The Edge of the Knife

The night stretched on as Malik walked away from the fish market. His steps were steady, but his mind wasn't.

Billa.

The name refused to leave him. It echoed in the corners of Kasab, slipping through the cracks of conversations. A shadow without a face. A name that ruled the underworld.

And now, somehow, Malik was tied to it.

At a dimly lit stall, he ordered chai. The vendor barely looked up, but the two men at the next table did. They whispered low, glancing around.

"Shetty's losing ground."

"Billa's men moved in last night."

Malik sipped his tea, listening. Always listening.

The whispers of Kasab told stories no one else could. And tonight, the city was speaking about war.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. Raju.

He slid onto the stool beside Malik, looking nervous. "You didn't tell me you were running errands now."

Malik didn't respond.

Raju exhaled. "They say once you step in, you don't get to leave." His voice lowered. "You should be careful."

Malik finished his chai, placed the cup down, and stood. He patted Raju's shoulder once before walking away.

He wasn't in yet. Not fully.

But Kasab had already started pulling him deeper.

And whether he liked it or not, the city wasn't going to let him go.