The storm had passed with the first light of dawn, but the air was still thick with memory—damp, cool, and heavy with a silence that whispered of everything the night had taken and given.

Inside the temple courtyard, the breeze stirred softly through the sacred trees, carrying the scent of wet earth and jasmine. Ridhaan stood in that silence, his uniform jacket folded over one arm, eyes fixed on the child sleeping in his arms.