Blood And Blance Sheet

CHAPTER ONE The building didn’t look like anything dangerous from the outside. Glass. Steel. Silence. The kind of place people walk past without a second thought. That was the point. Ellora adjusted her bag strap as she stepped inside, heels soft against polished floors that didn’t match the emptiness of the lobby. No receptionist. No security guard. No one asking who she was or why she was there. Just a long corridor that seemed to wait for her to turn back. She didn’t. Her father’s name wasn’t on the directory. It never was. “Off-site operations,” he called them. She’d never questioned it properly before. Until today. A sound cut through the quiet. Low. Controlled. Not loud enough to be an accident. Not random enough to ignore. Ellora slowed. Then stopped. Another sound followed, duller this time, like something giving way under pressure. Her fingers curled around her phone. She told herself it was maintenance, construction, anything else. But the building didn’t feel like something was being built inside it. It felt like something was being held down. The hallway ended in two doors. One sealed shut. The other slightly ajar. The sound came again, from the ajar one. Ellora stood there a moment too long. Then pushed it open. Inside, the air was heavier. Colder. Three men stood in the center Her father’s men. She knew them by presence, not name. The way they took up space like it was theirs. Between them, someone was on his knees. A boy. Head down, shoulders tight, hands tied behind him. Blood at the corner of his mouth. But he wasn’t begging. That was the first thing she noticed. He was breathing slow. Intentional. Like he was waiting. “Try again,” one of the men said. The boy laughed – sharp, broken at the edges. “You’re still asking the wrong questions.” The hit came fast. Precise. Not angry. Just done. Ellora’s breath caught before she could stop it. She took a step forward without thinking. Then the door behind her opened. A pause. A silence that didn’t belong. The men straightened instantly. The boy didn’t move. But his eyes shifted past her. Not surprised. Just aware. “Take her out,” a voice said from behind her. Calm. Measured. Final. Ellora turned. Her father stood in the doorway. No urgency. No emotion. Just control. “This isn’t—” she started. “Ellora.” His voice cut clean. “You shouldn’t be here.” Two hands caught her arms – firm, not rough. She struggled once, then stopped. Through the gap in the door, she saw the boy lift his head slightly. And for the first time, their eyes met. Blood. Bruises. And something steady she couldn’t name. “Where are you taking him?” she demanded. Her father didn’t hesitate. “That is not your concern.” “It is if it’s your building.” Something flickered in his expression – not anger. Assessment. Like she’d said something he hadn’t planned for. “Escort her out,” he said again. As she was pulled away, she turned once more. Their eyes locked again. Not pleading. Not confused. Just… known. Then the door closed. And the building went back to silence. But it wasn’t the same silence anymore.