The Mumbai morning was bright and relentless, pouring through the massive glass windows of the Raichand mansion. Amyra woke up to the feeling of emptiness beside her. The dark grey silk sheets were tangled, carrying the scent of sandalwood, sweat, and the heavy musk of last night’s brutal passion.

She sat up slowly, her body aching with that familiar, satisfying soreness. She looked down at her stomach. The faint, pink scar of the 'A' was still there, a constant reminder of the monster who claimed her.