The attack came on a Sunday.
Aarav was at home, pretending to do homework, when his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
"She's not safe. Neither are you."
He stared at the screen.
Another buzz.
"Leave her alone. Walk away. It's your only chance."
His fingers moved before his brain caught up.
"Who is this?"
The response came immediately.
"Someone trying to save your life."
Then nothing.
He called Kavya.
No answer.
He called again.
No answer.
He was out the door before his mother could ask where he was going.
He found her at the music room.
She was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. She wasn't crying. But she looked like she had been.
"What happened?" he demanded.
She held up her phone.
The screen showed a single text message:
"We know where you are. We know what you are. Come quietly, or the boy dies."
Aarav's blood turned to ice.
"They threatened you," he said slowly. "Through me."
"They threatened us."
He sat down next to her.
"We need to leave," he said. "Both of us. Tonight."
"And go where?"
"Anywhere. Somewhere they can't find us."
"There's no such place."
"Then we fight."
She looked at him.
"You don't know what you're offering."
"Then explain it to me."
She closed her eyes.
And when she opened them, her wall was down.
For the first time, she let him see everything.
Not just her thoughts. Her memories. Her fears. Her nightmares.
He saw the first time the hunters found her—age thirteen, alone in a boarding school dormitory, men in black suits breaking down her door.
He saw her escape—using her ability to push confusion into their minds, to make them see empty hallways instead of a running girl.
He saw the years that followed—the constant movement, the false names, the nights spent staring at ceilings, waiting for shadows to move.
He saw the loneliness.
The exhaustion.
The desperate, aching hope that someday, someone would find her.
And then—
He saw herself as she saw herself.
Broken.
Dangerous.
Unworthy of being saved.
The wall went back up.
Aarav was crying.
He hadn't realized it until he felt the tears on his cheeks.
"I'm sorry," Kavya whispered. "I shouldn't have shown you that."
"No." He shook his head. "I'm glad you did."
"Why?"
"Because now I understand."
"Understand what?"
He turned to face her.
"Why you push people away. Why you don't trust anyone. Why you think you're poison."
"Aarav—"
"You're not poison, Kavya. You're not broken. You're not dangerous. You're just scared. And that's okay. I'm scared too."
She stared at him.
"But I'm more scared of losing you than I am of anything else," he continued. "And if that means fighting monsters, then I'll fight monsters. I'll fight anyone. I'll fight everyone. Because you're worth it."
Her lip trembled.
"Don't say things you don't mean."
"I mean every word."
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was desperate and hungry and terrified—a kiss that said I don't know if we'll survive tomorrow, so I need to feel alive right now.
He kissed her back.
And for a moment, the hunters didn't exist.
The danger didn't exist.
There was only her.
Only them.
Only this.