I remember the smell of burnt hair. That’s what stayed with me when they dragged Chote away. He was just a boy—fifteen, maybe—beaten with rods until his bones cracked. I screamed, but the Thakur’s men laughed. Then they took me. All four of them. In the temple. With my mother tied up and Govinda forced to watch. I didn’t cry. Not then. I saved it for later, when I was crawling through the fields, blood on my thighs and dirt in my mouth.

Now, I’m not the girl they broke. I’m the one who comes in the dark. I’ve learned to shoot. To stalk. To kill.

Shera’s next. He was the one who held me down. I’ve watched his routines—every night, he walks alone to the river to bathe. No gun. No guard.

Tonight, I’ll be waiting.

The knife is sharp. My hands don’t shake.

But part of me still wonders—will killing him bring Chote back? Will it heal Ma? Or am I just becoming another ghost in this cursed land?