I was born under a cursed name—Birju, son of Daaku Dara Singh. The moment I drew breath, the village marked me as a future outlaw. But I swore I’d walk a different path.\n\nNow, standing in the ruins of my home, smoke rising from what was once my mother’s kitchen, I clutch Madhu’s torn scarf in my fist. Jagira’s men left it as a message. They took her. They burned everything.\n\nOfficer Gopal places a hand on my shoulder. 'The law will handle this,' he says, his voice steady.\n\nI look at him, then at the horizon where the sun bleeds red. 'The law was never meant for men like me.'\n\nMy father’s old rifle rests in the trunk of my jeep. I haven’t touched it in years. Today, I unlock the case.