Giriraj's POV
"Sorry, I really am," I say before it is too late.
Chhayika shrugs her shoulders, looks up at me, and raises her hand in a gesture that makes it clear she is re-evaluating what the hell is going on. She sits on the only chair in the room, her head hanging freely backwards, a gesture of pure exhaustion. Her posture says she doesn't want to stand or fight, just understand.
I kneel before her. There is no other chair in the room, and she hates towering figures, especially when they have just broken her trust. I cannot afford any further elevation of her anger.
"I am sorry, Chhayika. I should have shared it with you. I'm not justifying anything. I know you know how to protect yourself. It's just that I only had an idea, and I decided I would tell you once I was sure."
Her head snaps in my direction. I control a chuckle with every pore of my body. How impulsive is she? But I continue, gently.
"And I realise I should have at least given you a rough idea in that case. Keeping anything professional as personal was never the deal. Kindly forgive me, partner."
She visibly calms. A slight smile forms on her face. Her voice is hoarse, but steady, as she speaks.
"It's okay, Giriraj. I don't know how I overreacted. Maybe I did. Not that your mistake was small, but my reaction was not justified either. I took all measures, and I truly never meant to demean your value. I know if I can do your part, you can do mine too. We do only what we do because we like to live like that. I don't know what really happened. But just remember this, I would not be happy if you make me the queen of the chessboard. I can only accept myself as a player. Equal. Powerful. Strong. Evident. Independent. Liberated. That's all."
But I know why that reaction came. Because she felt like a piece. Or worse, a pawn. That is humiliation, and an insult to her capabilities and pride, and the last thing she would ever tolerate.
"You are not a piece, Chhaya. You are the front player. I only back you, I only give you cover, irrespective of cost. And the player should know the game before the backup. So I am sorry. But next time, please don't, just don't repeat today. I wouldn't survive it. Shout at me, beat me, kill me, eliminate me, but don't isolate me. Please."
I say it in the softest voice I own. But her smile falters. The moment tightens again.
"Chhayika. That is my name. Not Chhaya. That is not how I like to be called in professional setups. And I get you. This won't be repeated." Her tone is soft and stoic, both at once. That contradiction makes her even more unreadable.
"Chhayika feels too long to say. How about Ms. Mishra, since you've grown a recent hobby of calling me Mr. Pradhan?" I speak, half-smiling, trying not to let it slip entirely into a grin.
But she laughs. Not just a smirk or chuckle. An actual laugh.
"Mr. Pradhan sounds professional, but Ms. Mishra sounds poetic, officer," she says after calming down.
"I like poetic, Ms. Mishra. But with this new name you invented, I don't go well with it. I feel like I'm your junior, and I'm not having that."
"Call me Chhaya then. That is better than Ms. Mishra. Not that I don't like my surname, it just sounds weird from your mouth, Giriraj. And enough of this. Can we come to the point now? Azhar was never the point. It was Rudra. He has no one to hide behind anymore. But capturing him, that is tough."
Her tone changes completely by the end. It sharpens.
"We don't have to capture him, Chhaya. We have to reach him. He studied you. He harmed you. But he never exploited your potential. He didn't intend to destroy you. Not really. The way he moved, the way he orchestrated the entire Fatima operation, it looked different. It wasn't just tactical or brutal. It felt calculated in a way that suggested... something else. Like he was experimenting. And if he really was, then you are in no position to capture him, because he does not play loose games. He is not Azhar. He's not prey. He's a predator. And you cannot prey a predator. You can only reach him. That alone will not be easy."
I speak facts. Plainly, quietly. But the look on her face isn't normal. It's not shock, not fear. Something else. Something in between.
"Eagle always preys on the predator. That is the law of nature. From what you just said, it doesn't look like you have a plan. I do. You know his weakness. His missions are too famous to be hidden. They are in the public domain. That makes him predictable. And predictable means huntable." She sits forward as she says it. The quiet thunder of her resolve returns.
"No, Chhayika. It isn't that easy. His missions are in the public domain, yes, but you are not hidden from him either. He may also be the eagle here. There is not just one eagle on Earth. He's been observing for a long time. Long enough to know how you would retaliate. And I do have a plan. You are wrong there too. But it isn't a plan you're used to. Would you be okay giving me the lead this time?"
She blinks. Once.
"This is not about power play. It's not mental, physical, emotional, financial, psychological, or systematic. It's manipulation. It looks like a negotiation asset, but it's something else. The only way to reach him is by not walking toward him, but by letting him walk into us. And for that, I need to design the path."
She doesn't say anything. For two full minutes she just breathes. She inhales once, deeply, then nods.
When I get up to walk away, she finally speaks. Her voice is very small, but it carries far more than volume ever could.
"I trust you. If you want to lead, I will back you. Let us break the usual pattern, if that is the only way to victory."
Author's POV
Giriraj arranges the meeting with Rudra carefully. Not the traditional way, but by observing his patterns. Rudra doesn't know about the meeting, he would be here for something else, but Giriraj would have an opportunity to talk, that is all he needs. The place is a deserted warehouse by the river, somewhere off the grid, no witnesses, no cameras, just the cold silence that invites no mistakes. He arrives early, moving through shadows like a ghost, every sense sharp, every breath controlled. The sky is a bruised purple, night waiting to fall and cover whatever might happen next. He waits, knowing Rudra will come but unsure how this will unfold.
Chhayika stays back. She is the silent observer, the quiet storm behind Giriraj's plan, the one ready to step in if needed. Time moves slow, and Giriraj's mind circles every possibility. When the clock passes the agreed time, Rudra is nowhere to be seen. A pang of something Giriraj rarely feels settles deep in his chest: frustration, cold and biting. Rudra is clever, always has been. But this is different. This is not a man who just chooses to be late.
Chhayika finally arrives, her footsteps light but purposeful. Her eyes scan the dark, the corners of the warehouse, the open spaces. She knows the risks, the stakes, but there is a calm in her that Giriraj admires. They stand together, waiting. Minutes stretch into silence. The wind carries faint sounds from the river, the smell of wet earth and rust. Rudra has escaped before they could face him.
Chhayika kneels near the edge of the warehouse floor and pulls out a device from her pocket. Her fingers dance over the screen. A signal pings faintly from the south side, a trace of a phone still active. They move fast, breath steady but hearts racing. The signal leads them to a narrow alley behind the warehouse. But when they reach the spot, all they find is a phone lying on cracked concrete. The screen is black, but the device is still warm.
Giriraj picks it up carefully, turning it in his hands. There is no message, no contact left. Just the cold evidence of a ghost's passage. He meets Chhayika's eyes and sees the same quiet despair reflected there. Nothing but failure in their hands. The feeling is heavy, a thick fog of disappointment and confusion that does not lift.
For a long moment they stand there, wordless, the silence between them filled with the weight of what they cannot say. Then slowly, without a word, they nod. The decision is unspoken but clear. They will not chase shadows alone anymore. If Rudra escaped, he left something behind. A trail. A team. Something bigger than just one man.
Back at their base, they spread maps and files across the table. Screens glow with data pulled from every corner of their network. Giriraj watches as Chhayika pieces together movements, patterns, and strange overlaps. The names are false, the faces blurry, but the connections grow clearer with every hour that passes. This was never a simple hunt. This was a full-scale operation. And she was the target from the start, but also a part of it in ways she never imagined.
"Look here," Chhayika says quietly, pointing to a cluster of missions tied to different cells, different countries even. "Same comms signature. Same methods. All linked to him."
Giriraj leans in, tracing the lines. "A network disguised as chaos. He built this carefully. Not just a man but a system."
"He used me," Chhayika says softly, voice barely above a whisper. "I wasn't a victim. I was a tool."
Giriraj shakes his head slowly. "No victim here. Only pieces on the board. But we still have the players. And the players make mistakes."
They work late into the night, each new detail unfolding like a map of secrets. Names that vanish, codes that reappear in new places, calls made from untraceable devices.
They find something strange, a photo that shouldn't have existed. Rudra with the woman he hates the most in the entire department. Not because she is wrong, but they just don't go together, and here they are. This is a recent photo, from a few months ago, according to the cyber footprints. The background is of some lab, tech lab to be precise.
They search more and find that this photo isn't a standalone, but a small trace left of a video call where Rudra was explaining details about a mission 4 months ago, this means, the photo is of about four months ago. On further research, they found a similar one, and in the background of this image, on a particular file kept behind is a passport size photograph of Chhayika.
The weight of that knowledge settles around them like dust in an empty room. It is not just a fight against a man. It is a battle against a machine. And the machine is still running.
"We find the team," Giriraj says. "We dismantle the operation."
Chhayika nods slowly, a new fire sparking behind her tired eyes. "This is bigger than us. Bigger than revenge or justice."
Giriraj watches her carefully. "It is the game itself."
Together they lean over the screens, searching for patterns, hunting ghosts. Hours slip by unnoticed. There is no room for fear, no space for hesitation. Only the cold clarity of purpose.
They do not speak much. Words are heavy when truth is this raw. But in silence they understand. The path ahead will be long, dark, and dangerous. But they have a weapon stronger than fear: the knowledge that Rudra's world is no longer hidden. It is breaking apart under their gaze.
At the edge of dawn, Giriraj looks at Chhayika and says, "We are not the prey. Not anymore."
She meets his eyes, calm and certain. "We are the hunters."
Giriraj's POV
I look at Chhayika. Our eyes meet and we nod without a word. The choice is final. I pack light, only essentials, a burner phone, a small weapon tucked beneath my coat, some cash, nothing that weighs down the purpose. She moves quietly, handling tickets and logistics with practiced efficiency. Bangalore is the target, the city where Rudra's web is spun tightest, the heart of his digital empire.
Rudra is a ghost who slips through every net, but he wasn't prepared for the trail we uncovered. Those photos, stubborn evidence that refused to vanish. Without them, he would have been lost forever.
I slip into the maze of the sprawling tech complex, moving as another cog in the machine. The top floor is dim, except for one desk bathed in pale light. A woman works there, her grey hair tied loosely, fingers tapping rhythmically on a laptop. Her gaze is sharp, unblinking, as if every keystroke is a calculated strike.
I carry a cup of coffee, a small gesture to blend in. She doesn't even look up, but her voice is steady when she speaks, "Arrange those files."
I move toward the desk, and as I sort, the truth hits me. Every file is about Chhayika. Her life dissected into data points and strategies. The enormity of what we're up against presses in.
She lifts the coffee to her lips but then stops. The movement is subtle, almost casual, but her eyes narrow. She sets the cup down and draws a gun, pressing it against my temple. The cold metal bites sharply. My breath slows, calm sinking in. She's caught the drug mixed in the coffee, the trap I'd hoped to conceal.
I don't panic. Slowly, I turn away and pull off my mask. The flicker of surprise that crosses her face is brief but real.
"You're no stranger," she says, voice low but steady. "Thought I'd see you here."
I keep my voice even. "I'm here to talk. To find Rudra."
Her grip tightens on the gun. "You think I'd give that up so easily?"
I step closer, voice dropping. "Neither of us wants this to get messy. You know what's coming if it does."
Her eyes sharpen. "You're walking a knife's edge."
I nod. "So are you. But let me ask. Where is Rudra now? Where does he hide when the walls close in?"
Her glance flickers, hesitation for the briefest second. I press on, voice softening, planting the seed of doubt. "I know he's no coward. He's stronger than anyone thinks. But even the strongest need a refuge. A place where they're untouchable. Especially, when they know how it ends."
Her gun lowers slightly, eyes never leaving mine. "If I told you, it wouldn't change the outcome."
"Maybe not," I say carefully. "But it will change the battlefield. Give us a chance to end this cleanly with as little damage as possible."
She breathes out slowly, gun still ready but fingers loosening. "RAW headquarters. He's there. Meetings by day, working through the nights. He may visit the PMO tomorrow at 11 a.m. Remember what I am giving you, is illegal to tell, I am paying the price, but I can handle you if you would not be able to handle this well."
I absorb it, measuring every word. "Why tell me this?"
She shrugs, a shadow of a smirk breaking through. "Because you and I both know this game is bigger than Rudra now. The man's just a part of the machine. And I don't think either of us wants to be the one to pull the trigger and watch it fall apart."
I slip the mask back on and back away. "Then we have agreed. No unnecessary fire. We'll settle this with precision."
Her eyes linger on me, then she turns back to her screen. The office feels colder somehow, the silence heavier.
I step out, the weight of the information like a pulse in my veins. Rudra is close, but this is no longer a chase. It's a war of minds and the pieces are only just beginning to move.
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Until next time,
~ Kshyatri