The Docklands were silent. Too silent.
Rain slicked the concrete, reflecting the scattered glow of dock lights like shards of glass. Shipping containers loomed like monoliths, perfect for ambushes, perfect for hiding death.
Aarav Kane moved fast, low, every sense alert. Nisha's burner phone pinged intermittently in his pocket. Each vibration a reminder: time was bleeding away.
"They're nervous," he muttered to himself. "Which means they're weak."
Soren followed closely, staying in shadows. His face was tight, eyes scanning, muscles coiled like spring-loaded traps. Aarav didn't need a verbal warning—Soren's tension said everything.
The first sign came as a flicker—a silhouette moving between containers, darting just at the edge of visibility. Aarav slowed, reading patterns. Two, three, four more. All wearing black, masked, armed.
Cipher Dawn had set the stage. And they had a director's eye.
Aarav crouched behind a container, whispering into Soren's earpiece.
"Phase Two isn't just about her. It's about me. They want me to follow the path."
"They're baiting you," Soren replied.
"Exactly." Aarav's fingers danced over the zip ties in his pack, twisting and snapping silently. "We go loud, we go fast, we go smart."
He signaled. They split—Aarav heading left, Soren right. Containers shifted as shadows moved with them, anticipating, corralling. The Docklands became a maze of echoes, whispers, and the faint hum of distant cranes.
Then a shot rang out.
Aarav dived behind a crate, blade drawn. A bullet ricocheted, spraying sparks across metal. Another followed.
"Keep moving!" he yelled.
He pivoted, rolling across wet concrete, catching sight of Nisha—tied to a crane hook, dangling a few feet above the ground. Her hood had fallen back, hair plastered to her face, eyes wide with terror.
Aarav sprinted. Two operatives stepped into his path. Blade flashed, knocking one aside. The other swung a baton. Aarav countered, metal clashing with metal, raining sparks onto the concrete.
Soren appeared, shooting the third attacker down with precise efficiency.
"Go!" Aarav barked.
Nisha screamed as a cable snapped, swinging her toward the dock's edge. Aarav lunged, catching her arm just in time.
The sound of footsteps made him freeze. He recognized the gait instantly—tall, commanding, deliberate. Rudra Malhotra.
Malhotra stood atop a container, rain dripping from silver hair, a pistol in hand. Calm. Paternal. Deadly.
"You're predictable, Kane," Malhotra said softly. "Always rushing to the rescue. Always thinking brute force solves problems."
Aarav gritted his teeth. "And you're predictable too. Always thinking authority protects you."
Malhotra smiled thinly. "Authority and patience. I've controlled this phase from the beginning. Your father? My plan. Your little whistleblower? My plan. You? Testing my patience."
Aarav's eyes narrowed. "You killed… everything important to me?"
"Not killed," Malhotra corrected. "Directed. Manipulated. Controlled." He gestured toward Nisha. "She's my leverage. She'll learn. She'll survive… if she obeys. You? That's optional."
Rain pounded harder, soaking them. The Docklands seemed to shrink, compressing into a battleground of shadows.
Aarav gritted his teeth, whispering to Nisha. "Trust me. Don't look at him. Move when I say move."
Malhotra raised his pistol. "Phase Two ends when one choice is made. Justice… or survival."
Aarav smirked. "Funny. I was thinking both."
He lunged. Soren moved simultaneously, firing and striking, creating chaos in perfect tandem. Sparks flew as bullets met metal. Malhotra fired again, and Nisha screamed.
Aarav rolled, grabbed her, and pulled her behind a container. He pressed her down. "Phase Two doesn't control us."
Malhotra's voice echoed, calm and deadly: "Then Phase Three begins."
And in the shadows of the Docklands, Aarav realized Phase Two had been a warm-up. Phase Three—this war—was just starting.