Even amid the whirring fans, the rustle of papers, and the tapping of fingers on keyboards, one pair of eyes followed Kiaan Verma wherever he moved.
No matter how grave the mission was… no matter how dangerous the operation… when Kiaan entered the room, heads turned—especially the female officers.
A 21-year-old with the sharp mind of a seasoned agent and the face that could launch a thousand distractions, Kiaan was the youngest team leader in their division. His presence wasn't loud—it was magnetic. The way he walked, shoulders steady, that sharp jawline clenched in thought, the dark intensity in his eyes… he didn't have to try. He simply was.
A young officer whispered to another in the back corner of the room,
> "He looks like he walked out of a movie… but talks like he's already lived through war."
The other chuckled,
> "And still hasn't dated anyone. Can you believe it?"
But none of them really knew why.
Because Kiaan Verma never let anyone in. His life wasn't made for roses and rings. It was built around bullets, betrayals, and broken memories.
He stood beside Tara now, eyes locked on her screen.
> "Got anything?" he asked, his voice low but alert.
Tara smirked, flicking her long ponytail over her shoulder.
> "Your admirer club will be sad to know you're leaving the building again."
Kiaan raised an eyebrow but didn't answer. That was always his style—stoic, unreadable, and deadly focused.
Tara's fingers flew across the keyboard, and within seconds, a location pinged on the screen.
> "There. Sector 8B, dockside warehouse. Rudhra just entered the premises. No security detail, but there's movement around the perimeter. Probably his men. I hacked the nearby CCTV grid to give us blind spots for insertion."
Rehaan cracked his knuckles.
> "Perfect. Time to say hi."
Dev tossed a bulletproof vest onto the table.
> "No mistakes today. We follow from distance, record who he meets, and let him dig his own grave."
Kiaan's eyes were already scanning the layout, memorizing entry points and escape routes.
> "No direct engagement unless necessary," he said. "We need to see who shows up behind him. That's our priority. The ghost—the one who's keeping him alive."
Tara stood up, grabbing her gear.
> "So, how close are we allowed to follow, boss?"
Kiaan turned slightly, his tone unreadable yet calm.
> "Close enough to hear him breathe. Far enough not to become his next target."
Dev grinned.
> "Now that's the leader we follow."
Within minutes, the four of them were on the move—dark tactical uniforms, loaded comms, hidden weapons, identities clean.
As they exited the building, a few female officers along the hallway paused their own discussions to catch one last glimpse of Kiaan. But he never turned. He never even looked.
Because while the world noticed Kiaan Verma's face, only a handful ever tried to understand the storm inside his mind.
And tonight, he wasn't walking into a mission.
He was walking into a trap, with the ghost of his father's unsolved murder whispering behind every shadow.