The timer blinked on the screen.
00:18:42
Aruna couldn’t breathe.
Her childhood living room stared back at her from the video feed. The faded curtains her mother refused to replace. The crack in the ceiling from a storm ten years ago. The framed photograph of a younger Aruna, smiling without knowing how fragile happiness was.
And beneath the coffee table, barely visible in the shadows—
Wires.
Dante was already moving.
“Track the signal,” he ordered. “I want location confirmation in thirty seconds.”
His voice was steady, but Aruna felt the tension radiating from him like heat before a fire.
“That house is empty,” Dante said, turning to her. “Your mother hasn’t lived there in years.”
Aruna shook her head.
“It’s not about who’s inside,” she whispered. “It’s about what’s buried.”
D
