The sky opened up just as we stepped out of the guesthouse.
Fat droplets of rain splattered on the cobbled path, soaking my hoodie in seconds. Rohan glanced at me, an eyebrow raised, like this weather was a bad omen. Maybe it was. But I couldn't help smiling.
There was something freeing about walking into a storm without flinching.
"We should wait it out," he said.
"We don't have time."
The truth was, ever since I remembered Zarina's abduction, sleep had stopped being peaceful. My dreams had turned into a mix of fragmented memories, half-erased faces, and voices that called my name with unfamiliar tenderness. Every morning, I woke up more certain of two things — someone had stolen my life, and they were still watching me.
Rohan stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked beside me silently as we made our way to the café Zarina told us about. She said we'd find a contact there — someone from the old test group. Subject 9A. The only one who escaped completely.
"You think they'll actually show?" Rohan asked.
"I hope so. Zarina said they'd been waiting for someone to reopen the file."
"And what if they're not who they say they are?"
I didn't answer.
Because deep down, I wasn't sure who I was anymore.
The café was tucked into the side of a hill, one of those wooden shacks pretending to be cozy but clearly built to hide secrets. We stepped inside, and the world immediately muted into warm tones and quiet music. The smell of cardamom chai drifted through the air.
At the corner booth, a woman sat with a gray beanie pulled low and a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray in her hand. She didn't look up.
But I knew.
That was her.
I walked over and sat down without asking.
"You're Subject 9A."
She turned a page, then looked up, her eyes landing on mine. Green, piercing, the kind that don't just look at you — they look through.
"You're the Courier," she said.
I flinched.
"How do you know that?"
She smiled faintly. "I used to be the Watcher. Before I escaped. I saw you run. Saw the loop break."
Her voice was soft but sharp. Her words sounded like facts, not guesses.
Rohan sat beside me, clearly tense.
She looked at him too. "And you. The Handler Who Fell in Love. Predictable. But sweet."
Rohan didn't respond.
"I need answers," I said. "Who were we? What was Apex really doing?"
"You were prototypes. Part of the 'Emotional Echo' program. Memory architecture for psychological warfare."
"That's not an answer."
She set the book down and leaned forward.
"Do you know what happens when you erase someone's trauma but leave the emotional residue? They seek it out again. Over and over. Like phantom pain. You and Zarina — you kept finding each other in simulations, even when your minds were wiped. You recreated your friendship."
She pointed at Rohan. "And him? He kept falling for you. Every version of you. In every run. Do you understand? Your chemistry was so strong, they studied it like a drug. Love as a weapon. Loyalty as a virus."
My stomach twisted.
"So why did you leave?"
"Because I stopped trusting what was real. I kissed a boy once and felt nothing. And when I looked into the mirror, I saw three different people at once. I left before I forgot my own name."
I exhaled slowly. "What now?"
She passed me a torn envelope. Inside was a map. A location in Himachal. A facility.
"The source. The original lab. Where they first ran the program. You'll find your roots there. And maybe more."
"What's in it for you?"
She smiled.
"To burn the whole thing down."
We left the café just as the rain slowed to a drizzle. Rohan didn't speak until we were halfway down the road.
"She scares me."
"She should."
We rented an old jeep that smelled like mothballs and gasoline and set off toward the mountains. It would take us a day to reach the coordinates. We didn't talk much during the drive. I watched the trees blur past, and every now and then, I caught Rohan watching me.
Not with suspicion.
With worry.
"You okay?" he asked at one point.
"No," I said honestly. "But I'm better than before."
He nodded, accepting that.
We pulled off the road by a stream around sunset. Built a fire. Ate dry sandwiches.
And then, in the flicker of flame and silence, I finally asked what had been haunting me.
"If you were trained to handle me, to trigger certain emotions... how do I know you aren't just a script?"
He looked at the fire. "You don't."
I waited.
Then he said, "But I broke protocol. Multiple times. I ruined my standing with Apex. I lied to my superiors. I ran with you. And not because I was programmed to. Because I wanted to."
I stared at him.
"I fell in love with you," he said. "Not just the version they built. The real you. The stubborn, coffee-spilling, too-curious-for-her-own-good girl who kicks doors down when she could just knock."
I smiled, tears blurring my vision.
"Okay," I whispered. "Then don't ever leave."
He kissed me.
Soft. Fierce. Real.
And for once, I didn't doubt the moment.
The next morning, the mountains greeted us with mist and silence. The facility was buried in a valley, covered by vines and decay, but unmistakably modern underneath.
We snuck in through a service hatch half-covered in mud.
Inside: silence. Dust. And then — a hallway of screens. Dozens of them.
Playing us.
Me. Delivering packages. Talking to neighbors. Laughing. Crying.
Simulations.
Every moment I thought was mine… watched.
A screen flickered.
And then — Zarina.
Tied to a chair.
Bloody lip.
Screaming.
A voice: "Welcome back, Courier."
We turned. Too late.
Gas hissed.
My lungs burned.
Rohan reached for me.
I reached back.
Darkness.
And a voice in my head whispered:
"Round 2 begins now."