He clicked play.

Now it wasn't the movie. It was his room. A live feed. He saw himself from the corner of the ceiling, slouched in his chair. A timestamp appeared: .

Below it, a counter: 30 days until freedom.

But the laptop lid slammed shut on its own. The lights in his room died. And from his speakers—clear as if standing behind him—came Veer Shergill’s voice, low and cold:

Rohan turned. The poster of Azaad on his wall was now a mirror. And inside it, Veer Shergill wasn't a poster anymore. He was walking forward. Out of the paper. Out of the pixelated prison.

"Who—" Rohan whispered.