The first sign of pursuit came at dusk on the third day in Mount Abu.

Meera and Karan had spent the afternoon naked by the cottage’s small wood-burning stove. Karan had tied her wrists to the bedposts with the same soft rope from the dungeon—loose enough to twist, tight enough to remind. He’d whipped her inner thighs lightly with a thin leather belt he found in the shed—red lines blooming like fresh henna—then soothed them with slow licks while fingering her pussy until she begged. When she came, squirting warm pee across his chest in helpless arcs, he’d laughed darkly and rubbed it into his skin like war paint.