I woke in a dilemma.
It was hard to get up… but not impossible.
The lights stung my eyes. Machines beeped softly. Sterile air. White ceiling.
The infirmary.
Dr. Ankita stood beside the scanner, studying my X-rays. Her posture was sharp, like a scalpel—but her eyes were tired.
Our eyes met. She didn't speak right away—not because she lacked words, but because she was measuring whether I deserved them.
Then, like a scalpel:
"You always manage to survive," she said. "Even gravity's too polite to finish you off."
She stepped forward, holding a tablet. Her hands were steady. Her voice was not.
"Three minor fractures. Nine shattered. You're walking around like a jigsaw puzzle that forgot it was human."
Her eyes met mine, sharp behind fatigue.
"But you want to know what really broke?"
She didn't wait for permission.
"Dr. Khanna didn't make it."
The words hit harder than the fall.
"He was in the archives, trying to save backup data. Said something about 'preserving the trail for minds greater than ours.' Idiot. His legs gave out before the floor did. The fire didn't leave much. Just… enough to know it was him."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
It wasn't grief I felt. It was a cavity being torn inside my chest. A collapse, slow and choking. As though something ancient had snapped.
Khanna wasn't just a colleague. He was a mind that mattered. One of the last few who still believed in something bigger than survival. And now, what was left of him? Burned bones and a failed ideal.
I squeezed the blanket under my fingers.
"He was trying to leave a trail…" I murmured. "Even at the end."
She stepped closer, voice cold.
"And you. You jumped off a cliff hugging research files like they were your own heart. Are you insane?"
I said nothing.
"You had seconds. And you chose data over your damn life. Was it worth it?"
I hesitated. Then quietly:
"Were they safe?"
She exhaled—like surrender.
"Yes. They're safe."
I nodded and thought.
"I burned Mira's name. Slid her paper into my file. Confused the labels. Just in case."
Her expression flickered—from anger to a reluctant, bone-deep respect.
"You think like a survivor. That's your curse. Always calculating. Always five steps ahead. But you keep forgetting—we're not all pieces on a board."
She paused, voice low now.
"You treat death like a theory. But some of us have to feel it."
She glanced at the screen again.
"You'll walk in two days. Limp through Wednesday. And by Sunday, you'll chase ghosts again."
I half-smiled.
"I thought I broke thirteen."
She smirked, tired but sharp.
"You're always one bone short of a prophecy."
Then her voice grew quieter.
"But prophecies are for gods, not chess players."
She turned to leave, but I stopped her.
"What did Mr. Zakir say about the explosion?"
She paused.
"He said it was just a failed reaction. No signs of sabotage. Nothing to report."
But her voice was too smooth. Too practiced. Her mask cracked a breath later.
"I've stopped hoping," she said. "Hope's dangerous. Makes you linger longer than logic allows."
Her tone softened, almost to herself.
"I used to argue with Dr. Khanna every night. He said the world still had room for miracles. I told him miracles were just statistical outliers waiting to kill us."
She glanced back one last time.
"I guess we were both right."
But she didn't leave yet.
Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the doorframe.
"Do you think it was one of us?" she asked suddenly. "One of the seven?"
Her voice was careful, surgical. But I saw the fear behind it.
"I don't know who anymore," she continued. "Every time I look at them, I see guilt. Or panic. Or nothing. Maybe that's what scares me most—the nothing."
I answered slowly.
"Everyone is guilty of something. But not everyone is guilty of this."
"Then what?" she snapped. "Are you suggesting there's a phantom killer? Someone outside this base? That doesn't make sense—nothing enters here. Nothing leaves."
"You're wrong," I said softly.
"Wrong?" Her eyes flared.
"Something did leave. Khanna's hope. Mira's silence. Zakir's excuses. And yours, Ankita. Your heart's already halfway out that door. The killer doesn't need to be outside. They just need to be the last one left standing."
She stared at me. A long time passed.
Then her tone turned to steel.
"I don't want to lose another one. So if you know something—if you suspect anything—you better say it now."
I shook my head.
"I don't suspect. I know. But proof is still a ghost."
She whispered, more to herself than me:
"Then I hope the ghost doesn't come for me next."
"The last time I saw Zabir… was inside the lab," I said, just loud enough.
She didn't turn around. Just froze… then left.
I stared at the ceiling.
Like always, I would have to rely on myself.
No gods. No miracles. Just broken bones and borrowed time.
A full day had passed.
It was already Wednesday. That… existence—whatever it was—wouldn't interfere again until Sunday.
Three days.
First Mira.
Then Khanna.
I remembered our late-night talks. He once spoke about fallen geniuses—people whose minds burned brighter than their bodies could handle. People who almost changed the world but were erased before history could write their names.
Now he was one of them.
And Mira… her silence still lingered like unfinished thoughts.
Some people die. Others disappear.
But the rarest are those whose absence stays louder than their presence ever was.
The weight of both their losses crushed something in me.
Not just grief. Legacy.
The traitor didn't just kill people.
They robbed the future.
Sunday is coming. I need answers before then.
I am injured. I am outnumbered.
But time is my true enemy.
And even so… I've already begun the next phase of my plan.
All I have left to do is bleed a lie so convincing, even the truth won't recognize itself.
Thinking of this, my lips curled—just slightly.
To be continued.