The first thing Meher felt was pain.
A deep, thudding heat in his bones, as if his blood had been set to boil. His skull pulsed with fever, his back ached, and his breath came slow—labored, like his lungs were dragging cement.
But he wasn't in pain because he was dying anymore.
He was alive.
And this wasn't his world.
The soft hum of centralized AC. The scent of steel polish and cologne. The quiet shuffling of dress shoes on marble. A crisp voice from behind glass-paneled doors.
He blinked once. Twice. The light above him was soft white, embedded in the ceiling like a futuristic halo.
Meher stood frozen in place.
He was wearing a black uniform—a tailored, high-collar security jacket with a silver stripe down the sleeve and the insignia of RaiSinghani Group of Pharmas' on his shoulder.
His body felt familiar and not. Leaner. Harder. Strong.But still his.
Still scarred.
He moved his hand slightly and felt the chill of a hidden gun at his side, sheathed beneath his blazer. There was a weight in his boots, too—a dagger, maybe.
The realization struck like a slap.
"This is... the novel."
The air tasted like fiction. Corporate drama. Power. Iron.And somewhere behind those glass doors—
Agrasen.
The final villain. The man Meher had mocked just hours—or lifetimes—ago.
He looked to his right.And immediately tensed.
Vedant.
A character from the novel. One of Agrasen's most trusted men. Head of security. Once described in the book as "a man who looked carved from stone."
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Hair a striking shade of silver, tied at the base of his neck. Skin tan and weather-worn, eyes a pale, unsettling gray—nearly transparent, like fogged glass.
He looked like a man who'd won wars and never talked about them.
And he was staring at Meher.
"You're swaying," Vedant said. His voice was gravel soaked in ice water.
Meher was blinking hard. Sweat prickled at his hairline, his shirt sticking to his spine.
"I'm fine," he rasped. "Sir."
Vedant narrowed those pale eyes. "No. You're not."
He stepped forward, calm but with that quiet military intensity that made Meher's spine straighten automatically, even if his body was close to collapse.
Vedant reached out, pressed the back of his hand to Meher's forehead.
His touch was calloused. Warm. Human.
And his brow furrowed immediately. "You're burning. Why are you even standing?"
Meher said nothing. What could he say?
That one night ago, he'd been stabbed to death by a shapeshifting serial killer wearing his father's face? That he'd mocked this very world, this very man, just hours before waking up inside it?
He swallowed.
Vedant sighed through his nose, expression unreadable.
"You're off-duty. Go."
"Sir—"
"I won't repeat myself."
Meher hesitated. The ache behind his eyes throbbed harder.
He looked again through the glass walls. Inside, around a long obsidian table, board members in charcoal suits sat like vultures waiting for a meal. And at the head of it all:
Agrasen.
He wasn't visible—just the edge of his hand resting on the table. Pale skin. Long, elegant fingers. A jeweled ring glinting beneath the lights.
Meher felt a strange pull in his gut.
The last time he saw Agrasen—read him—he was dying in his brother's arms.
Now, he was here. Alive. Dangerous.
And Meher was supposed to be his bodyguard.
"What's my name?" Meher asked suddenly.
Vedant blinked once, slowly.
Then: "You're Agent Meher. Assigned to Executive Director Agrasen's elite security tier. You've been here two months."
Two months?
Meher took a shaky breath.So this was his new life. Not a glitch. Not a dream.
The rules had changed.The character Meher didn't exist in the original book. And yet here he was. Real. Scarred. With a past in this world and no memory of it.
Vedant's eyes narrowed again.
"You need to rest before you collapse. I'll escort you to the med-wing myself."
That surprised Meher. The man had been cold and robotic in the novel—not the type to personally walk anyone anywhere.
He nodded anyway, the heat pressing behind his eyes again.
As they turned from the glass doors, he stole one last glance toward the meeting room.
And just for a second—just a second—a pair of brown eyes looked up.
Agrasen.
Through the glass.
Their eyes met.
Cold. Sharp. Calculating.
Meher felt his heart thud once. Loud.And in that moment, the world whispered:
"Welcome to the Restricted Section."