Silence.
The call had ended, but its weight still hung in the air.
Veer didn't move. His fingers were still wrapped around the phone, his jaw locked tight. The room, filled with the usual chaos of their gang, now felt eerily still.
Rudra noticed first. His sharp instincts kicked in as he set his gun down. "Who was it?"
Veer didn't answer immediately. Instead, he placed the phone on the table and looked at them—his brothers in arms, the only people he trusted.
Then he spoke. Low. Cold. "He's alive."
Karan frowned. "Who's alive?"
Veer's next words sent a chill down their spines.
"Rafaël."
The name alone was enough to darken the entire room.
Rafaël—the man they had buried years ago. The man who had once been one of them.
A brother. A traitor.
And now, a ghost.
The Enemy That Shouldn't Exist
Zayan whistled, leaning forward. "Damn. Now that's unexpected." His usual playful smirk was missing.
Karan's fingers flew across his laptop keyboard. "No way. We saw his body. We burned it." His voice wavered, betraying the unease beneath his logic.
"He's dead," Rudra agreed. "We made sure of it."
Veer met his gaze, his expression unreadable, but his voice left no room for argument.
"Then tell me why he just called me."
Silence again.
Karan's jaw clenched. "If Rafaël is alive… he's not coming back to talk."
Veer nodded. "No. He's coming back for revenge."
And that meant only one thing—war was coming.
Rafaël hadn't always been their enemy.
Once, he had fought beside them. Laughed with them. Bled for them.
He had been as much a part of their gang as any of them. Until the betrayal. Until the moment they realized—he had been playing both sides.
He had sold them out. Nearly got them killed. And in the end, Veer had been the one to pull the trigger.
Or so he thought.
Because now, Rafaël was back.
And if there was one thing Veer knew—it was that a man who survived death didn't return empty-handed.
He returned with a plan.
A knock on the door snapped them all to attention.
It was rare—no one ever reached their headquarters without an invitation.
Rudra was the first to grab his gun, while Zayan slid his knife back into his boot, standing up lazily.
Veer gestured to Karan, who checked the security cameras.
His face darkened. "There's a package."
A single black box sat at their doorstep.
Karan frowned. "No sign of anyone delivering it. One second it wasn't there, the next—it was."
Zayan chuckled, though it lacked humor. "Damn, I hate when villains get dramatic."
Rudra opened the door cautiously, gun in hand, and picked up the box. It was surprisingly light.
Veer took it from him and placed it on the table. A single name was written on the top.
Veer.
No title. No threats.
Just his name, written in blood-red ink.
Rudra pulled out his knife, cutting the box open with precision. Inside, there was only one thing.
A bullet.
A single, custom-made bullet.
And engraved on it—Veer's name.
Karan exhaled. "Well. That's clear enough."
Zayan tilted his head, eyes shining with excitement. "So, when do we start killing?"
Veer picked up the bullet, rolling it between his fingers. His face remained unreadable, his mind already calculating a thousand possibilities.
But one thing was certain.
This wasn't just a warning. It was a declaration of war.
And Veer?
Veer never lost a war.