This story contains fictional depictions of crime and justice. It does not promote violence or vigilante behavior. Reader discretion is advised.
The fan overhead was as useless as a matchstick in a storm. The air inside the office barely moved, thick with heat and the distant smell of city dust. Kavir lay sprawled across the worn-out sofa like a forgotten rag doll, shirt clinging to his chest, hair wild and in complete rebellion.
He stared at the ceiling with the enthusiasm of a corpse. "Is it just me," he groaned, "or is this city actively trying to kill me with heatstroke?"
Across the desk, Ratan flipped the page of an old case file with a dry chuckle. "You say this every year. Cut your hair, get a fan—maybe even a shower—and you'll survive."
Kavir raised a hand and pointed at the fan lazily. "That thing's one strong breeze away from crashing into my face."
Just then, the front door creaked open.
A man in his late twenties stepped in, visibly nervous. His shirt was half tucked, sweat darkened the underarms, and his eyes kept darting toward the street outside like he was being watched.
"Uh… are you Mr. Ratan?"
Ratan put down his file. "Yes. Come in. Close the door."
The man nodded, entering quickly, and shut the door behind him. He wiped his forehead and looked at Kavir suspiciously.
"He's with me," Ratan said, cutting off any assumptions.
The man sat, fidgeting with the strap of his cheap watch.
"There's… something strange happening at the hostel I live in," he began. "It's just a few buildings down from here, near the alley. A cheap place, but we manage. The problem is…"
He paused, then leaned in. "Every night, exactly at 2:33 a.m., we hear it. A scream. Faint. Like someone calling for help—but not loud enough for anyone outside to hear clearly."
Kavir's eyes sharpened.
"Some say it's just rats or pipes. Others think it's a prank. But I know what I heard."
"Why not call the police?" Ratan asked.
The man looked uncomfortable. "The landlord's… weird. Old guy. Always around. Always watching. No one wants to poke the bear, you know? And with false complaints flying around these days…"
He hesitated, then added, "Plus, the police don't like being called out for nothing."
Ratan glanced at Kavir.
Kavir sat up, finally interested.
"So," the tenant said, "I thought of asking you. Quietly. Maybe you can send someone to check?"
Kavir cracked his neck and stood. "I'll go. Tonight."
The hostel was everything the man said: paint peeling off the walls, flickering hallway lights, and a moldy scent that clung to the skin.
Kavir arrived with a small bag, dressed like a college student with disheveled hair and worn-out sneakers. No one gave him a second look—just another broke tenant looking for a bed in the city's underbelly.
The room he was given was at the far end of the corridor, next to a wall that had a suspicious water stain and a flickering bulb. Perfect.
The landlord was absent during check-in. Only a helper boy handed him the key.
Kavir tossed his bag onto the bed and lay down, pretending to be exhausted. But behind those calm eyes, his brain was already scanning. Windows. Walls. Cracks. Floorboards.
That night, at exactly 2:33 a.m., he heard it.
A faint, muffled scream.
Like someone was calling for help from under layers of cement.
Kavir sat up.
He didn't move immediately—just listened.
The next night, it happened again.
Same time. Same pitch. Same horror.
Kavir walked the hallways casually during the day, eyeing the building's layout. Counting the steps. Tapping walls with his knuckles. Watching shadows that didn't behave naturally.
On the third day, he found it.
A small storage room behind the landlord's personal quarters. A door that shouldn't exist—disguised as part of a bookshelf.
He waited until the landlord left for his afternoon nap, then picked the lock with quiet precision.
The moment the door opened, a gust of stale air hit him. Damp. Rotten. Heavy.
And from the darkness inside… a stifled whimper.
He stepped inside.
There she was.
A girl—barely twenty—chained at the ankle, her wrists bruised, her eyes wide like a trapped animal. Her clothes were torn, and her face had the hollow, haunted look of someone who had forgotten how to hope.
She stared at him, unsure whether to scream or beg.
Kavir knelt. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here to get you out."
She flinched when he touched the chain.
"Do you have the key?" he asked.
She shook her head, eyes tearing up.
He took out a metal pin from his back pocket. "Then we do it the hard way."
It took him seven minutes.
When the chain finally clicked open, the girl gasped like she was breathing real air for the first time in weeks.
Kavir offered his hand.
She took it.
He led her back to his room. No one saw them.
Back in the small, dimly lit room, the girl sat on the bed, wrapped in a blanket Kavir had found in the cupboard. One of his old shirts hung loosely on her frame. She held the cup of warm water with both hands like it might vanish if she blinked.
Kavir sat on the floor, back against the bed.
"What's your name?" he asked softly.
"Sona," she replied, her voice hoarse.
"Tell me what happened."
She hesitated. Then, slowly, her story poured out like blood from a reopened wound.
She had come to the city for work. The landlord offered her a cheap room. She was new, naive, alone.
And one night, she never made it out of the storage room.
"He said… I was his bride," she whispered. "That fate brought me to him. He kept me there. Said the world outside didn't deserve me. He… he would bring food. Sometimes he'd talk to me. Other times…"
Her voice cracked. The cup in her hand rattled.
Kavir reached up, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
"You're safe now."
Sona looked at him, truly looked, as if seeing the man for the first time—not the rescuer, not the stranger, but someone who meant those words.
"I didn't think… anyone would believe me," she whispered.
"You can think of me as your big brother, okay?" Kavir said, his voice warmer than usual.
She nodded.
Then, unexpectedly, she leaned down—blanket still around her—and rested her head on his lap.
Kavir froze for a moment.
Then his hand rose and gently began stroking her hair, smoothing the tangles, the dust, the trauma.
Sona didn't cry anymore.
She just breathed.
Peacefully.
Kavir's eyes flicked toward the window, where the moon hung silently in the sky.
He pulled out his phone with his free hand and called Ratan.
Ratan picked up almost immediately. "Found her?"
"Yes," Kavir said. "She's with me now."
"Good."
"Get ready," Kavir added. "He's mine tonight."