“Aarohi,” he hissed under his breath, his lips barely moving. “The lights. Kill the candles. Now.“
My legs felt like lead, but the raw authority in his voice propelled me forward. I rushed toward the bedside table, my heavy sari rustling loudly in the quiet room. With one swift breath, I blew out the cluster of candles. The room plunged into near-total darkness, illuminated only by the pale, silver moonlight filtering through the velvet curtains.
Click.
The heavy oak door creaked open, just a fraction of an inch. A sliver of light from the grand hallway cut through the darkness of our bedroom, reflecting off the polished floorboards.
Through the narrow gap, a shadow stretched into the room. It wasn’t the shape of a curious maid or a worried family member. The silhouette was wide, imposing, and clad in tactical gear. In the figure’s right hand, the distinct shape of a suppressed automatic pistol caught the moonlight.
They weren’t here to spy. They were here to execute.
