The iron gates of the Rajput family mansion creaked open as the dust-covered Mustang rolled in.
Pratap Rajput, the current patriarch, stood near the marble staircase, hands clenched, jaw tight. Beside him was Nivedita Rajput, anxiety written across her face.
The moment the doors swung open and the old patriarch stepped in—still wearing his stained kurta and carrying the scent of gunpowder—Pratap's voice thundered across the hall.
"Father! Have you lost your mind?!" He marched forward, his voice rising. "Do you even realise what you just did? They could've killed you out there!"
But the old lion only laughed—a deep, full-bellied laugh, the kind he hadn't let out in years.
"Haha… Killed me?" he said, his eyes shining like a boy after a street fight. "Do you know how I feel right now, Pratap? I feel alive! My blood is rushing like I'm twenty again. When I pointed that shotgun at Keshav Maurya's chest, I saw it… fear. Real, trembling fear!"
