha was listening.
Quiet.
Processing.
"Why me?" she asked finally.
"What?"
"Why did they mark me? I'm nobody. I don't have money. I don't have power. Why choose me?"
Bharat knelt beside her.
"Because you survived. Because Priya survived. Because we proved the system could be beaten. And that terrifies them."
"So they're making an example."
"Yes."
"That's evil."
"Yes."
"What do we do?"
"We fight back."
"How?"
Good question.
How DO you fight a system that's been running for centuries? That has money, power, political connections, and a literal CURSE backing it up?
Answer:
You don't fight the system.
You reprogram it.
Bharat pulled out the ledgers.
Spread them on the floor.
"Peacock. I need you to digitize these. Every page. Every name. Every transaction."
"That'll take hours."
"You have thirty minutes."
"That's—"
"DO IT."
She did.
While she worked, Bharat studied the third ledger.
The benefactor list.
The names of the people who weren't just paying the temple—they were RUNNING it.
Dev's name.
Suresh's name.
And twelve others.
Fourteen people.
Fourteen threads holding the entire operation together.
"What if we cut the threads?" he muttered.
"What?" Vikram asked.
"The temple's power comes from contracts. Bindings. Obligations. What if we void ALL of them? Simultaneously?"
"You can't. The contracts are protected. Temple law supersedes civil law. Even as Director, you can't just—"
"I'm not voiding them through temple law. I'm voiding them through contract corruption."
"I don't understand."
"Every contract has a weakness. A flaw. Something that, if exposed, invalidates the entire agreement. What if the temple's foundational contracts were built on fraud?"
"You'd need proof."
"I have proof."
He held up the ledgers.
"These show payments made under false pretenses. Bribes disguised as donations. Embezzlement disguised as offerings. If I can prove the temple's financial foundation is corrupt, I can argue that every contract built on that foundation is void."
"That's insane."
"That's the law."
Vikram stared.
"You're going to try to bankrupt the temple. Legally."
"Not bankrupt. Dissolve. If the contracts are void, the bindings break. The curse loses its anchor."
"And everyone who's bound—including you and the girl—goes free."
"In theory."
"In theory you also die trying."
"Probably. But at least I'll die doing something useful."
Peacock finished the scan.
"Done. Every page uploaded to a secure server. Multiple backups. Cloud storage. Physical drives. The works."
"Good. Now we need a lawyer."
"A lawyer? NOW?"
"The best contract lawyer in Mumbai. Someone who specializes in corporate fraud and financial crime."
"I know someone. But he won't come cheap."
"I'm Director of Temple Affairs. I have access to emergency funds. Pay him whatever he wants."
"Bharat—"
"DO IT."
Two hours later:
Rajesh Kulkarni arrived.
Mid-fifties. Expensive suit. The kind of lawyer who made billionaires nervous.
"You're the one who called?"
"Yes."
"You said it was urgent. Life or death."
"It is."
Bharat showed him the ledgers.
Explained the situation.
The curse.
The contracts.
The plan.
Rajesh listened.
Silent.
When Bharat finished, the lawyer sat back.
"This is the most insane thing I've ever heard."
"Can you do it?"
"File an emergency injunction to void temple contracts based on foundational fraud? In less than fourteen hours?"
"Yes."
Long pause.
Then:
"It'll cost you five million rupees."
"Done."
"And if we lose, you're dead and I'm disbarred."
"If we lose, I'm dead anyway. You'll just have to live with the guilt."
Rajesh smiled.
"I can live with guilt. It's failure I don't like."
"Then don't fail."
"I'll need three things. First: a judge willing to hear an emergency case at 8 PM on a Friday night."
"I can get you one."
"Second: a forensic accountant to testify that these ledgers prove financial fraud."
"I'll have one there in an hour."
"Third: a miracle."
"I'm fresh out. But I'll see what I can do."
While Rajesh worked, Bharat's condition deteriorated.
The voices were constant now.
Not screaming.
Talking.
All at once.
Overlapping.
Telling him stories of their deaths.
How it felt.
How long it took.
How much they regretted everything.
He couldn't sleep.
Couldn't eat.
Could barely stand.
"You need rest," Peacock said.
"I need to stay alive another twelve hours. Rest won't help."
"You're no good to anyone if you collapse."
"I'm no good to anyone if I'm dead."
"Fair point."
Countdown: 11:52:37
Ayesha's mark was glowing now.
Faint.
Pulsing.
Like a heartbeat.
"It's getting stronger," she said quietly.
"I know."
"Can you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"The pull. It's like… like I'm underwater. And something's dragging me down. And I can't fight it anymore."
Bharat knelt beside her.
Took her hand.
"Listen to me. We're going to break this. Both of these. I promise."
"You can't promise that."
"I know. But I'm doing it anyway."
She smiled.
Weak.
Tired.
"You're crazy."
"I've been told."
"Do you think it'll work? The legal thing?"
"Honestly?"
"Yeah."
"I have no idea. But it's the only move I have left."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"Then we improvise. Run. Fight. Burn the whole temple down if we have to."
"You'd do that?"
"To save you? Yes."
"Why?"
Good question.
Why WAS he doing this?
For justice?
For revenge?
Or just because someone had to?
"Because no one else will," he said finally. "Because the system that's trying to kill us has been killing people for centuries. And someone has to say 'no more.'"
"Even if it kills you?"
"Even then."
"That's stupid."
"Probably. But it's the truth."
Rajesh called.
"I got you a judge. Emergency hearing at 9 PM. Two hours."
"Can we win?"
"If the evidence holds up? Maybe. If the judge is honest? Fifty-fifty. If the temple doesn't have him on payroll? Unlikely."
"So we're screwed."
"We're PROBABLY screwed. But I've won worse cases."
"What's the plan?"
"We present the ledgers. Show systematic fraud over two decades. Argue that contracts built on illegal foundations are void ab initio—void from the beginning. If the judge accepts, he issues an injunction. All temple contracts freeze. All bindings suspend. Including yours and the girl's."
"And if he doesn't accept?"
"Then we're in court when your curse activates at midnight. And you die on the courthouse steps. Dramatically. But legally."
"I'll try to avoid that."
"Please do. I hate losing clients mid-trial."
Countdown: 10:17:44
Bharat stood.
Swayed.
Caught himself.
"You okay?" Peacock asked.
"No. But I can fake it for another ten hours."
"That's not—"
"It'll have to be."
He turned to Ayesha.
"You're staying here. Peacock's going to watch you."
"Where are you going?"
"Court. To try to save both our lives."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"Then I'll come back. And we'll figure out Plan B."
"What's Plan B?"
Bharat checked his gun.
Reloaded.
"Burn everything."
He walked out.
Into the night.
Into the rain.
Into the final countdown.
Behind him, Ayesha's mark pulsed.
Brighter.
Hungrier.
Pulling her toward midnight.
Toward the altar.
Toward whatever waited in the dark.