(Emma’s POV)

The low hum of the car’s engine was the only sound filling the space between them. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on Emma’s chest like a vice. She stared out of the window, watching the endless stretch of road blur by, but she wasn’t seeing any of it. Her eyes were blank, hollow, the reflection in the window revealing nothing but a vacant stare.

Her fingers were trembling faintly in her lap, curled into tight, bone-white fists, nails biting into her palms. The sharp sting was barely noticeable—nothing compared to the ache buried deep in her chest.

She hadn’t said a word since they left the Alaskan base, not since she had watched Claire Rajput die—her closest ally, her contractor, her friend. The memory of Claire’s blood splattering across her face was still fresh. The sound of the gunshot still rang in her ears, looping endlessly like a haunting echo.

She had cried herself to sleep on the flight from Alaska to India, muffling her sobs into her sleeve while Kunal sat beside her in silence. He hadn’t said a word—he didn’t have to. He simply held her hand, threading his fingers through hers, squeezing them gently every time she trembled. When the nightmares started mid-flight, he just wrapped an arm around her shoulders, letting her cry against his chest until exhaustion finally pulled her under.

Now, the weight of her grief lingered between them, heavy and suffocating, like the stale air in the car. Kunal’s knuckles were taut against the steering wheel, his grip almost unnaturally tight, as if his fingers were trying to crush the leather. He had been watching her from the corner of his eye for the past twenty minutes—every stiff breath she took, every subtle wince when she shifted and the bruises pulled at her skin.

The silence was unbearable.

Finally, Kunal cleared his throat, his voice low and hoarse from the hours of travel. “You’re too quiet, Ems.” He flicked her a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road. “You’re never this quiet. Even after missions. It’s… unsettling.”

Emma didn’t answer immediately. She simply blinked slowly, her gaze fixed on the blurred shapes of passing trees outside the window. The faint shadows streaking across her face made the dark circles under her eyes look deeper, making her already pale complexion seem almost sickly.

After a long pause, her voice finally came out, barely above a whisper. “I just…” she trailed off, her throat tightening. She exhaled shakily, her fingers trembling as she rubbed her palms over her jeans. “…I just wish everything was over, Kunal. I’m so done.”

Her voice was frayed, hollow, as if her soul had been wrung dry. For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t talking about the mission or the sector—she was talking about everything. The endless violence, the blood on her hands, the constant battle between being Emma Shergill, the sweet, clumsy army wife and Emma Chavda, the ruthless assassin.

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word. Kunal’s jaw clenched. He knew that tone—that quiet, broken weariness—and it cut through him like a blade.

Without turning his eyes from the road, he reached over and covered her hand with his. His calloused fingers were warm and steady over her trembling ones. He squeezed gently, the way he always did—the way he used to do after every bloodbath they barely made it out of alive.

“I know, Ems…” his voice was rough, barely more than a murmur. “I know.”

That was it. No false reassurances. No empty promises. Just I know—the only thing he could offer, because he knew she was too far gone for sugar-coated lies. And she knew that he meant it.

---

The sky was beginning to streak with faint gold and orange by the time they finally approached the gates of the army bungalow colony. The familiar sight of the military checkpoint came into view—a tall, iron-barred gate flanked by two armed soldiers.

As they slowed to a stop, Kunal reached into the glove compartment, pulling out both of their IDs. Without a word, he rolled down his window and handed them over to the soldier on duty.

Emma, on instinct, reached for her jacket and pulled it down over her arms, covering herself. The sleeves were long and loose, but she could still feel the rough fabric pulling against the fresh stitches on her right elbow. She had tried to cover the bruises with makeup, but some of them were too raw, too dark. Her skin still throbbed beneath the concealer, a dull, persistent ache running along her ribs and shoulder blades.

The stitch on her elbow was particularly tender—a deep gash she’d barely managed to stitch up herself mid-mission. It had split open twice already during the extraction. Now, every slight movement stung.

The soldier gave Kunal a firm nod and waved them through. The heavy iron gate creaked open, and the car rolled into the bungalow colony.

---

As they drove down the tree-lined road, Emma’s eyes automatically drifted to the familiar white-and-blue bungalow on the left—the home of Rohan and Zara Mehra.

Her lips parted slightly, and for the first time in hours, her eyes softened. The windows were open, faint traces of laughter and clinking dishes carried through the evening air. The warm glow of the lamps spilled out onto the porch, making the home look almost inviting, peaceful.

But Emma knew better. Behind the warm facade were two of the deadliest people she knew—the ones protecting her sister and niece with lethal precision.

Kunal caught her staring. He exhaled softly through his nose and gestured toward the bungalow with a small tilt of his head. “They’ve settled in.” His voice was calm, but she heard the subtle note of relief in it. “Still a bit jumpy, though.”

Emma’s lips pressed into a faint line, and she simply nodded, her fingers tightening faintly around the fabric of her jeans. She didn’t trust her voice.

---

The moment they rounded the bend, Kunal’s voice was quieter this time, more cautious. “Aryan’s back from deployment.”

Emma’s head snapped toward him before she could stop herself. Her eyes widened slightly, and for the first time since they landed, a flicker of life crossed her face. “When?” Her voice was softer, breathless, almost like she was afraid of the answer.

Kunal glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “Aisha called me thirty minutes ago.” He glanced at her quickly. “Said he was already on his way home.”

Emma’s heart stumbled in her chest. Her fingers curled slightly against her lap, clutching the fabric of her jeans. She nodded again, her throat tightening with a strange, familiar ache—the one that only Aryan could summon.

---

As they neared her bungalow, Kunal’s voice was steady, reassuring. “Cover story’s solid.” She glanced at him, her eyes dull again, but he pressed on. “You were at a government conference in Delhi,” he said evenly. “Car broke down on your way back from the airport.” His tone turned faintly wry. “So, like the loyal family friend I am, I came to get you.”

Emma gave a faint, breathless snort, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She stared out of the window, her voice flat. “You placed the dummy car?”

Kunal’s hand tightened on the wheel. “Already done.” His voice was firm, reassuring. “If anyone’s watching, they’ll find your car right where you should’ve broken down. Clean and simple.”

As they turned into the narrow driveway, Kunal pointed to the black army SUV parked near the entrance. The sight of it made Emma’s breath catch. “Aryan’s home.”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. Her bruised, bloodied body suddenly felt lighter, because Aryan was her calm in the storm.

And she had never needed him more.