The night was supposed to be about peace.
For a while, it was.
Zayan had been busy flirting, his easy grin never fading. Rudra had settled into his drink, watching the world with quiet suspicion. Karan was still lost in his digital empire, and Veer? Veer was keeping an eye on them all.
But then, it happened.
A man, clearly drunk and too cocky for his own good, stumbled into Zayan, nearly knocking the drink from his hand.
Zayan laughed it off, shaking his head. "Easy there, man. You should watch where you're—"
Before he could finish, the man's eyes flicked to the thin silver chain around Zayan's neck. And then, he reached for it.
The moment his fingers grazed the metal, the entire room shifted.
Zayan's smirk vanished.
His hand shot out, gripping the man's wrist with enough force to make bones creak.
The music still blared. The club still pulsed with life. But the air around them? It was deadly still.
The man, now sober with fear, tried to yank his hand back. "Hey, man, I was just—"
CRACK.
Zayan twisted the wrist back in one swift motion. Not enough to break it. Just enough to hurt.
"You were just what?" Zayan's voice was quiet. Too quiet. His usual playful tone was gone.
The man groaned in pain, but his pride wouldn't let him back down. "It's just a damn locket. You act like it's your—"
That was the last mistake he made.
Zayan's fist collided with his jaw so fast that the guy didn't even see it coming. One punch. Clean. Brutal. The man's body hit the floor with a sickening thud.
The club went silent.
Rudra, Karan, and Veer immediately turned toward the commotion. Zayan stood over the unconscious man, breathing heavily, fists clenched.
People around them started whispering. Some backed away. Some idiots thought it was a show.
Veer's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Zayan."
Zayan didn't look up. His shoulders were tense, his chest rising and falling too fast.
Karan, now standing beside Veer, glanced at the locket still hanging around Zayan's neck.
"He touched it," Karan muttered under his breath.
That was all Rudra needed to hear. He exhaled slowly, already understanding why Zayan had snapped.
Because that locket?
It wasn't just jewelry.
It was a memory. A wound. A past that no one dared to bring up.
Veer took a step forward. "Let's go."
Zayan's jaw tightened, but he nodded. He stepped over the unconscious man without a second glance and walked toward the exit.
Karan followed, but not before flashing a smug grin at the terrified crowd. "Show's over, folks."
Rudra grabbed a bottle off the bar as he passed by. "We're gonna need this."
Veer?
Veer was the last to leave, his eyes sweeping over the room, daring anyone to challenge them.
No one did.
Because even in a club full of criminals—everyone knew better than to mess with them.
The dimly lit hall was thick with silence, broken only by the occasional clink of glass and the slow burn of whiskey down their throats. Four men. Four warriors. Four killers. Sitting in the aftermath of bloodshed, the weight of something far heavier pressing down on them.
Except for Veer.
He sat untouched by alcohol, untouched by sentiment. His dark gaze swept across the room, taking in the way each of them held their locket.
The same locket.
Except he didn't have one.
Zayan leaned back, absently running his fingers over the cool metal against his chest. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes—his eyes told a different story. Like he was looking at a piece of the past he couldn't erase.
Karan twirled his between his fingers, the chain spinning like a noose around his knuckles. "It's funny, isn't it?" he murmured. "No matter how much blood we spill, how many battles we win… this one thing never leaves us."
Rudra's grip tightened around his locket, his thumb brushing over the engraved edges. "Some things aren't meant to be forgotten."
Veer watched them. Unmoving. Unshaken. Unattached.
"It's a weakness," he said, his voice like steel.
Zayan scoffed. "Says the man who doesn't have one."
Silence.
Then—Karan laughed. A hollow sound. "You never needed one, did you?"
Veer didn't answer.
Because he didn't have to.
They all knew what was inside those lockets.
Her picture.
Their princess.
Their light.
Their reason.
She was the only softness they had ever known. The only warmth in their cold, merciless world. And then… she was gone.
Ripped from them.
Lost.
And yet, she still lived—trapped inside those lockets, frozen in time.
Zayan exhaled, tilting his head back. "Sometimes, I hate it."
"Then take it off," Rudra said again.
Zayan's fingers curled around the locket. He didn't move.
Because none of them ever would.
Karan raised his glass. "To ghosts of the past."
Rudra smirked, though there was no humor in his eyes. "To the girl who never left."
Zayan whispered, almost too low to hear, "To our princess."
And Veer?
He sat in the silence.
Because while they carried her in their lockets—he carried her in his soul.
Veer stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the cold floor.
"It's time for my sleep," he muttered, his voice flat, unreadable.
No one stopped him.
They all knew Veer wasn't one for sentimental conversations. Not the way they were. He carried his grief differently—like a blade hidden beneath his skin, never visible but always present.
The air in the hall remained heavy as he walked away, his footsteps fading into the dimly lit corridors of their mansion.
The door to his room shut behind him.
Silence.
Then, slowly, he stepped toward the large, full-length mirror.
Veer stood there, staring at his reflection—at the man he had become.
Dark, ruthless, untouchable.
His fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undid them, letting the fabric slide off his broad shoulders, revealing the ripped muscles sculpted from years of war. His skin held the faint traces of battle—old wounds, scars that told stories of the past.
But there was one mark that stood out among them all.
Right over his heart.
A tattoo.
Her face.
Etched onto his skin like an unbreakable vow.
His eyes darkened as he traced a finger over the inked lines.
She was there. Even in his silence. Even in his solitude. Even when the world had taken everything—she remained.
His grip tightened into a fist.
Veer didn't wear a locket because he didn't need to.
They had her in a picture.
He had her carved into his soul.