It’s monsoon season in Bombay, and the city stinks of wet concrete and betrayal. I’m Azaad—Lala Jamal Khan’s blade, his ghost, the man who makes problems disappear. I don’t ask why. I just do.

But that night, I asked why.

I was sent to collect a debt from Ranu Bhai, Bhau’s dog. Instead, I found her—Meena—chained to a bed, her face swollen, her voice still singing through the pain. Something in me snapped. Not rage. Something worse. Recognition.

I broke every rule. I killed Ranu’s men. I took her out.

Now she’s on stage, lights blazing, singing like a woman reborn. And I’m in the shadows, watching. Always watching.

Dhirendra stands beside her, smiling like he owns her. Maybe he does. She laughs at his jokes. Looks into his eyes.

I haven’t touched her. Haven’t spoken a word of how I feel. How could I? I’m a killer. She’s a star.

But tonight, Bhau’s men are coming. I can smell it. And this time, they won’t miss.

I grip the knife in my coat. One way or another, this ends tonight.