Page 154 of Wasted Grace

I nod mechanically. The instructions clear and manageable.

Still staring into my eyes she shouts, “Garvit! What’s the status on Viraj?”

I hear a faint, trembling murmur. “Labored breathing. I’m... guessing a broken rib has nicked his lung. I—I need to get him to t-the hospital.”

This man’s voice is a frantic mix of terror and authority. I realize I’m able to focus on other things now. So I look around, with just my eyes. There’s five people dressed in combat gear, surveying the area. One of Mehul’s men is bound and gagged. Cuffed. It’s the same man who was giving me technical instructions on Mehul’s behalf.

The fear of the last few minutes seeps out. Leaving a brittle numbness behind. Echoing. Pulsing.

I think I’m crashing. That’s what happens in the movies, right? When a civilian does something unthinkable. Something stupid. Somethinghorrifying.

Likekillthe man who had a gun to his friend’s head.

But it didn’t fix anything.

It didn’t save him.

He’s gone.

The thought ricochets again.

He’s gone.

He’s fucking gone.

‘Please... tell Meena—my wife. And my Gauri and Madhav that... I love them.’

How?

How will I tear his wife’s heart out of her chest? How will I create the most miserable sentence to tell Gauri and Madhav that their normal, nine-to-five, lunchbox-packing father isn’t coming home?

Arms wrap around me. Tight. Crushing. Greesha. But I barely register her. My vision tilts. Somewhere in the background, a man crouches over Viraj—two fingers on his pulse, his own shoulders quivering from held-back sobs.

That must be Garvit.

And Greesha—she’s holding me like she’ll break if she lets go. Her body moves in jagged bursts. But then I realize...

That’sme.

She’s holdingme, andI’mthe one shaking.

I pull in a breath that feels like sand in my throat. Because I know she should be doing something else right now. That she’sneededsomewhere else instead of caring for a civilian having an adrenaline crash.

She leans back slightly. Giving me a watery, quivering grim sigh.

“Let’s go home,” she says softly.

Home.

Yes.

Yes, we should. Before this place takes another piece of us.

FORTY-FIVE

Greesha

Eight hours and twenty two minutes.