A hoot. Then another. Then another.
Dozens of owls echoed across the dark canopy above Civil Lines. Bats flitted through the humid night sky, their wings slicing the silence with erratic flight. Streetlights flickered uncertainly, and the shadows felt longer than usual.
The frantic slap of leather shoes against the pavement broke the uneasy calm.
A man ran—no, fled—through the alleyways, sweat pouring down his forehead, his breath ragged, and panic oozing from every twitch of his body. His name: Mr. Patel. His crime: only he and the shadows knew.
He wasn't looking back, but he didn't need to. The feeling of being *hunted* clawed at his back. His heart pounded like a war drum. His shiny belt flapped with each stride, catching his feet.
Then—
SCREEEEECH!
A swarm of bats descended like an omen, screeching inches from his head. He screamed and stumbled backward.
And that was when the ground betrayed him.
He plunged into an open manhole.
A splash of the most vile kind echoed upward. Moments later, Mr. Patel emerged, reeking, soaked head-to-toe in sewage, his once-pristine white shirt now a symbol of ironic justice.
"Well, if you *had* to die," came a voice—smooth, amused, cold as ice, "you might've at least bathed in clean water first."
Patel froze.
The voice didn't match the alley. It belonged in a tuxedo lounge or an execution chamber—something with class and cruelty.
From the shadows, a figure stepped out. Dressed in black, his coat flared with a subtle wind, his boots pristine. A silver chain dangled from his wristwatch like a ticking countdown.
Patel's teeth chattered. "W-who are you? Why are you after me? I haven't done anything to you!"
"Oh, Mr. Patel," the stranger said, stepping forward. His voice dripped with sarcasm and contempt. "You know how it goes. You live like a pig, and karma eventually decides to barbecue you."
Patel looked around, desperate. "Please… money! I can pay you! Cash, crypto, black diamonds—just name it!"
"You think this is about money?" the man scoffed. "Your file says it all. You run with syndicates, traffic boys barely in their teens, and pollute every soul you touch. Money's all you've ever known. But me?"
He pulled out a small whistle.
Not a gun. Not a blade.
A whistle.
He blew it.
The sound was almost silent—barely above a whisper—but Patel clutched his ears like he'd been shot. "No—what is that?!"
"To some, it brings peace," the man said, circling him. "To you, it's the bell tolling for your sins."
Patel screamed again. "PLEASE!"
But the stranger was already turning.
"Remember this moment in the next life, Patel," he said, pulling something small from his coat. A gun.
Patel's eyes widened. The last thing he saw was the glint of moonlight on the barrel.
BANG!
His body slumped back into the pit. The sewer claimed him, again.
The man stepped toward the edge, peering down.
"Funny," he muttered. "Even with your reading skills, you ended up buried in the footnotes."
He walked away, hands in pockets, unbothered.
As he passed beneath the flickering streetlamp, his face finally came into focus.
Ruhan Singh Chauhan.
He glanced at the silver watch on his wrist.
1:08 a.m.
"I should probably go to bed," he said to no one in particular.
And just like that, the night swallowed him again.
Around five hours earlier, just fifteen minutes before eight o'clock...
The main gate creaked open slowly. Tommy, who had been lounging lazily by the door, perked up instantly. His ears twitched, and the moment his sleepy eyes caught the sight beyond the gate, he leapt up with enthusiasm.
A bark. Then another.
A storm of wagging tail and excitement.
Hearing the commotion, Nandini stepped out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. Her eyes fell on the familiar duo walking toward her—Ishaand her three-year-old son, Bunny.
"Tommy! I missed you so much!" Isha beamed as she unbuckled Bunny from the stroller.
The toddler waddled over while Isha bent down to scratch Tommy's head affectionately. Tommy wagged his tail like a helicopter, practically dancing in joy.
Nandini stood silently at the threshold, arms folded.
Didn't she just meet him this morning? she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
Isha's baby voice turned to Tommy, "Did you miss me too, hmm? Such a good boy!"
Nandini's gaze shifted to Tommy, who looked like he'd found his soulmate in Isha.
"Seriously? Are you my dog or hers? Just look at that loyalty," she muttered under her breath, sarcasm laced with a hint of jealousy curling at the edges of her words.
"So... what are you up to?" Isha asked, still playing with Tommy.
Nandini sighed. "What do you think? Cooking. Clearly."
"Nandu, did you make dinner already?" Isha asked cheerfully.
"Nope. Just Tommy's food. Apparently, he's the priority," she snapped.
"Oh! Then good! Because there's a party tonight."
"Party? Whose birthday is it today? No festival, no anniversary. What gives?" Nandini squinted in confusion.
Bal Krishna Society was notorious for celebrating everything. If someone's cat sneezed, there was a cake.
"Our new neighbor! The one who moved into the Runthla family's second floor flat! Society's throwing a welcome party! You didn't check the WhatsApp group?" Isha blinked.
"Wait... who?" Nandini asked.
"The new tenant, of course. We all helped him shift. Such a sweet guy."
Nandini stared.
Her brain flashed back to him.
The smile. The way the sunlight caught his hair. The chill in her spine.
The vampire...
She accidentally whispered, "Vampire."
"What?" Isha tilted her head.
"Nothing! I mean... I was just saying... he probably hasn't unpacked yet. It's too early to throw a party, right?" Nandini covered up, fast.
"Oh, we took care of all that! We helped him arrange his furniture too. He even offered juice! You should've come out!" Isha grinned.
Nandini felt like someone had stabbed her with a ladle.
Juice? He offered juice? In this economy? she thought.
"Wow... sounds like you all bonded fast. What is this, speed friending?" she asked.
"Come on, don't be like that! Just be ready by 8. Dress nicely okay?"
Isha picked up Bunny, waved goodbye, and walked off. Tommy gave a final affectionate nuzzle to her leg before returning to Nandini's side, tail wagging half-heartedly now.
"Traitor," Nandini mumbled.
---
As the clock inched closer to eight, Nandini stood before her wardrobe like it was a courtroom.
"I'm not dressing up. I'm not interested," she declared.
Fifteen minutes later, she was in her best black top, light makeup, and perfume so subtle it whispered I'm not trying hard.