Swindon, England — Kiaan's fingers trembled slightly as he stared at his phone, the screen reflecting his tense expression in the dim light of his small, cluttered apartment. He knew the futility of what he was about to do — trying to contact Reyaan Malhotra on any number was like chasing smoke. Reyaan was a ghost, a phantom with countless burner phones and untraceable lines, always one step ahead. But still, driven by a reckless spark of defiance and desperation, Kiaan dialed again.
The line rang, then clicked. A voice cut through the silence like a razor — cold, merciless, and laced with a venomous amusement.Reyaan's voice: "Well, well, well… Missing me, Agent?"
Kiaan's heart hammered hard. There was a strange chill running down his spine—something deeper than fear. It wasn't the same fear he felt staring death in the eyes in the darkest corners of his missions. This was something more primal.Kiaan, steady but wary: "Reyaan... I didn't expect to hear from you. Didn't think you'd keep using one number."Reyaan, chuckling darkly: "I don't, little agent. But I'm generous tonight."
A pause.
Reyaan's tone shifted, low and dangerous: "So… you wanna spread your legs for me again, huh?"The cruel sarcasm was like a slap.Kiaan gritted his teeth but held his ground.Kiaan: "I'm not your pawn anymore."
Reyaan laughed, a sound that was more menace than mirth.Reyaan: "That mark on your wrist? It won't disappear — not even when you're six feet under. And I won't let you die... not as long as I breathe."
The weight of those words crushed the room. Kiaan swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.Kiaan: "Why… why do you keep me alive? Why not just finish this?"
Reyaan: "Because, boy, I'm a devil that doesn't die so easily.