Aanya’s pulse boomed in her ears as she locked eyes with the stranger standing at her doorstep. The dim light from the hallway cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features—the chiselled jawline, the piercing blue eyes that held something unspoken. There was urgency in his stance, a quiet desperation in the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Zayn, still clutching his ribs, staggered to his feet and positioned himself slightly in front of Aanya, his protective instincts overriding his pain.

"کون ہيں آپ" (Who are you?) Aanya demanded, her voice steadier than she felt. ''اور تمہیں مخطوطے کی پرواہ کیوں ہے؟'' (And why do you care about the manuscript?)

The stranger hesitated for only a fraction of a second before speaking. ''میرا نام ادریس درانی ہے۔ اور اگر آپ رات کو زندہ رہنا چاہتے ہیں، تو آپ کو میرے ساتھ آنے کی ضرورت ہے. اب." (My name is Idris Durrani. And if you want to survive the night, you need to come with me. Now.)

Aanya exchanged a quick glance with Zayn, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. The wounds from their last encounter had barely begun to settle, and now, here was yet another mysterious figure demanding their trust.

Aanya folded her arms. ''تمہیں اس سے بھی بہتر کام کرنا پڑے گا، ادریس۔'' (You’re going to have to do better than that, Idris)

A flicker of irritation crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. ''تم نہیں سمجھتے۔ آدھی رات کی عدالت نے آپ کو نشان زد کیا ہے۔ وہ آنا بند نہیں کریں گے. آج رات کیا ہوا؟ یہ صرف ایک انتباہ تھا." (You don’t understand. The Midnight Court has marked you. They won’t stop coming. What happened tonight? That was only a warning.)

Aanya felt the weight of his words settle over her like a shroud. The memory of the glowing mark on her chest, the way the figure had recoiled in fear—it all came rushing back.

''وہ مجھ سے کیا چاہتے ہیں؟'' (What do they want with me?) she asked, her voice quieter now.

Idris exhaled sharply. ''یہاں نہیں۔'' (Not here) He glanced around, as if half expecting shadows to come alive. ''ہر جگہ ان کی آنکھیں ہیں۔ ہمیں آگے بڑھنے کی ضرورت ہے۔'' (They have eyes everywhere. We need to move)

Zayn stepped forward, his expression unreadable. ''اور اگر ہم انکار کر دیں تو کیا ہوگا؟'' (And what if we say no?)

''پھر تم مر جاؤ گے۔'' (Then you die), Idris said simply.

Silence fell between them. Aanya could hear the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room, a rhythmic reminder that time was slipping away.

She had spent her whole life chasing stories—unearthing truths buried beneath history’s weight. And now, for the first time, she was the story. The hunted.

Zayn must have seen the shift in her expression because he groaned in frustration. "انیا-" (Aanya—)

''ہمارے پاس کوئی چارہ نہیں ہے۔'' (We don’t have a choice) she said, meeting his gaze. ''تم نے دیکھا کہ آج رات کیا ہوا۔ ہمیں جواب چاہیے۔'' (You saw what happened tonight. We need answers.)

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Zayn ran a hand through his hair but gave in with a curt nod. ''ٹھیک ہے۔ لیکن اگر یہ کسی قسم کا جال ہے، تو میں پہلا پنچ پھینک رہا ہوں۔" (Fine. But if this is some kind of trap, I’m throwing the first punch.)

Idris gave him a wry smile. "نوٹ کیا. اب، آپ کی ضرورت کی چیزیں پکڑیں. ہم پانچ منٹ میں چلے جائیں گے۔" (Noted. Now, grab what you need. We leave in five minutes.)

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The streets of the old city were eerily silent as they moved through the labyrinthine alleys, their footsteps barely making a sound against the uneven cobblestones. Aanya pulled her scarf tighter around her shoulders, suppressing a shiver that had little to do with the night air.

Idris led them with a confidence that suggested he knew these streets well. Occasionally, he would glance over his shoulder, his expression taut with vigilance.

''ہم کہاں جا رہے ہیں؟'' (Where are we going?) Aanya finally asked.

''ایک محفوظ گھر میں۔'' (To a safehouse) Idris replied. ''کہیں نہ کہیں عدالت آپ تک نہیں پہنچ سکتی۔'' (Somewhere the Court can’t reach you.)

Zayn scoffed. ''ٹھیک ہے۔ کیونکہ سایہ دار شیطان مکمل طور پر محفوظ پناہ گاہ کی حدود کا احترام کرتے ہیں۔" (Right. Because shadow demons totally respect safehouse boundaries."

Idris shot him an exasperated look but didn’t argue. Instead, he quickened his pace, guiding them deeper into the city.

Aanya wasn’t sure how long they walked, but eventually, Idris stopped in front of a wooden door between two abandoned buildings. He knocked twice, paused, then knocked three more times in quick succession. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior.

Inside, the space was sparse but functional. A worn Persian rug covered the floor, and books lined the walls in stacks. A single oil lamp flickered on a wooden desk, casting long shadows against the cracked plaster walls.

An elderly man sat behind the desk, his gaze sharp despite the deep lines carved into his face. He studied them for a long moment before speaking.

''تو۔'' (So) he said, his voice like dry parchment. ''وہ بیدار ہو گئی ہے۔'' (She has awakened.)

Aanya stiffened. ''تم جانتے ہو میں کون ہوں؟'' (You know who I am?)

The man nodded. ''سب سے اہم بات یہ ہے کہ میں جانتا ہوں کہ تم کیا ہو۔'' (More importantly, I know what you are.)

Aanya felt Zayn shift beside her, his body tense. ''اور وہ دراصل کیا ہے؟'' (And what exactly is she?)

The old man leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "نشان زد ہے۔ " (Marked.)

Aanya swallowed hard. ''سائے نے یہی کہا تھا۔ کہ میں نشان رکھتا ہوں. لیکن اس کا کیا مطلب ہے؟" (That’s what the shadow said. That I bear the mark. But what does it mean?)

The man studied her, his expression unreadable. ''اس کا مطلب ہے بیٹا، تم اپنی نوعیت کے آخری ہو۔'' (It means, child, that you are the last of your kind.)

The room seemed to shrink around her. The words settled heavily in her chest, suffocating.

''تم کس بارے میں بات کر رہے ہو؟'' (What are you talking about?) she whispered.

The old man sighed. "مڈ نائٹ کورٹ نے صدیوں سے آپ کے خون کی لکیر کا شکار کیا ہے۔ آپ کے پاس جو نشان ہے وہ ایک قدیم طاقت کا ثبوت ہے - ایک ایسی طاقت جس سے وہ ڈرتے ہیں۔ انہوں نے آپ کے نسب کو مٹانے کی کوشش کی، تاکہ اس بات کو یقینی بنایا جاسکے کہ آپ جیسا کوئی دوبارہ کبھی نہ اٹھے۔" (The Midnight Court has hunted your bloodline for centuries. The mark you bear is proof of an ancient power—a power they fear. They tried to erase your lineage, to make sure no one like you would ever rise again.)

Aanya’s hands curled into fists. ''تو پھر میں یہاں کیوں ہوں؟'' (Then why am I still here?)

"کیونکہ قسمت اتنی آسانی سے دوبارہ نہیں لکھی جاتی ہے۔" (Because fate is not so easily rewritten.)

A tense silence followed. Then Zayn spoke, his voice low. "اگر آپ جو کہہ رہے ہیں وہ سچ ہے ... پھر وہ اس وقت تک نہیں رکیں گے جب تک کہ وہ مر نہ جائے۔" (If what you’re saying is true… then they won’t stop until she’s dead.)

The old man met his gaze. ''یہ صحیح ہے۔'' (That is correct.)

Aanya forced herself to take a steadying breath. Fear clawed at the edges of her mind, but beneath it, something else stirred—anger. Defiance.

She had spent her life uncovering lost histories. Now, she was a part of one. And she refused to be erased.

She straightened, meeting the old man’s gaze with determination. ''پھر مجھے بتاؤ کہ مجھے کیا کرنے کی ضرورت ہے۔'' (Then tell me what I need to do.)

A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "اچھا. تم تیار ہو۔'' (Good. You are ready.)

But before he could speak again, a thunderous crash shook the walls.

The shadows had found them.