Too quiet for a place like Vantier Hollow, where neon usually bled into the sky and sirens sang lullabies to the damned.
But tonight, the streets whispered.
And Dirga walked alone.
He made his way back to his apartment under flickering streetlights, the moon hanging overhead like a silent witness. The wind tugged at his coat as if trying to hold him back. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Inside his apartment, the door clicked shut behind him.
Dirga stood still for a long moment, letting the silence settle. The place was dark, cluttered with old books, incense sticks, and empty coffee cups. The scent of burnt herbs and dried blood still lingered in the air from past rituals.
He ran a hand across his face, fingers brushing the scar over his left eye — a mark he’d earned the night Naya collapsed. A reminder.
He walked to the old photo on the wall. Naya smiled in it. So did Jane. He didn’t.
His eyes lingered on Naya’s face.
He touched the glass.
He whispered it like a prayer — or a promise.
No matter what I have to become.
He sat down on the edge of his couch, the old springs groaning beneath him.
His thoughts spiraled.
Everything he had done. The blood on his hands. The pact. The souls. The lies.
He thought he would feel shame. Or fear.
Instead, he felt clarity.
If the world had to burn to save her, so be it.
If he had to sell this world to Hell itself, he would.
If he had to become the villain...
He’d play the part flawlessly.
Dirga closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, the real play would begin.
The next three days would test him in ways he wasn’t ready for. He would wear the mask of power. He would walk into the empire of a man he had killed. He would lie, smile, charm, and deceive — all to solidify his place, and build the resources needed to crack open the truth of Naya’s condition.
And underneath it all... he would carry Sasa’s shadow in his soul.
Sleep took him slowly.
Dirga opened his eyes to pale sunlight bleeding through the blinds. The room was cold and quiet — too quiet. The kind of silence that settles after something has already gone wrong.
He blinked slowly, then rolled over and checked his phone.
Dirga stared at the words for a long moment.
Last night came rushing back — Vantasio’s resurrection, the forged contract, the devil’s tether still humming beneath his skin. And underneath all of it... the memory of Naya.
This was the day he’d promised Jane an explanation.
The day his strategy was meant to succeed — or end with his body in a ditch.
That should’ve meant it worked.
But instead, the situation had only become more tangled.
Now he had power. Money. Eyes on him.
And a devil watching every step.
How the hell was he supposed to explain any of that?
To what extent could he tell her the truth?
And worse... would she believe it?
He exhaled through his nose.
Then typed back a simple response.
A few seconds passed.
Then his phone buzzed again.
"Good. Meet me at the hospital."
No emoji. No insult. No sarcasm.
That meant Jane was serious.
Dirga sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. His body ached in that strange way it always did after dealing with karma — not pain, but pressure. Like gravity pressed harder on him than everyone else.
He stood, headed to the shower, and let the hot water scald his skin.
By the time he got dressed — plain clothes, nothing flashy — the thoughts had already started spinning.
What would he say? What would he hide?
But he knew Jane deserved something.
He grabbed his keys, threw on his jacket, and headed out the door.
The moment his fingers touched the handlebars of his motorbike, the world seemed to shift again — like the weight of destiny had climbed into the passenger seat beside him.
He revved the engine.
The sun had risen higher by the time Dirga arrived, casting long shadows across the hospital’s concrete walls. He parked his motorbike near the entrance and stepped off, pocketing the keys.
That’s when he saw them.
A handful of rough-looking men stood outside near the benches — not quite guards, but not just visitors either. Eyes sharp. Posture tense. One of them nodded as Dirga passed, recognizing him.
Jane hadn’t been bluffing.
She really was protecting Naya, just like she said she would.
Dirga didn’t say a word. But somewhere inside, a faint knot loosened.
At least... he wasn’t alone in this war.
He moved through the corridors like a ghost.
The smell of antiseptic lingered. The murmur of machines and nurses echoed through the sterile hallways. But Dirga only had eyes for one room.
There she was — just like before.
Pale. Still. Too still.
Her breathing was soft, mechanical. Her skin looked like porcelain kissed by frost. Her lips, once so full of life, were nearly colorless.
Dirga stood at her bedside and looked down at her — the one reason he had crossed every line. The reason he now had blood and hellfire woven into his name.
Not just the warmth of karma — but something deeper. Familiar. Foreign.
The same sensation that radiated from Sasa’s presence now pulsed faintly from Naya’s body.
Soft. Dormant. But real.
He placed a hand gently on her arm.
His voice was barely a whisper. "Even if I have to burn everything else."
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
"Meet me on the rooftop." — Jane