The night air inside the SUV was suffocatingly thick. The hum of the engine was the only sound breaking the heavy, dreadful silence as Aryansh drove through the pitch-black highway toward home.

In the front passenger seat, Vikram sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes staring blankly at the road ahead. His jaw was set like granite. Not once during the entire drive did he ask Devansh about anything, the ambush, or Meenakshi. He didn't need to—his silence was a protective shield, absorbing the shock of the night so his son wouldn't have to break down.