Rushna Gillani never left things unfinished.
Not contracts.
Not vendettas.
And definitely not the man currently bleeding out at her feet.
She crouched beside the twitching body, pulling off her black leather gloves one finger at a time, calm as if she were peeling an orange. Her heels clicked softly on the cold marble of the abandoned gallery floor, echoing louder than the man's gurgling breaths.
"A soul for a soul," she murmured, her voice velvet over steel. "You took my informant. I take your magic."
With a flick of her wrist, her ring ignited in a shimmer of violet fire — ancient, forbidden. The rune beneath the stone pulsed once before a quiet surge of light flowed from the dying man's chest into the air like smoke, and then straight into Rushna's palm.
The body went still.
The magic was hers.
Another contract fulfilled. Another brick in her silent war against the seven families.
But tonight wasn't about him. He was a message. A declaration.
Rushna stood, smoothing down the folds of her black coat, her sharp features catching the moonlight streaming through the stained-glass skylight. Her dark hair was swept back in a sleek braid, her eyes unreadable.
"Clean it up," she said coolly, without turning.
From the shadows behind a pillar, two men in suits stepped forward, their movements professional, rehearsed. The Gillani syndicate didn't make noise — they cleaned magic and blood with the same precision they signed million-dollar deals with.
Her phone buzzed. Only one number could reach her on this line.
She answered. "Speak."
A pause. Then:
"They're calling for a meeting of the High Circle. Midnight. Neutral grounds."
The voice on the other end was tense. "It's not just about your hit. It's bigger. Blood has shifted on the map, Rushna. You drew first."
"I always do," she replied, sliding her phone back into her coat.
---
Twelve minutes later, she walked into the underground vault of Club Azrael — the unofficial sanctuary for magical criminals and exiled royals alike.
Everyone paused when she entered. The room was dark, backlit by blue neon and old sigils glowing faintly on the walls. Smoke curled through the air like whispered curses.
In the center sat Zafir, heir to the brutal Qureishi clan, sipping something that looked like blood from a crystal glass. His smile curved like a blade when he saw her.
"Well, well. If it isn't the queen of shadows herself."
Rushna didn't smile back.
"You called this meeting. I assume you have a reason worth my time?"
Zafir stood slowly. His aura crackled with magic laced with death — a rare mix. "You crossed a line tonight. Malik wasn't just anyone. He was carrying a binding oath — one tied to the Eastern seal."
Rushna tilted her head slightly. "If he was carrying an oath, he should've carried better protection."
"You don't understand, Rushna. The seal is breaking. You just triggered it."
A thick silence fell. Even the low hum of background wards faltered.
Rushna's jaw tightened. Her fingers curled into her coat pocket where her rune-ring still pulsed faintly.
"Then it looks like my war just escalated."
---
Outside, the city of Karzaar breathed neon and blood — half modern, half myth. Magical wards lined the sky like constellations. Underneath, the world was watching. The Gillani name had always commanded fear. But now?
Now, Rushna had drawn ancient blood.
And the price for that was never simple.
She lit a cigarette with her fingertip, the flame crackling with the faint color of her aura — violet, like vengeance.
War was coming.
And Rushna Gillani never lost.