"Kriti... it's hurting a lot. Please, give me my medicines. I am begging you, please," her uncle's voice was hoarse, broken with pain as he pleaded.

Kriti stood still, staring at the floor, her jaw clenched. The familiar sound of his suffering should have given her relief, but instead, it stirred something darker. She felt nothing. No pity. No mercy.

Suddenly, her mind flashed to a memory long buried

"Uncle, please! I am begging you, I'll do whatever you say. But please don't do this to me," she had sobbed, her voice desperate and small.

"Shut up," he had growled before slapping her hard across the face. The sting had burned, but worse was the fear that had rooted itself in her heart.

Her eyes fluttered open, pulling her back to the present.

"Kriti—" her uncle's voice croaked again, but she cut him off coldly.

"Shut up," she muttered, her tone empty as she turned her back on him. She couldn't bear to listen to his cries any longer, not after what he had done to her.

She walked away from the room, her footsteps echoing lightly on the cold, tiled floor. Entering her small, cluttered bedroom, she let the door close softly behind her, shutting him out completely.

Kriti stood by the narrow window, gazing out at as dusk slowly settled over the skyline. The lights from distant buildings flickered, casting a faint glow over the horizon, but to her, they felt miles away—like a world she didn't belong to. The weight of the evening pressed heavily against her chest, a reminder of the cage she still felt trapped in, even with her uncle now at her mercy.

Behind her, she could still hear his groans, his pitiful cries seeping through the walls. But she had trained herself to tune them out. Once, those groans would have filled her with terror. He had ruled her life with cruelty and fear for years. But that was before.

Now, it was his turn to suffer.

Her fingers traced the edge of the window frame, the cold glass soothing against her skin. Her mind swirled with the twisted satisfaction of knowing that, for once, she held the power. And yet, somewhere deep inside her, the weight of what she was doing began to claw at her conscience.

She whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the pained sounds behind her, "This is only the beginning."

She paused, her breath hitching slightly.

"You are going to pay for this. I will kill you."

The words had come out of nowhere, an icy chill crawling up her spine as they echoed in her mind. But they hadn't come from her lips. She had not said them.

A gasp escaped her. The voice—the chilling, unfamiliar voice—felt like it had come from somewhere else. Somewhere deep within her.

A flicker of a memory stirred deep inside her, from a time long before her uncle had entered her life. Before the torment. But like every other time she tried to grasp at those shadows, the memory slipped away, dissolving into nothingness, leaving her only with a cold, empty void.

"What was that?" she wondered, her heart racing. The voice was not hers, but it felt disturbingly familiar. "Was it something from my past?"

Kriti turned away from the window, wrapping her arms around herself as she tried to steady her breathing. 

Her uncle's desperate pleas filled the silence again, calling her name, but she didn't answer. For the first time in weeks, doubt began to creep in. She stared at the floor, her mind racing.

"Am I doing the right thing? Should I stop this?" she wondered, a pang of guilt briefly stabbing at her chest. She had never imagined she could be this cruel. The voice inside her was growing louder now, echoing in her head.

"No, please, Uncle. Don't do this. You said I was your best friend's daughter, how could you do this? Please, let me go!"

The memory of her own past suffering flickered vividly before her eyes, and she felt her heart harden once more.

"He deserves it," she whispered, her voice resolute.

The room around her felt suffocating, the weight of her decisions pressing down on her. She was no longer the girl begging for mercy. She had become something else—someone cold and unrecognizable.

But even as she repeated it to herself, her reflection in the window stared back, questioning whether she truly believed it.

***********************************

The warehouse loomed in the distance, its steel frame hidden under the cloak of night. A low hum of voices and the occasional clatter of weapons echoed from within. The Ghost and Infinity crouched in the shadows, their figures masked and cloaked, blending seamlessly with the darkness.

"Four guards at the main entrance, two covering the fences," The Ghost whispered, his voice barely audible through the mask. His eyes scanned the area with precision, calculating every movement.

Infinity, crouched beside him, nodded silently. "The girls are inside, third floor, far end. Backup team is on standby, but let's not give them a reason to interfere."

A smirk ghosted across his lips beneath the mask. "I never planned on needing them."

Her eyes flickered with amusement. "Overconfident as usual," she murmured, shifting her weight into a ready position.

"You love it," he teased, his voice a low rumble. 

"Focus," she shot back, but there was a softness to her tone that betrayed the sharpness of her words.

Without another word, they moved as one, their steps silent, fluid, and deliberate. They slipped past the perimeter like shadows, unseen, unheard. The first guard was down before he even registered their presence—a swift blow to the neck from Infinity, and his body crumpled to the ground.

Two more guards approached, oblivious, laughing at some joke. The Ghost was on them in seconds, a blur of motion. His fist connected with one guard's jaw, sending him reeling into the other. The second barely had time to react before Infinity's elbow slammed into his ribs, followed by a sharp kick to the back of his knee. He dropped with a grunt.

"Two down, two more at the entrance," Infinity whispered.

The Ghost nodded, already moving. He reached the door just as the remaining guards turned, confusion flashing across their faces. It was the last expression they wore before the Ghost's fist connected with one's nose, knocking the wind out of him. A second guard lunged with a knife, but Infinity intercepted him, twisting his arm with a crack and slamming him into the ground.

Inside the warehouse, more men patrolled the dimly lit corridors. The Ghost and Infinity moved swiftly, their footsteps barely echoing on the cold concrete. Each takedown was precise, brutal, and silent showing off the results of their training, their skill, and the unspoken rhythm between them. They didn't need words; they knew each other's moves as if choreographed by instinct.

Finally, they reached the third floor. The door to the room was heavily guarded, but Infinity slipped to the side, pressing her back against the wall. "I'll draw their attention," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with a challenge.

Before The Ghost could respond, she stepped into view, allowing herself to be seen just long enough to catch the guards' attention. The men tensed, raising their weapons, but in the split second they hesitated, The Ghost struck from behind—silent, lethal. He disarmed the first guard in one smooth motion, twisting his arm and sending him crashing into the floor. The second guard barely had time to react before Infinity's kick sent him flying into the wall.

"Too easy," she muttered.

The Ghost's lips curled beneath the mask. 

Together, they entered the room. Inside, huddled in the corner, were the girls—terrified, their eyes wide with fear. Infinity's heart clenched, and for a moment, she paused, her gaze softening behind the mask. "It's okay," she said, her voice steady but gentle. "You're safe now."

The Ghost moved to the front, signaling their backup team through airpods in his ear. "We've secured the targets. Extraction in five."

As the girls began to move toward the exit, Infinity touched one gently on the arm, reassuring her with a soft nod.

Suddenly, a noise behind them—one last guard they hadn't accounted for. He lunged, a gun raised, his eyes wild with desperation.

The Ghost's hand shot out, grabbing the man's wrist, twisting it painfully until the gun fell to the floor with a clatter. But before the man could shout, Infinity was there, a swift roundhouse kick to his chest, sending him sprawling.

The girls were quickly escorted out, the backup team efficiently handling the aftermath. But before leaving, The Ghost pulled a small object from his pocket—an engraved silver coin with the mark of a shadow and infinity etched into its surface.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the coin onto the floor, letting it clink softly against the concrete. A warning. A signature.

"The Silent Shadows were here," he muttered.

Infinity cast one last glance over her shoulder as they disappeared into the night. "They'll know not to make the same mistake again."

Together, they vanished, leaving behind nothing but whispers and the subtle mark of their presence. The night embraced them as they melted into the shadows—partners in crime, in war, and in something deeper, something unspoken.

***********************************