The roar of the speedboat’s engine was a deafening symphony against the backdrop of the Sunderban’s primeval silence. The muddy waters churned behind them, a frothing white trail marking their desperate escape. Aradhya, still clutching the heavy wooden box, huddled between Vikram and Avni, feeling the rhythmic thrum of the boat against her palms. The silver earring on her lobe was warm, a small comfort in the chaos, a sentinel against the terror and confusion that still swirled within her.

Abhimanyu sat at the helm, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the dense mangroves that blurred past. His face, streaked with mud and exertion, was a grim mask. Reyansh sat beside him, occasionally glancing back, his hand resting on a sheathed knife. Ashvik and Rishwik, their breathing slowly returning to normal, sat opposite Aradhya, their gazes often flickering to the box, then to her, an unreadable mix of suspicion and weary curiosity in their eyes. Rudra, surprisingly quiet for once, was perched on the edge, watching the receding shore, occasionally wiping a smear of mud from his cheek.