Episode 36 : "Tonight about Darkness"
1113 Words
(Veer’s POV)
I stood near the bar counter at the mansion, swirling the whiskey in my glass, my eyes fixed on the security footage my detective had sent. Frame by frame, I watched the grainy clip—one blink too long, and you’d miss him. But I didn’t.
That face. That twitchy move. That hesitation before he raised the gun and tried to pull the trigger on Denver bhai weeks ago.
I recognized him now. That bastard was no professional—just a scared street boy from the slums. A pawn. And pawns are disposable. Unless they speak.
I immediately pulled out my phone and dialed Rohit.
“Rohit, come quickly.”
My voice was cold and sharp.
“what happened?” he asked.
"we found that guy. the shooter… I have the location near old mill. Come now.”
No more words. I ended the call.
Tonight, we weren’t waiting for justice. We were taking it.
---
Twenty minutes later, Rohit met me at Knight mansion i told him our plan and he joined me in the back alley of the old textile mill. He was dressed casually, blending in. I handed him a spare comm-piece.
“Same plan?” he asked.
I nodded.
“We trap him. Corner him. No unnecessary noise. Denver bhai doesn’t want police attention. This guy’s our only lead to Aarnav.”
Shyam had already blocked the rear exit. Two of my men acted like drunk vagrants on the side path. We knew our target. He was wearing the same olive jacket he had on the footage. Young, thin, restless—his fingers twitching like he was always one step from running.
I gave Rohit a signal.
He walked casually toward the guy, acting drunk.
"hello…do you have a lighter?”
The shooter paused. One blink. Two.
He sensed it.
He ran.
Big mistake.
I emerged from the side, slamming him into the wall with my forearm across his throat. He kicked, struggled, but I pressed harder. Rohit grabbed his wrists and zip-tied them in seconds.
“Don't shout,” I growled in his ear, “otherwise you will be the part of this wall.”
---
Back at the mansion, we entered through the private service route. The boy was gagged now. I could see it in his eyes—confusion, terror, regret. But no words. Not yet.
The guard opened the rusted hatch in the stone corridor.
My underground cell. Hidden. Soundproof. Designed for shadows and screams.
We dragged him in. The smell of dampness and dust hung thick in the air.
“Welcome to hell,” I muttered as Shyam shoved him into the small room, dimly lit by one flickering bulb.
He stumbled, fell, then looked up at me as if to beg.
I knelt in front of him, calm and slow.
“I don't care about your name.”
“but for whom you shoot the gun… that I want to know right now.”
He stayed silent.
“okay. great the hunger and darkness will remind you.”
I stood, gave the signal, and the gate clanged shut behind us with a final, satisfying thud.
“No food. No light. Just fear.”
As we climbed out of the cell, my phone buzzed. Neha.
I stepped away and answered, curtly.
“Hello?”
“Veer… I need a few days’ leave. Disha isn’t well.”
I didn’t respond immediately. My mind was still trapped in the boy’s stare.
“Okay, take care of her” I said quietly and cut the call. No questions. Not now.
I wasn’t interested in emotions. Not tonight.
Tonight, I had a cage full of secrets waiting to be broken.
And this was just the start.
_____
The heavy metal door creaked open, echoing against the stone walls. A dim, flickering bulb casts a pale circle of light in the center of the cell. The boy sat huddled in the corner, wrists still bound, eyes darting between the shadows and me.
I stepped inside, the silence thick and pressing.
He looked up, face pale with fear, breathing unevenly. Still silent. Still defiant.
I dragged a chair into the center and sat down across from him, elbows on my knees, hands clasped.
“You know why you’re here.”
My voice was quiet. Calm. But it sliced through the room like a blade.
He didn’t speak. Just swallowed hard.
“You had a chance, you know,” I said. “You could’ve stayed in your lane. But you chose the wrong target.”
I leaned forward slightly, gaze locked onto his.
“Who hired you?”
Nothing.
He stared at the ground, jaw clenched.
“Do you even know who you tried to shoot?” I asked, standing now, pacing slowly. “That wasn’t just anyone. That was Denver. And someone like you doesn’t go after someone like him unless they’re told to.”
Still, he remained silent.
“You think you’re being loyal? You think they’ll come save you?”
I crouched beside him, voice low. “They won’t. They don’t care what happens to you.”
I waited. Just for a second. Watching. Hoping. But he looked away.
Coward.
I stood up again and moved toward the door.
“Fine. You don’t want to talk? Then you won’t eat. You won’t drink. And you’ll sit in the dark until your own silence drives you mad.”
I gave a nod to the guard, and the lights went out.
The door shut behind me with a cold finality.
No screams. Not yet. Just silence and fear.
---
Back upstairs, I pulled out my phone and called Denver bhai. He answered immediately.
“We have him. The shooter.”
I explained everything—the boy, his hesitation, his refusal to speak. The plan was working. Slowly. Painfully. But working.
Denver told me to keep him alive.
“He’s just the thread. Pull gently. The whole sweater unravels.”
I agreed. We’d wait. Pressure builds best in silence.
As I ended the call, my screen flashed again.
A message from Neha. I’d nearly forgotten she had called earlier.
I opened our chat and quickly typed:
“is she okay?”
A few moments passed.
Then:
“She will be soon.”
Something about those words lingered. Made me pause.
I typed again.
“Good night. Take care of yourself too.”
No emoji. No warmth. Just words. But real.
I stared at the screen a little longer than I meant to, then slid the phone back into my pocket.
Tonight was about darkness.
But somewhere in the distance, something—someone—still held a flicker of light.
- Writer
