The streets outside her flat had that strange, humid stillness only old Lahore knew — where the air was too thick to breathe, and silence wasn’t truly silent. It crackled, held its breath, waited for things to happen.
Inside, Alishba’s room felt like a standstill in time.
Reyan had said his piece and then disappeared — the same way he always did. No sound, no promise, just a shadow slipping through the cracks of her world. But his words lingered, heavier than the air itself.
“If anyone lays a hand on you, Alishba… I’ll make sure they don’t have hands left to touch anything ever again.”
She leaned back against the cold wall, staring at the ceiling, camera memory card now tucked into the lining of her bag — never trusting digital clouds. Safaid lay curled on the windowsill again, twitching his ears at every creak.
She should sleep.
But sleep didn’t come easy to people like her.
The type who held on to grief like a second skin.
Two years ago — the day she’d last seen her brother Daniyal — he had left her a note. Slipped into her camera bag.
“Don’t trust the man with the quiet eyes.”
She hadn’t understood it then.
Now she did.
Quiet eyes weren’t peaceful.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv9qI8RWKvg
They were practiced.
Just like Reyan’s.
At 2:47 a.m., someone knocked at her door.
Once.
Twice.
Slow. Deliberate.
Alishba froze mid-step. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
Not Reyan — he never knocked.
And not a neighbor — they knew better than to visit her this late.
She reached under her couch and pulled out the taser she'd rigged herself — wires exposed, but it worked like a charm.
Another knock.
Then a pause.
Then a voice.
“Alishba baji?”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxiYVgFTyNW
Young. Nervous. Male.
She looked through the peephole. A boy. Maybe fifteen. Skinny, scared. Holding something wrapped in a brown cloth.
She cracked the door slightly. “What is it?”
He looked over his shoulder before whispering, “Someone told me to give this to you. Said… say it’s from the man in the sky.”
Her blood turned cold.
The boy handed her the bundle and ran before she could say a word.
She locked the door. Bolted it. Then unwrapped the cloth slowly.
Inside was a photograph.
Old. Faded.
It was of her — and Daniyal.
Taken the day before he vanished.
They were standing in front of their childhood home in Johar Town. Her arm around him. Both smiling.
But it wasn’t just the photo that unsettled her.
It was what had been scratched onto the back of it.
In familiar handwriting:
“The storm didn’t start with you. It ends with you.”
Her knees almost gave out.
Because she knew that handwriting.
It belonged to Daniyal.
She stared at the words until the room began to spin.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9k0fpfAmQr
He was alive.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ61bCbiDuEx
Or someone wanted her to believe he was.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFi6c1PyEyt
Either way, it meant someone had been watching her for a very, very long time.
She sat down at her desk, pulling up the folder labeled NOIR. Her private archive. Dozens of unsolved photographs, images she never published. A tattoo on a ring finger. A scar pattern across someone’s neck. Details no one else noticed — but she did.
She’d been trying to connect dots for years.
Now the dots were connecting themselves.
And they were pointing at Reyan.
Elsewhere, across the city, Reyan stood in front of a burning warehouse.
He hadn’t lit the fire.
He’d simply arrived too late.
Siraj — the air marshal they were both tracking — had been here. So had three others. All gone now. Wiped clean. No bodies. Just blood.
And a message painted on the inside wall in ash:
“Control the sky, control the earth.”
Reyan muttered under his breath. “They’ve activated the second phase.”
He pulled out his phone and hesitated. His thumb hovered over Alishba’s number.
He didn’t want to involve her further.
But that choice had already been made — by someone else.
He called.
No answer.
He called again.
Still nothing.
He cursed under his breath — a rare thing — and got into his car.
If someone was using Daniyal to bait Alishba, there were only two possible reasons:14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB0fTPhpJYb
Either he was truly alive…14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0S9mNqD5Hl
Or they needed her to believe he was, so she’d fall straight into their trap.
And Reyan knew something most didn’t:
Alishba wouldn’t stop until she saw the truth herself — even if it killed her.
Back in her flat, Alishba packed.
Quickly.
Quietly.
She pulled on her old black shawl, the one Daniyal had given her when she first started photography. She shoved batteries, lenses, drives, memory cards into her satchel, one after another.
She didn’t know where she was going yet. Only that she couldn’t stay.
There was a war coming.
She could feel it.
Not the kind fought with armies — but with eyes in shadows and silence between words.
And if Reyan thought he could protect her…
He didn’t know her anymore.
She didn’t want protection.
She wanted the truth.
At exactly 4:11 a.m., Reyan’s car pulled into the alley behind her building.
He saw her window.
Dark.
Her lights — gone.
Her scent — faint in the breeze.
He walked up three floors, took the steps two at a time, and pushed open her door with the flat of his hand.
Empty.
Except for one thing.
On her desk was the photograph of her and Daniyal.
And scrawled beneath it in black marker:
“If you follow me, follow me to the truth.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEQidaxXBei
But if you try to stop me, Reyan — I’ll burn the sky you fly in.”
He closed his eyes.
And smiled.
Not because it was funny.
But because she hadn’t changed.
And neither had he.
They were both built for chaos.
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