Giriraj's POV
I got the list. Which one? The one that I asked for in this dialogue: "I want all accessible records on tongue-print biometrics. Official, off-record, private trials, military black projects. Anything that includes lip heat signatures or saliva-acid residue from caffeine containers in the last seventy-two hours."
Why did I ask for it? Because I did the tongue-print biometrics of the cup that was found there, the one from the scene, when Chhayika was taken away for treatment. So, did I leave her? No. I didn't leave her alone. I sent someone trusted to keep an eye on her, someone more trusted to keep an eye on that person, and someone even more trusted to watch him closely. And my AI-driven cameras, they kept an eye on everything. Yes, loops in loops to catch that one idiot who tried to outsmart me. No one did though, good for them. You know you can't trust anyone these days. Not even your own eyes unless they've been triple-verified.
So, coming back to that cup. I did the tongue-print biometrics myself, carefully, thoroughly. Not my first time handling something like this. After finishing, I left the cup back there exactly the way it was kept. Not a millimeter out of place. Then I came out with a laptop and all sorts of stuff in my hands, so much stuff it looked like I'd spent the entire time just gathering tools and files. Classic misdirection. Make it look like the work happened elsewhere.
Me learning biometrics stuff is not on record. Not even off record. After my parents died, I lived with my Dadi in a small house. Not even a full house, more like a brick structure pretending to be one. A girl lived nearby. She had only two interests, medical and speaking. Yeah, the kind who wouldn't shut up but had an oddly calming voice.
I remember drinking tea by her hand once. Got sick for a whole week. She made it with milk that had stayed out overnight and turned. She said, "Score equal," after curing me. I said, what about my discomfort? She sulked and ran away crying. Trust me, I didn't say it harshly. My voice was stoic, sure, but it wasn't scary. At least not to me. But she came back that evening with red eyes and red nose, and for the first time I realized she might actually love me.
Now, I had a battle in my head. First, I wanted to take her help to learn forensics. It would give me an edge above others. But second, I didn't want to give her any hope. At the end, my instincts won. I said something to her, which as per my memory sounded like: "See, I don't love you." She cried harder. Then I added, "But I don't want to hate you either." She looked at me with hopeful eyes. That damn hopeful look. "I want you to teach me everything you learn about forensic sciences after you complete your degree, for which you're going to the city. Only if you really want to settle the score of that poisonous-as-hell tea."
She started smiling while crying. I frowned. She went like, "Don't worry, I'll teach you. I'll settle the score, no matter what it costs me. I know your desperate love for dead bodies and things. And I also know I'm not dead. So you can't love me. But please, just please don't hate me, I beg you, please." Her voice carried a pain I still remember. That stupid painful honesty. Then she went home.
Years passed. I lost all hope of learning anything from her. Lost track of her. Dadi kept telling me how good she was. The perfect woman, according to her. But I have my perfect. So...
Where was I? Yes. When I lost all hopes and finally got a government job, CRPF Assistant Commander. After training, I returned home. And there she was. Standing beside Dadi, doing all the arrangements. Shit. She still loves me. That's all I thought.
She came to me with that same sweet-as-ever smile under the same tree where I'd once asked her to teach me. My dumb body and even dumber brain invited real trouble. But god helped me. As she came closer, I instinctively shifted away, gave her space. She smiled and said, and I remember this clearly, "Raj, I love you." Every pore of my body prepared to run. But she held my hand. My reflexes could have killed her. I swear. But all my mind said was: "Ladki hai yaar." And I stopped mid-air.
She again smiled and left my hand, elegantly. Then continued, "And I know you don't. I won't force you either. You can love and marry a girl who is just like you, dead and alive at the same time." I breathed deep. For real. Then she added, "I just want to settle the scores. I did my Masters in Forensics in the US. Earned money just so I can teach you. If you still want to settle the score."
I smiled and nodded. She taught me everything. Brought equipment. Took me to the lab where she worked. Taught me like a friend. Whenever we had time, she taught me. I offered her money at the end, but she refused. Said my net worth couldn't cover the price of the machines she showed me. Said I better not even try. I smiled and nodded. Told her I'm there if she ever needs legal help. She has two beautiful kids and a handsome husband now. She even gave me some forensic equipment after I joined RAW. I paid her for that, but the equipment was still under her name. She literally threatened me not to mess with it.
Anyway, I left the coffee cup. Came back. Hacked the phone of a man. Then sat with Chhayika for a while. Stayed quiet. Later, I returned to my room. After coming to my room, I called the same man whose phone I had hacked. Asked for the list. The one I now have in hand.
He doesn't know my name, he just knows I'm from RAW. That's a useless detail. And why did I tell him about the coffee and the file? That was just a game. A pure psychological trap. I closely monitored the people he called after that conversation. His call log is a gold mine. Forget the list, that's just the surface.
Now I will go to each person he called. With different names, different identities, different looks. I will look for the man who drank that coffee and erased that file. Because if he's smart, and I'm sure he is, he would have realized his mistake by now. Come on. That wasn't a pawn in a game. That was a flag.
And once he realizes, his anxiety will drive him to the people he thinks are safer. And when he does that, when he goes to them thinking they are his fallback options, he exposes himself. His work would be done by now. He'd want to disappear. But anxiety leaves traces.
Now it's my turn to begin. I'm stepping onto the board, not to chase but to wait, to draw, to observe, and to strike when the moment loses its silence. Let's begin.
Rudra's POV
Giriraj realized that the cup left in the room was not a pawn in the game, but the queen I had mistakenly left behind on the enemy's field. He is smart. He even asked someone to pull up all accessible records on tongue-print biometrics. That might sound like a small thing to someone else, but not to me. I understood his game the moment he asked.
I had already made a mistake by leaving the cup. He probably thinks I'm dumb enough to go around enquiring whether anyone checked the tongue-print database. I mean, isn't it obvious that I wouldn't? But still, he was not wrong in assuming that even someone like me could fall prey to that brief human anxiousness. I could have slipped, maybe, only if I didn't already know his plans. Fortunately, I did. He would have never thought I could. And why would he? His laptop and his phones are covered in layers of security. Not just your usual alphanumeric codes, but deep layers, custom encryptions, multi-authentication, temporal triggers, time-bound deletions, he's built a fortress. Almost impossible to break.
So how do I know so much? How did I manage to figure it all out without cracking the fortress open? Well, I didn't. I didn't break anything. I just installed a voice recorder in his room, at a spot he never checks. Classic move. But not something done in haste. I had observed him for weeks before that. His rituals, his distractions, the places he thinks are beneath his notice. It worked. Of course, it worked. I've always been this smart. It's just that now I have white hair, and maybe fewer admirers, but there was a time when women would quite literally die for me. Charm and brains is a rare combination. There used to be a long line. I remember.
Anyway, back to the point. Giriraj must not have checked the cup for tongue prints. And I know this for two reasons. One, he doesn't understand forensic sciences that well. That's not his domain. Two, if he had really gone looking for tongue-print records, it would have shown up in the audio logs. But he didn't ask. I listened. He is smart, yes, but his arrogance is slightly bigger than his caution. That is where he will always fall a step short.
So technically, I'm safe. For now. But not for long. I know how close I came to being exposed, and I can't afford that again. Because I know, when the source of life starts wearing the face of death, there is no god, no nation, no agency that can save you. And Chhayika is exactly that. Not because she is a woman, don't be foolish, but because she truly is the source of life for thousands of women. She is the voice for the unspoken, the hand that feeds orphans, the spine that holds up the weak, the breath that revives people who have long been dead inside.
That is beautiful. That is dangerous. And what scares me is not that beauty, but what lies behind it.
She passed the exam, yes. But wolves do not take kindly to being caged. You cannot control the one who was born to destroy you. You can only run from it. And you better run fast. She is the dominant of the dominants. She is not a weapon forged in fire. She is the fire itself. She has always been. She is the face of death for those who dare stand against her. No, she is not unstable. She is not impulsive. She simply remembers too much to ever be obedient. That is a different kind of madness. A purposeful one. The kind you cannot cure.
She is death herself. The eagle whose prey is usually a predator. And I know the risk of playing this game with her. I know it better than anyone.
But I never step back once I am on the field. She can be the queen in my game, even if that means some small massacres must happen along the way. That is a small price for the victory I aim for. And perhaps, the victory she aims for too. She just doesn't know it yet.
And Giriraj, ah, Giriraj. I hate to admit it, but he turned out to be smarter than I predicted. Much smarter. So though it was never going to be my first choice, not even my tenth, he is now a necessity for the larger purpose. He is part of the team.
And the fun part? Out of five members, two of them don't even know that they are in.
Now that's what I call a good game.
Chhayika's POV
I finally have stepped back from the mission. Not forever. Just for now. Giriraj will handle it. He must. I need space. Not because I'm tired. Because if I don't stop myself, I'll ruin everything by pushing too fast, too far. And he, for all his anger, all his equations, always knew how to buy time without making noise.
I call Maa. She answers on the second ring. Her voice is excited, a little too much maybe, like she was already waiting with an imaginary suitcase and her half-knitted scarf. She says she's been planning to come, and I tell her I'll invite her soon. Not now. There's just a little mess in the middle of the house I need to clean up first. I say it like a joke. She doesn't laugh.
"You're not alone in this, you know," she says. "If you're stuck, I can help. I want to help."
I close my eyes for a second. That's the last thing I want. That's the last thing she should do. Help me. In this.
"Don't start, Maa," I tell her, softer than usual. "Let me finish this on my own. This one's complicated. And anyway, I've got a CBI workload to hide behind for now. It'll pass."
She sighs. The line stays quiet, but not cold. She always understands, even when she doesn't agree.
I scroll through the call log after we hang up. One name stands out. Riya. I press the call button before I can think too much about it.
She picks up cheerfully, tells me Bhumi's doing fine, that she had her favourite fruit loops today, that she got three stars from her teacher for drawing some absurd little lion with purple eyes. I can't help the smile. My body is almost healed, the wounds are sealing, but it's this call that reminds me what peace sounds like. I didn't know how much I needed to hear someone say Bhumi is okay.
"Do you want to talk to her?" Riya asks.
My heart jumps. But I stop it.
"No," I say. "Not today."
It would only disturb her. She's settling again. That's enough for now. She shouldn't hear my voice with all this noise still clinging to it.
After the call, I sit by the window. The sky is clear, too clear for what I feel. I think of Giriraj again. He won't act fast. He never does. But when he moves, it's always precise. I trust that. I need to. Because interfering now would just make things worse. I've done enough for now.
Now, I wait. Quietly. I calm my mind. Let him work. Let the storm hold for just a few days more.
Giriraj's POV
I checked everything. Every damn thing. Not under my name, obviously. I used aliases, proxies, logged in through systems that don't even show up in internal audits. I didn't leave a single trace behind, not a single string connecting it to me. I checked local records, defence backups, internal CBI files, and even routed a query through one of those silent private biometric labs. The kind that doesn't ask questions as long as you pay enough. Still, nothing.
Now that's not just strange. That's dangerous.
The man who left that coffee cup behind didn't even bother checking if he had been caught. Not a hint of a follow-up. No interference. No sudden drop in signals. No trigger. That's not how normal people behave. That's not even how trained people behave. If you've ever been inside a high-security zone, you either panic or you check obsessively. But this one? Nothing.
And if someone doesn't care whether they've been found out or not, that means they already know. Which only makes sense if they've been listening. Watching.
Now here's the thing. No one can tap my calls. That's not me being arrogant. That's just a fact. I sweep my devices. I track unusual logs. I even keep a basic white-noise scatter running at low volume when I step out of the room, even if it's just for ten minutes. No eavesdropping. I checked that myself. Twice.
So if someone still knows what I'm up to, it only means one thing. There is a recorder. Somewhere inside my room.
I didn't react. I didn't alert anyone. Just walked around, made some tea, asked the guard about the weather, said I'll be working late. Then I slipped off. Back to my room? That would have been too obvious. But the point is, it is my saferoom. The one nobody can casually keep an eye on. You need clearance to breathe near that door. And I have changed the entry pattern thrice since last month. Yet somehow, someone managed to install a voice recorder. That is strange. And that is lethal.
Inside, I didn't waste time. I accessed a different system this time. Not the regular criminal database. Not even rogue agents. I searched through high-profile identities. Those with army backgrounds. Retired intelligence professionals. Political associates. Advisors to ministers. People who could walk into a room, leave something behind, and get away like nothing ever happened.
And there, buried inside one of the sealed access logs, I finally found something. A match.
It wasn't just the tongue-print. It was the signature of how he moved, how he behaved. This may have looked like a random slip-up. But the kind of silence that followed said otherwise. The one who did this? He's not just smart.
He's powerful. Far more powerful than I expected. And worse, he is a betrayer. That is the worst thing that can happen to a country.
I don't flinch. I don't even blink.
I just stare at the name on the screen.
And I know exactly what this means.
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Author's note
I admit that I am late, not one, two or three hours but five hours. So late, that it is not Saturday anymore, but half an hour has passed on Sunday. I also admit that I said I would try that this doesn't repeat next time. Hence, I won't justify either. I will give you an extra update on Sunday as well, as a compensation. I know this can't repay your time and excitement but maybe I can be forgiven.
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Love you all.💖