Shubman looked thoughtfully at the man tied to the chair in his basement, humming as he ran a hand over the tools placed on the table beside.

"Should I cut you up or put you in a meat grinder?" He asked the captive when his hand finally stopped when coming in contact with a drop-point blade. Used to slice through ropes, open packages, and cut food.

"Maybe we should send him to Smriti," Ishan suggested. "She started this workshop recently in Bangalore for aspiring assassins. They're very good with knives."

"Pack him up then," Shubman said just as a phone rang.

The older one answered the call on his phone while standing a few feet away from him.

"Shahneel, I'm in the middle of a- Stop swearing at me!" Ishan tried to say something. "What? Let me talk for-" He stopped again. "We're in the basement. You know Shub doesn't take his phone with him here-"

Shubman perceived that his sister was talking since there was complete silence in the basement again. One that prompted him to turn his head and finally see the pure look of dread on Ishan's face.

-

"How the f-ck did this happen!" Shubman yelled furiously as he walked through the hallways.

"Sir, he was hiding under one of the cars and-" The man's words were cut off as a hand wrapped around his throat, holding him against the wall.

"Do you think any of your excuses are going to keep you alive," he gritted out, emphasizing the last word with a harsh squeeze of his neck before he let go.

The man collapsed to the ground, coughing out as Shubman and Ishan walked past him.

"F-cking eight people went with her and this is how you bring her back home!" He yelled again as they made their way to the living room with quick steps.

He noticed his sister who was just walking towards the hallway, "Di," holding her shoulder, he made her face him.

"I'm okay, Shubi. Go to Y/n," she said before he could ask her anything. "She seems pretty shaken up."

Shubman's eyes fell on you sitting on the couch, a doctor already there as he rushed to you.

"Baby," he said in a soft voice, sitting beside you as one of his hands held your cheek.

His eyes examined the dried-up blood over your cut. It was about an inch but you were lucky that the knife didn't lacerate any nerve.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, wrapping his arms around you tightly. "I'm so sorry, baby. This is my fault."

You said nothing. You didn't hug him back. It was like you were comatose with your eyes still open.

"We've accessed the CCTV in the parking lot," one of the men in the room said as he walked forward. "There is footage showing his face clearly."

Shubman got the iPad from him, hugging you with one arm, the rage in his eyes inexpressible as he stared at the picture.

Your hands clutched the sides of his blazer as you looked at it too.

Turning your head that was on his shoulder, you faced the other side, moving closer in his embrace.

He noticed your reaction, and the familiarity in your eyes.

Shubman handed the iPad back to the man, making sure to hold your hand even as the doctor treated the wound.

He was the one who almost winced when the disinfectant was applied on your cut.

You just sat there with your face lacking any emotion.

The doctor was explaining that the surgical tape over the cotton was enough, recommending some antibiotics and regular wound dressing for three days.

He said the cut was not too deep and hence the scar would fade away in a month or so. Yes, but what about the ones in your heart?

Wordlessly, you hugged Shubman again, hoping he'd take you somewhere away.

You aren't sure if he could read minds because he stood up and lifted you up in his arms, carrying you upstairs to your bedroom.

When he laid you on the bed, it was like something inside you finally snapped.

Maybe it was the fact that the curtains were closed and the room was dark.

Or the fact that he stayed with you, holding your hand.

As Shubman sat on the bed with your head on his lap, you finally broke down, making these sounds of a soul being ripped into two as the grief took its toll.