Mumbai.
10 PM.
The Oberoi Grand Hotel gleamed like a jewel in the city's crown—gold fixtures, marble floors, doormen in white gloves who'd seen everything and said nothing.
Perfect.
Peacock had chosen well.
Bharat watched from across the street, tucked into a café with tinted windows and a clear view of the hotel entrance. Ayesha sat beside him, laptop open, monitoring three separate camera feeds.
"Cameras in position?" Bharat asked.
"Four angles. All live."
"Journalists?"
"Six. Tipped off anonymously. They're waiting."
"Rajan?"
"En route. ETA four minutes."
Peacock had done his job.
Flawlessly.
Step one: Leaked Rajan's location to his mistress—a woman named Kavita, former temple acolyte, now living in a modest apartment on the outskirts of Mumbai.
Step two: Sent her a message. From Rajan. (Fake, but convincing.)
"Meet me at the Oberoi. 10 PM. Room 412. We need to talk about our son."
Step three: Ensured Rajan actually went to the Oberoi. (How? Peacock had contacts in the temple's security team. A well-placed bribe. A fabricated "emergency meeting" with a VIP donor.)
Rajan thought he was attending a private fundraiser.
Kavita thought he'd finally acknowledged their child.
Both were walking into a trap.
"Car approaching," Ayesha said.
Black sedan. Temple insignia on the door.
Rajan stepped out.
Dressed in full priestly regalia—white robes, gold threading, a face that radiated serene authority. The kind of face that said I speak for the divine.
He entered the hotel.
Confident.
Unhurried.
Unaware.
Three minutes later.
Another car.
Older. Less polished.
Kavita.
She looked nervous. Clutching a small handbag, glancing around like she was afraid of being followed. Her clothes were simple—cotton sari, minimal jewelry.
Not the kind of woman you'd expect in the Oberoi.
Exactly the kind of woman the press would notice.
She entered.
"Cameras live?" Bharat asked.
"Live. Recording."
"Journalists?"
"Alerted. Moving into position."
Inside the hotel.
(Peacock's hidden cameras captured everything.)
Kavita approached the front desk.
"I'm here to meet someone. Room 412."
"Name?"
"Kavita Sharma."
The receptionist checked. Frowned.
"There's no reservation under that name."
"I—he said to meet him here—"
"Who?"
Kavita hesitated.
"Rajan Malhotra."
The receptionist's eyes widened.
Barely.
But enough.
"One moment, please."
She made a call. Quiet. Discreet.
Two minutes later.
Rajan appeared in the lobby.
Saw Kavita.
Froze.
Their eyes met.
Across the marble expanse.
A moment of recognition.
Then panic.
On both sides.
Rajan moved toward her. Fast. Trying to appear casual but failing.
"Kavita. What are you doing here?"
"You—you sent me a message—"
"I didn't—"
"You said we needed to talk about—"
"Not here."
He grabbed her arm. Gently. But firmly.
"We need to leave."
Too late.
The journalists had entered.
Six of them.
Cameras ready.
Questions loaded.
"Mr. Malhotra! Is it true you have an illegitimate son?"
"Who is this woman?"
"Are you using temple funds to support a secret family?"
Flashes.
Blinding.
Relentless.
Rajan's face went white. Then red. Then a sickly gray.
"No comment."
"But sir—"
"I said no comment!"
He tried to pull Kavita toward the exit.
She resisted.
"Rajan, what's happening?"
"Not now—"
"They're saying we have a son—"
"Kavita, please—"
One of the journalists stepped forward.
Shoved a photo in Rajan's face.
A boy. Eight years old. School uniform.
Rajan's eyes.
Unmistakable.
"Is this your son?"
Silence.
"Mr. Malhotra?"
"Is. This. Your. Son?"
Rajan's composure shattered.
"Get out of my way."
"So you're not denying—"
"I said GET OUT!"
He shoved the journalist.
Hard.
The man stumbled.
Cameras caught it all.
Kavita pulled free.
"You told me you'd take care of us!"
"I have—"
"You told me you'd acknowledge him!"
"I will—"
"When?! He's eight years old, Rajan! Eight!"
Her voice cracked.
"And you won't even say his name."
The lobby was silent.
Everyone watching.
Cameras recording.
Rajan looked around.
Trapped.
Exposed.
Ruined.
He turned to Kavita.
"This isn't—"
"What? What isn't it?"
Pause.
"It isn't what it looks like?"
"Kavita—"
"Because it looks like you've been lying to me for eight years."
She walked away.
Didn't run.
Just walked.
Head high.
Shoulders back.
Dignity intact.
Rajan stood there.
Alone.
Surrounded by cameras.
Surrounded by witnesses.
Surrounded by his own lies.
Outside.
Bharat closed the laptop.
"It's done."
"The footage?"
"Uploading. Every major news outlet. Social media. Viral in three… two… one…"
Ayesha's phone lit up.
Notifications.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Trending topics:
#RajanExposed
#TempleScanal
#HypocrisyUnveiled
"He's finished," Ayesha said.
"Good."
Bharat's phone buzzed.
Peacock.
[PEACOCK]: You're a monster.
[BHARAT]: I learn from the best.
[PEACOCK]: Touché.
[PEACOCK]: FYI, the temple just issued a statement.
[BHARAT]: Already?
[PEACOCK]: They move fast when their reputation is at stake.
[PEACOCK]: Sending screenshot.
Official Temple Statement:
"We are deeply saddened by recent revelations regarding Rajan Malhotra. His actions do not reflect the values of this sacred institution. Effective immediately, Mr. Malhotra has been removed from all temple duties and his priestly authority revoked.
All contracts and selections made under his authority are under review. The temple remains committed to purity and truth."
Ayesha stared.
"They cut him loose."
"Instantly."
"No loyalty. No defense."
"He's a liability now."
Pause.
"And liabilities get discarded."
Bharat checked the Codex.
Flipped to Ayesha's page.
Ayesha Kaur — VOID (priestly authority revoked)
"It worked."
"You're free."
Ayesha exhaled.
Long.
Slow.
Like she'd been holding her breath for days.
"I'm free."
Mira's voice from the phone:
(Speaker mode. She was back at the safehouse.)
"What about me?"
Bharat checked.
Mira Sharma — VOID (priestly authority revoked)
"You too."
Silence.
Then Mira laughed.
Soft.
Broken.
Relieved.
"We're free."
"For now."
"What do you mean 'for now'?"
"The temple voided the contracts. But the god—"
"Might not care."
"Exactly."
Ayesha stood.
"So we're not done."
"No."
"What's next?"
"We find out if the god honors the temple's decision."
"And if it doesn't?"
Pause.
"Then we go to the Unmade City."
"The place where gods die."
"Yes."
Bharat's countdown:
28 days, 19 hours.
Still ticking.
Still a death sentence.
But now they had leverage.
Now they had time.
Now they had—
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
"Yes?"
Heavy breathing.
Then a voice.
Rajan's.
But different.
Shattered.
Feral.
"You did this."
"Yes."
"You destroyed me."
"You destroyed yourself."
"I'll kill you."
"You can try."
"I'll kill everyone you love."
"You're welcome to try that too."
Silence.
Then Rajan's voice.
Quieter.
More dangerous.
"The temple abandoned me."
"I noticed."
"You know what that means?"
"You're free to act without their oversight."
"Exactly."
Pause.
"I have nothing left to lose."
"That makes you predictable."
"Or unstoppable."
The line went dead.
Ayesha looked at Bharat.
"He's coming."
"I know."
"When?"
"Soon."
"How will he attack?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Why not?"
"Because we'll be gone."
"Where?"
Pause.
"The Unmade City."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
Ayesha's expression hardened.
"That's suicide."
"Maybe."
"The entrance test—Peacock said it shows you your worst fear."
"I know."
"And you're still going?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because if we wait for Rajan, we fight on his terms."
"And if we go to the Unmade City?"
"We fight on ours."
Mira's voice from the speaker:
"Bharat."
"Yes?"
"The Codex showed me something else. When I was unconscious."
"What?"
Pause.
"The Unmade City has a price."
"What kind of price?"
"Memory. You have to give up a memory to enter."
"Any memory?"
"The one you value most."
Silence.
Bharat looked at Ayesha.
At the city lights beyond the window.
At his reflection in the glass.
"Then that's what I'll give."
"And if you forget something vital?"
"Then I'll trust you to remember it for me."
Ayesha stood.
Walked to the door.
Stopped.
"You're insane."
"Probably."
"And noble."
"Debatable."
"And you're going to get us killed."
"Maybe."
Pause.
"But I'd rather die fighting a god than running from a man."
She opened the door.
Looked back.
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"We go to the Unmade City."
"Tomorrow?"
"Tonight."
"Why tonight?"
"Because Rajan is desperate."
"And desperate men don't wait."
Bharat's phone buzzed.
Security alert.
From the safehouse.
Motion detected.
Perimeter breach.
Multiple hostiles.
Armed.
"Too late," Ayesha said.
"He's already here."