The night had bled into dawn when the carriage finally lurched to a halt. My body, bruised from hours of relentless jostling, felt like lead, and every breath scraped against my ribs as though even air had turned cruel. The faint light of morning was a ghost, stretching thin fingers through the veil of night, neither dark nor bright, but a gray in-between that seemed to mirror our state—broken, uncertain, and caught in the cruel grasp of fate.

The door creaked open. Heavy boots struck the earth outside, and before I could gather strength to rise on my own, rough hands seized me, dragging me forward as though I were nothing more than a sack of grain. My knees buckled, but I forced myself upright, though my legs trembled with weakness. Meera followed, stumbling, her face pale but her eyelids fluttering—conscious now, yet frail from the blow she had suffered. I caught her arm, steadying her as best I could, but my own hands quivered from exhaustion.