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Chapter 67: The Dead Don’t Knock Twice**Riya’s POV**The third set of tires didn’t announce itself with the same soft, wet thump as the first two. It was quieter. More careful. Like the driver already knew the ground was soft with rain and blood and didn’t want to wake whatever still slept under it.Aryan’s hand left mine the second the sound reached us. He was already moving, already angling his body between me and the open side door, Glock low and ready. Ananya had frozen halfway across the room, rifle half-raised, eyes cutting toward the entrance.I stayed where I was. Sitting on the edge of the mattress with the fresh pad pressed hard against my side, the med kit open beside me, the taste of Aryan’s blood still ghosting the inside of my mouth from where I’d bitten him. The wound had opinions. I told it to shut the fuck up and keep the rest of the blood inside where it belonged.Outside, the engine cut.One door opened.One.Not six. Not four. One.Aryan’s shoulders didn’t relax.
Chapter 66: The Ghost’s Bloody Fucking Teeth Just Bit the Wrong Pair of Bastards**Riya’s POV**The tires stopped like a held breath.Not a squeal. Not a dramatic slam. Just that soft, wet *thump-thump* of rubber kissing concrete that had already given up fighting the rain. Two vehicles. Lights off. East approach. Exactly where Ananya said they would be.Aryan’s body went from warm to weapon in the space between one heartbeat and the next. His hand left the bandage like it had never been gentle. One second he was still half-hard against my thigh, the next he was already rolling, already reaching, already becoming the thing the old network used to whisper about when the lights went out.I sat up slower. The fresh tape pulled. The wound protested. I told it to shut the fuck up and keep the blood inside where it belonged.Ananya’s voice crackled again, lower, tighter. “Two SUVs. Blacked out. No plates I can read from here. Four doors opening. Six bodies. Moving like they’ve done this bef
Chapter 65: The Ghost Still Has TeethRiya’s POVThe rain did not ease. It only changed its mind about how it wanted to kill the city. One minute it came in sheets that made the corrugated roof sound like a drumline of the damned. The next it turned into a steady, spiteful hiss that worked its way through every crack and dripped somewhere in the dark like a clock counting down how long we still had to live.Aryan’s hand stayed over the fresh bandage the entire time. Not gripping. Just resting there like the weight of his palm could convince the wound to behave. His thumb moved in the smallest circles against the edge of the tape. I could feel every careful pass of it. I could also feel the way his body stayed coiled even in the afterglow, every muscle still listening for the next thing that wanted to crawl out of the past and bite.I let the quiet stretch until it started to itch.“You’re doing that thing again,” I murmured against his throat.His voice came out low, still rough from e
Chapter 64: Teeth of the GhostThe tablet still glowed when Ananya locked the last window shutter. That single surname sat there like a loaded chamber. Aryan hadn’t moved from the scarred table. Rain water dripped off the ends of his hair and hit the floor in slow, irregular ticks. My side burned under the fresh tape, a wet heat that pulsed every time I shifted my weight. I stayed on my feet anyway. Sitting felt like surrender.Ananya laid out magazines in neat rows on a second table, movements sharp and economical. “Two hours of quiet if we’re lucky. Residual will start flooding the river routes once they finish counting bodies. We move before dawn or we dig in and bleed for every meter.”She clipped a radio to her vest and checked the frequency twice. “I’m on the roof. Perimeter cams are live. I’ll call the second anything bigger than a rat crosses the jetty line.” Her eyes flicked between us—Aryan’s rigid shoulders, the fresh red already blooming through my bandage—then she climbed
Chapter 63: The Ghost We BuriedThe magnetic lock gave with a sound like a spine snapping.I was already moving before the first boot cleared the threshold. Rifle up. Cheek welded to the stock. The cold air of the server farm bit deeper as the door bowed inward and then exploded open in a spray of sparks and twisted metal. Rain and flashlight beams poured in together. Three shapes in the first wave—black kit, suppressed carbines, moving like they had practiced this exact breach a hundred times in a warehouse that didn’t smell of ozone and my blood.Aryan’s voice was a blade across the racks. “Left.”I took the left. The first man came in high, muzzle sweeping for center mass. I put two rounds through the gap under his plate and watched him fold sideways into the nearest rack. Servers shrieked as metal met bone. The second man tried to use the falling body for cover. Aryan’s rifle spoke once—flat, final—and the second man’s head snapped back hard enough to lift his boots off the concret
Chapter 62: The Map Bitch and the Last NameRain turned the industrial cut into a black river of shit and broken glass. Headlights cut through the downpour behind us—two pairs, then a third—closing like they already knew the exact second we would bleed out. Aryan never touched the brakes. The engine snarled under the rain’s hammering. My side felt like someone had driven a heated spike under the plate carrier and left it there to cook. Every pothole drove the spike deeper.“Three,” I said. Voice flat. “Closing hard.”He didn’t answer. Jaw locked. Hands steady on the wheel. The server farm’s dull yellow lights glowed ahead through the curtain of water, the place Priya had marked months ago when the world still pretended it had rules.We hit the perimeter fence at speed. Chain-link screamed and peeled back. Aryan killed the lights and let the car coast the last stretch into the black mouth of a loading bay that stank of old diesel and wet rust. Engines behind us grew louder, then cut one







