His mind desperately clung to every detail that had led to her death, searching for anything that could have happened differently so she would still be alive. If Niarkatt had not insulted Kalyavan in Panchal. If he himself had evacuated Mathura earlier. If Balram had been faster. Anything, Yami! Anything! Helplessness rose within him in a flood, burning his throat like acid. He could not breathe. The demons of his mind meanwhile, gorged on a feast of remorse and regret. He opened his eyes, his face quivering into a spasm. His chin trembled as he screamed soundlessly. Hot breath was all that left his quaking lungs. He screamed again and again but no one heard him.

It doesn’t take much time for guilt to turn into anger. Krishna longed to face Kalyavan, to pour scalding oil down his throat. To stab him again and again. A hundred deaths would not be enough. Her voice rose in his head: You are Krishna. No one has ever beaten you. He nodded grimly. And no one ever would. The battle fever that had coursed through his body earlier paled in comparison to the rage he felt now. He felt reckless, mad. A faint voice of caution struggled to be heard. But he was past caring, past all consequences. There are few things more dangerous than a man who has nothing to lose.

He rose to return to the Curfew. By the time he reached there, the sky above Mathura was alive with the sound of vultures. The fire beyond the breached walls was in its twilight. The distant trumpeting of an airavat filled the night sky. Some still live. We shall see for how long.

With Balram injured, and…her gone, command had fallen to Krishna. Before he had escaped from her funeral, he had asked Kritavarman to ensure every citizen in the First District was inside the tunnel before dawn. Kritavarman had hesitated, then finally voiced his concerns. Wise concerns. Of how little time there was to get everyone in. How they could not outrun Kalyavan. How easily the Greeks could find the tunnel if they arrived to find the First District empty. In reply, Krishna had called for a few heroes.

Heroes. A fancy name for foolish volunteers. But it worked, as it always did. When he reached the Curfew, Kritavarman and his men stood ready, armed. So did the City Guard, and whatever remained of the Republican Army. But he was surprised to also find the Silver Wolves. All of them. The Wolves were not an army regiment. They were just a search and rescue operation. Well, they will rescue this city tonight, Krishna thought coldly, for a city was not defined by its boundaries but by its people. If they survive, Mathura survives. If they survive, I win.