I wake up to the stench of wet earth and rusted iron. My wrists are chained to a wooden post, the skin raw from struggling. Rain drums on the thatched roof. Outside, something growls—low, guttural, hungry. Mahadev crouches by the fire, sharpening a knife. Shahdev laughs, tossing a bone into the darkness. 'Tomorrow,' Mahadev says, 'the cheetah eats.'

I think of Rekha. My little girl. She’s out there, believing I’m dead, believing Veeru is her protector. She doesn’t know he’s the one who handed me over. She doesn’t know he smiled as he said, 'Make sure he suffers.'

The door creaks open. A silhouette stands there—slim, trembling. Rekha. Behind her, Veeru watches, his face unreadable.

'Papa?' she whispers.

I try to speak, but my throat is dry. Veeru steps forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. 'He’s dangerous, beti. He killed good people.'

She looks at me, then at him. 'Then why… why do you look afraid?'