The house was small, unremarkable—just as she had intended.

It was tucked away in one of the quieter corners of Hastinapura, away from the palace, away from the noble estates, away from the places where people whispered and watched.

It wasn't perfect, not yet. The walls were worn, the air inside still heavy with dust, and the wooden beams creaked in protest when she walked across the floor.

But it would do.

For now.

Rhea stepped deeper into the dimly lit space, running her fingers along the old stone walls. Solid. Discreet. Safe.

No one knew about this place.

No one needed to.

She was done waiting for the world to change around her, done hoping that things would remain steady, that she would always have a place in the palace.

Hastinapura had never been home.

It had been a battlefield wrapped in gold, a place where power shifted too easily and where no one, no matter how secure they thought they were, could afford to remain unprepared.

This house was not a home. It was an escape.

And she wasn't going to let anyone take that from her.

Or at least—that had been the plan.

Because the moment she turned toward the door, she knew.

She was not alone.

An Uninvited Guest

She felt it before she saw him.

A shift in the air. A presence just beyond the doorway.

The weight of being watched.

She did not tense. Did not reach for the blade hidden beneath her cloak.

Instead, she turned, slow and deliberate—already knowing who she would find.

Arjuna.

He stood in the doorway, watching her.

Not surprised. Not accusing.

Just... watching.

The dim light of the lanterns outside cast sharp shadows over his face, catching the edges of his jaw, the quiet focus in his eyes.

He had followed her.

No—he had found her.

Which meant he had been paying attention.

Rhea sighed, leaning against the wooden pillar in the center of the room, crossing her arms. "Do I even want to know how long you've been standing there?"

Arjuna smirked, stepping inside, closing the door behind him. "Long enough."

She raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And," he said, glancing around the room, taking in the unfinished space, "you're hiding something."

Rhea let out a dry laugh. "You always think I'm hiding something."

"You always are."

She hummed, tilting her head. "And what about you, Arjuna? What are you hiding?"

His smirk deepened, but he didn't answer.

Because they both knew the truth.

He wasn't the one being questioned here.

The Question That Shouldn't Have Mattered

Arjuna stepped further inside, his gaze sweeping over the room, the half-repaired furniture, the faint scent of dust and cold stone.

"It's a good place," he admitted after a moment. "Secluded. Unremarkable."

"That's the point."

His dark eyes flicked back to her. "And why do you need a place like this?"

She shrugged, deliberately casual. "A woman is allowed to have secrets, isn't she?"

Arjuna hummed. "She is." A pause. "But I don't think you chose this for yourself."

She arched a brow. "Then who did I choose it for?"

He didn't answer.

Because they both knew.

It wasn't just for her.

It was for what would come next.

For survival. For control. For the inevitability of a future she could not yet see—but refused to be unprepared for.

She had been watching this city long enough to know how quickly everything could fall apart.

Arjuna held her gaze, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

"It's not a bad plan," he said finally.

She exhaled, relieved that, for once, she didn't have to explain herself. "I know."

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, as if considering something.

Not close enough to be threatening.

But close enough that she could feel him.

Close enough that his presence was heavy in the dim light of the empty house.

"Tell me something," he murmured.

Rhea lifted her chin. "What?"

His eyes searched hers. "If the world burns, will you run first—or will you stay to watch?"

Something in her chest tightened.

She should have laughed. Should have rolled her eyes and thrown some sharp remark back at him.

But she didn't.

Because he wasn't mocking her.

Because he wanted to know.

And that—that was far more dangerous than anything else.

She swallowed, her throat dry. "Depends."

Arjuna's smirk returned. "On?"

She exhaled, tilting her head. "Who's setting the fire."

For a moment, there was only silence between them.

Heavy. Charged. Something unspoken curling at the edges.

And then—Arjuna laughed.

Low, quiet, but real.

He stepped back, rolling his shoulders. "Fair enough."

Rhea watched him, something unsettled curling in her stomach.

Arjuna was not an easy man to read. He was fire and silence, instinct and discipline, loyalty and rebellion—all at once.

He had always been dangerous.

But in that moment, watching him turn toward the door, she realized something else.

He was watching her, too.

Not just now. Not just in this moment.

For a while.

Arjuna reached the door, pausing for only a second.

"Whatever you're planning, Rhea," he said over his shoulder, "don't plan it alone."

And then—he was gone.

The silence returned.

But it did not feel quite so comforting anymore.