Shivam shifted in his chair, his ribs throbbing under the pressure of the seat back. He hated the way her words made sense. It meant there were more layers than they'd imagined, gaps in their story they hadn't dared to question until now.
Naina pulled the phone closer again, her eyes narrowing on the blurred shot of the glowing orange crystal. She tapped it lightly, drawing their focus back. "Whatever the leak is, this changes everything. Look at it. Tell me that doesn't look like Noctirum."
Dikshant leaned over her shoulder, squinting. "The color's off. All we ever saw was blue. This is,"
"exactly why it worries me," Naina interrupted. Her voice was steady, but Shivam caught the tightness in her jaw. "If they're digging up crystals here, if they've found a way to pull Noctirum into this world, then SynerTech isn't just studying us. They're experimenting. Maybe even trying to open the door themselves."
Her words sat heavy on the table. For a moment, no one dared to imagine what that could mean , what opening the door again would cost, what it might unleash.
Shivam broke the silence, his tone hardening. "Then we need to move fast. We can't sit around waiting for SynerTech to make the next move. If they think they're ahead of us, we need to remind them we're not kids who stumble in the dark anymore."
Aman smirked faintly at that, but it didn't reach his eyes. "So what? We start tailing SynerTech? Sneak into their corporate HQ in Gurgaon?"
"No," Shivam said, shaking his head. "We don't do it alone. We'll need Rathod's group. More eyes, more hands. If anyone can sniff out where those crystals are going, it's them."
Aanchal nodded, this time without hesitation. "And in the meantime, we stay alert. Phones, homes, routines, assume they're watching. Counter-surveillance starts now."
The mood around the table had shifted. The joking camaraderie that had carried them through most meetings was gone, replaced by a sharper, colder edge. They weren't just friends sitting around anymore; they were strategists, soldiers, survivors preparing for another war.
Shivam looked at each of them in turn. "Stay sharp. Stay on your toes. Until we know more, no slip-ups. SynerTech thinks we're their specimens. Let's prove them wrong."
The table went quiet again, but this time it wasn't hesitation. It was resolve.
The meeting ended without their usual scattered laughter or inside jokes. Instead, they filed out of the café with quiet nods, each lost in their own thoughts. Shivam felt the ache in his ribs deepen with every step, but he said nothing.
The Highness was parked a little down the street under a flickering lamppost. Dikshant swung a leg over the pillion, the silence between them broken only by the soft creak of leather seats and the click of Shivam slotting the key into the ignition. The bike rumbled to life, low and steady, a familiar growl under his bruised hands.
Neither of them spoke much on the ride home. The words from earlier still clung to them, leak, surveillance, specimen. The road was near-empty, but Shivam rode slower than usual, the throbbing in his ribs dictating every shift of the gear. In the mirrors, the city lights stretched out like veins, each one reminding him of the eyes that might already be on them.
When they reached home, the first thing that hit Shivam was the unlocked door. His stomach tightened as he killed the engine. The ticking of the cooling exhaust echoed in the quiet lane.
Inside, the living room was lit, but no TV was running. His mother sat stiffly on the sofa, hands clasped in her lap. Across from her, his father stood near the dining table, a single sheet of paper lying flat on the surface in front of him. The silence was sharper than any scolding.
Dikshant froze behind him, whispering, "Uh… this doesn't look good."
"Come in," their father said, not looking up. His tone carried none of its usual clipped impatience. Instead, it was heavier, slower, the kind of voice that preceded consequences.
Shivam stepped inside, his throat dry. His eyes flicked to the table. He didn't need to read the entire page to understand; the bold header alone was enough: Court Restraint Order. And beneath, printed neatly in black ink, was his own name.
His father finally looked at him, gaze sharp but controlled. "Do you care to explain why a private corporation has filed a restraint order against you?"
Shivam's lips parted, but nothing came out. His mind spun through explanations, excuses, half-truths. Nothing felt enough.
"It's not," he began, but Dikshant cut in, stepping forward quickly.
"It's because of me," his younger brother said. The words spilled out fast, almost tripping over each other. "We were planning to surprise you with a watch for your next birthday. Shivam bought it on his trip, but he dropped it near the Ridge when he went to that NGO event a while ago. I… I asked him to bring it back. That's why he went. Not for anything else."
The room stilled. Their father's gaze snapped to Dikshant, piercing through the shaky lie. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. "The Ridge area has been off-limits since the gas leak. Both of you know that. You should've told me." His voice hardened, though it never rose. "Instead, you went sneaking around like children who think rules don't apply."
Shivam braced for more, for the anger he usually associated with his father's discipline. But it didn't come. Instead, his father simply turned, walked to the sofa, and sat down, his silence far heavier than any reprimand.
His mother, however, finally broke it. She reached out, her hand brushing Shivam's wrist where the bruise peeked past his sleeve. Her eyes softened with worry. "Enough now. No more late-night rides, no more detours. From your MMA practice, you come home. Straight home. No exceptions."
Her tone wasn't negotiable, and for once, Shivam didn't argue. He nodded, quietly, the lie still sitting sour on his tongue.
The tension in the room didn't ease, but it settled into something muted, like a storm waiting to return. Dinner was eaten in near silence, and afterward, Shivam slipped back into his room.
The house felt suffocating in its stillness, but his phone glowed faintly on the desk, pulling his focus. He stared at it for a long time before typing out a group message, fingers trembling slightly from the weight of what he wasn't saying aloud:
"Change of plans. Aman, Naina, Aanchal, you three go to Rathod's team yourselves. Find out what SynerTech is doing. I'll handle things from my end. Stay sharp."
He hit send, dropped the phone onto the bed, and leaned back against the chair, the bruises throbbing like reminders carved into his skin.
From the outside, the house was quiet. Inside, Shivam knew the game had shifted. The order on the table downstairs was proof: SynerTech wasn't just watching. They were closing in.
And now, he had to move faster than ever, even if it meant moving alone.