They didn't make it to a safehouse.
Not the official one.
That would've been traceable.
Ayesha drove them to a backup location—an apartment buried three layers deep in shell companies, off-grid utility accounts, and a landlord who asked no questions because he'd been paid not to have questions.
Fifth floor. No elevator.
Bharat carried Mira up the stairs.
She'd passed out in the car. Twenty minutes ago. Right after whispering "I can still hear it."
The god's voice.
Still in her head.
Even though they were miles from the temple's crater, even though the Codex was sealed in a lead-lined case Ayesha had pulled from the trunk—prepared, always prepared—Mira's wrist still bled black script.
Slowly.
Persistently.
Like a wound that refused to close.
Karan stumbled behind them.
Still clutching his ribs. Still pale. He looked like he'd aged ten years in the temple—hair grayer, lines deeper, eyes haunted by something he wouldn't name.
"She needs a hospital," he said.
"She needs to not be found," Ayesha shot back.
"She's dying—"
"She's cursed. Different problem. Different solution."
Ayesha unlocked the apartment door with three separate keys. Security habits died hard.
Inside:
Spartan. Functional. One bedroom. A couch that had seen better decades. Kitchen stocked with canned goods and bottled water. Windows covered with blackout curtains.
Safe.
Anonymous.
Temporary.
Bharat laid Mira on the bed.
She didn't wake. Barely breathed. Her skin was cold—not corpse-cold, but close. Like she was sinking into something deeper than sleep.
The Mark-extraction wound pulsed.
Black veins spreading from her wrist.
Crawling toward her elbow.
Slow but steady.
"How long does she have?" Bharat asked.
Ayesha crouched beside the bed. Pulled out a medical kit—military-grade, the kind with field-surgery tools and trauma meds that shouldn't exist outside hospitals.
"Depends."
"On?"
"Whether the god is actively hunting her, or just… remembering."
She pressed two fingers to Mira's throat. Checked pulse. Frowned.
"Forty-two BPM. Dropping."
"That's—"
"Dangerously low. I know."
Ayesha pulled out a vial. Clear liquid. Faint golden shimmer.
"What's that?"
"Holy water from the Ganges. Blessed by a saint who actually earned the title."
"Will it work?"
"It'll stabilize her. Maybe."
"Maybe isn't good enough."
"It's what we have."
Ayesha uncapped the vial. Dripped three drops onto Mira's wrist—directly onto the Mark wound.
The reaction was immediate.
Smoke.
Black smoke.
Hissing like water on hot metal.
Mira's body convulsed. Back arched. Eyes snapped open—white, no iris, no pupil, just white—and she screamed.
Not her voice.
The god's.
"SHE IS MINE."
Bharat grabbed her shoulders.
Held her down.
"Mira! Fight it!"
Her hand shot up. Gripped his throat. Strength that shouldn't exist in someone half-dead.
"MINE."
Ayesha moved.
Fast.
Grabbed Mira's wrist. Pinned it. Poured the rest of the vial directly into the wound.
The smoke exploded.
Filled the room.
Thick. Choking. Tasting of sulfur and burnt offerings.
Then—
Silence.
Mira went limp.
Eyes rolled back.
Breathing steadied.
Pulse climbed.
Fifty BPM.
Fifty-five.
Sixty.
Normal.
Ayesha exhaled.
"She's stable."
Bharat's hands were shaking.
He didn't let go of Mira's shoulders.
"For how long?"
"Twenty-four hours. Maybe more. The holy water bought us time, not a solution."
"Then we find a solution."
"With what? The god knows her name. Tasted her blood. She's marked, Bharat. In a way that tearing a page can't undo."
"There's always a way."
"Not always."
Ayesha stood. Wiped sweat from her forehead.
"Sometimes people just die."
"Not her."
"Why?"
"Because I made a contract."
"The marriage covenant?"
"All of it. Her pain is my pain. If she dies—"
"You die."
Pause.
Ayesha's expression shifted.
From exhaustion to something sharper.
"You didn't tell me that part."
"Didn't seem relevant."
"It's extremely relevant."
"Now you know."
Silence.
Then Karan's voice from the doorway:
"You're both idiots."
He'd been standing there.
Listening.
Now he stepped inside.
"The shared-pain contract is one-way exploitable," Karan said.
"Explain."
"If she dies from divine cause, you die. But if you nullify the covenant first—break the marriage, void the binding—she dies alone."
Bharat stared.
"You're suggesting I abandon her."
"I'm suggesting you survive."
"Same thing."
"No. It's pragmatism."
"It's cowardice."
"Call it what you want. But you can't save someone who's already claimed by a god."
Bharat stood.
Slowly.
Walked toward Karan.
Stopped.
One foot away.
"Get out."
Karan met his eyes.
"I'm trying to help—"
"You're trying to protect yourself. I understand. I'd probably do the same."
Pause.
"But this is my fight. And I don't abandon people."
Karan smiled.
Bitter.
"You will. Eventually. Everyone does."
"Maybe."
Bharat's voice dropped.
"But not today."
Karan left.
Didn't argue.
Just walked out.
Door closed.
Silence.
Ayesha watched Bharat.
"You should sleep."
"Can't."
"Why?"
"Countdown."
He tapped his temple.
29 days, 18 hours.
The Mark-extraction had bought time.
But the god's promise remained.
I will come for you.
"When did you last sleep?"
"Two days ago."
"Bharat—"
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
She pointed at his hands.
Trembling.
Faint. But visible.
"Guardian Authority side-effects?"
He nodded.
"How bad?"
"Manageable."
"Liar."
"I'll manage."
"You'll collapse."
"Then I'll collapse after Mira wakes up."
Ayesha sighed.
Pulled out a chair.
Sat.
"Fine. Then I'm staying too."
"You don't have to—"
"I know."
Pause.
"Why are you helping us?"
"Because you pay well."
"Ayesha."
She looked at him.
Really looked.
"Because someone should."
Hours passed.
Mira didn't wake.
Bharat sat by the bed.
Watching.
Counting breaths.
Sixty per minute.
Stable.
But the black veins hadn't receded.
Still there.
Still spreading.
Just… slower.
Ayesha made tea.
Strong. Bitter. The kind that kept you awake through interrogations.
She handed Bharat a cup.
"Drink."
"Not thirsty."
"Drink anyway."
He drank.
It tasted like burnt earth.
"What is this?"
"Yerba mate. Caffeine bomb. You'll need it."
"For?"
She pulled out the Codex.
Laid it on the table.
"We need to check something."
"What?"
"The names."
The Ritual Codex.
Still warm.
Still pulsing.
Like a heart that refused to stop.
Ayesha opened it carefully. Gloves on. Respect for something ancient and dangerous.
Flipped to the back.
Covenant of the Bride.
Active Contracts.
List of names.
Seventeen.
Most crossed out.
Dead.
Sacrificed.
Forgotten.
But four remained:
Mira Sharma — MARKED (void pending)
Priya Desai — PENDING (21 days)
Kavya Mehta — PENDING (18 days)
Ayesha Kaur — ACTIVE (14 days)
Silence.
Bharat stared.
"What."
Ayesha didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just stared at her own name.
"When did this happen?"
Her voice was flat.
Too flat.
The kind of calm that came before violence.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I've never been married. Never made a contract. Never even—"
She stopped.
Looked at Bharat.
"The temple."
"What about it?"
"When I went in. To extract you. I had to pass through the Oath Corridor."
"And?"
"I signed a waiver."
"A waiver."
"Temple protocol. Security clearance. I thought it was just bureaucratic bullshit."
Pause.
"It wasn't."
Bharat stood.
Walked to the Codex.
Read the fine print under Ayesha's name:
Contract Origin:Oath Corridor Clearance Form 7-B
Clause:Entrant agrees to substitute as Bride should primary contractor void covenant within temple grounds.
Status:ACTIVE — 14 days until claim.
"They planned this," Bharat said quietly.
"Who?"
"The temple. Rajan. Maybe even Karan."
"Why?"
"Because you're leverage."
He looked at Ayesha.
"You're the most dangerous person I know. If they can trap you in a marriage covenant—"
"—they neutralize me."
"Exactly."
Silence.
Ayesha closed the Codex.
"Fourteen days."
"We'll break it."
"How?"
"Same way I broke mine. Tear the page."
"And trigger the god's attention on me too?"
"If necessary."
"Bharat—"
"I'm not letting you die for a contract you didn't agree to."
"I did agree. I signed."
"Under false pretenses."
"Doesn't matter. The god doesn't care about intent. Only binding."
She stood.
Walked to the window.
Pulled back the curtain.
City lights below.
Mumbai at night.
Alive. Indifferent.
"Fourteen days," she repeated.
"And then?"
"Then I become the next bride."
"Or the next corpse."
Pause.
"Unless."
Bharat turned.
"Unless what?"
She looked back.
"Unless someone else takes my place."
"Who?"
"A volunteer. Someone willing to marry the god instead."
"That's not happening."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not sacrificing anyone else."
"Even to save me?"
"Especially to save you."
Silence.
Then Ayesha smiled.
Small.
Sad.
"You're a terrible strategist."
"I know."
"And a worse liar."
"I know that too."
She walked back.
Stood in front of him.
"I don't need saving, Bharat."
"Everyone needs saving sometimes."
"Not me."
"Ayesha—"
"I've been in worse situations. Tighter timelines. Higher stakes."
"This is a god."
"Gods bleed too."
"You can't fight—"
"Watch me."
Behind them, Mira stirred.
A soft sound.
Half-conscious.
"Bharat…?"
He turned.
Moved to the bed.
Knelt.
"I'm here."
Her eyes opened.
Slow.
Foggy.
"Where…?"
"Safe. For now."
She tried to sit up.
Failed.
"The god—"
"Isn't here."
"It's… still in my head."
"I know."
"I can hear it… whispering."
"What's it saying?"
Pause.
Mira's eyes found his.
"It's saying you can't save all of us."
"Watch me try."
She smiled.
Weak.
But real.
"Idiot."
"I've been called worse."
Her hand found his.
Squeezed.
Weak but deliberate.
"Don't die for me."
"Not planning to."
"Liar."
"Yeah."
Ayesha's phone buzzed.
She checked.
Face went pale.
"We have a problem."
"Another one?"
"Rajan just posted a bounty."
"On who?"
"All of us."
She showed the screen.
PRIVATE CONTRACT
Targets: Bharat Sharma, Mira Sharma, Ayesha Kaur, Karan Malhotra (yes, his own brother)
Reward: ₹50 crore + temple favor
Conditions: Alive. Codex intact.
Deadline: 48 hours.
"Fifty crore," Bharat said.
"That's…"
"Enough to buy half the city's underworld."
"More than half."
Silence.
"We need to move," Ayesha said.
"Where?"
"Out of Mumbai. Out of India if possible."
"Mira can't travel."
"Then we make a stand here."
"Against an army of bounty hunters?"
"You have a better idea?"
Pause.
Bharat looked at the Codex.
At Ayesha's name.
At Mira's labored breathing.
At the countdown in his vision:
29 days, 12 hours.
He stood.
"I have an idea."
"What?"
"A bad one."
"How bad?"
"The kind that might get us all killed."
"Or?"
"Or save all of us."
Ayesha crossed her arms.
"I'm listening."