The alley was silent, save for Aryan’s ragged breaths. The air smelled of sweat, blood, and something else—something unnatural. His heart pounded against his ribs as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing dirt and sweat across his skin. His hands were still shaking from the fight.

The three men lay sprawled before him, unmoving. Were they dead? Aryan’s fingers twitched as he reached toward one of them. His pulse hammered in his ears.

"I need to see their faces."

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was instinct. But something in his gut screamed that these people weren’t normal.

Taking a steadying breath, he reached for the nearest attacker’s mask. His fingers barely brushed the fabric when—

A blinding blue light flashed.

A sharp crack split the air. Aryan flinched back, shielding his eyes just in time to see the bodies vanish.

Not fade. Not dissolve. Vanish.

One second, they were there. The next, the space they had occupied was empty, as if they had never existed. The air where they had lain shimmered slightly, crackling with residual energy.

Aryan staggered back, his stomach twisting. What the hell was that? His breath hitched, his mind scrambling for an explanation. But nothing—nothing—in his life had ever prepared him for this.

His body trembled as his fingers clenched into fists. If they were alive, they were gone now. If they were dead, then…who—or what—had taken them?

Then, a small clink echoed in the alley.

Aryan's head snapped toward the sound.

Something had fallen from one of the attackers' pockets. Two small, metallic objects.

He hesitated before approaching. The world felt too quiet. The distant sounds of the city seemed muffled, as though reality itself had dimmed.

Don’t touch them.

The thought came unbidden, but he ignored it. Slowly, cautiously, he crouched down and picked up one of the objects.

It was cold. Smooth. No bigger than his palm. A small metallic plate, inscribed with strange symbols.

Aryan turned it over, and his breath caught in his throat.

The same burned mark.

The one he had seen before. The same eerie symbol that had appeared on his arm after his nightmare.

A creeping sense of dread crawled up his spine.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

His fingers curled around the plate as he picked up the second one. Identical.

Something was very, very wrong.

His gaze flickered back to the spot where the bodies had been. Nothing remained. No blood, no footprints. Just the faint, lingering energy in the air that made his skin crawl.

This wasn’t a normal fight. These weren’t normal men.

And now, he had proof.

He glanced down at his arm, at the mark that had appeared on him that night. His pulse pounded as a terrifying thought lodged itself into his mind.

"What if I’m next?"