The echo of their footsteps filled the HQ's cold, polished corridors as Dev and Rehaan flanked Kiaan closely, their expressions unreadable. Dev handed Kiaan a black high-collared shirt layered with a fitted blazer—something clean, formal, and importantly, something that would hide the bruises lacing his neck and the freshly inked tattoo carved onto his wrist like a brand of possession.
"Wear this," Dev said quietly. "You need to walk in there with your pride, not your scars."
Kiaan said nothing, only nodded with a brief look of gratitude before slipping the shirt over his aching frame. The fabric rubbed against his injuries, but he didn't wince. Pain had become too familiar—almost a companion now.
As they approached the Director's office, Tara, ACP Shruti Rana, and a few senior staff were already waiting outside. Tara's eyes widened with both relief and concern the moment she saw Kiaan. She tried to step forward, but Dev blocked her path gently.
"Not now," Dev said firmly. "Director's orders. Kiaan will speak to the higher-ups first. We'll explain later."
He and Rehaan ushered Kiaan through the heavy door and locked it from the inside. The room went silent the moment the door clicked shut.
Inside stood Director Arvind Bansal—stoic, sharp-eyed, and deadly calm. Joint Director Raghav Kapoor leaned on the edge of the conference table, arms crossed, his intense stare already dissecting Kiaan. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken urgency.
Kiaan took the chair they pointed to, his posture upright but visibly strained.
"Agent Kiaan," Director Bansal began. "We thought we lost you. I assume you have an explanation."
Kiaan nodded once. "Yes, sir. But what I'm about to say won't be easy to hear."
He exhaled deeply and began. Word by word, he unravelled the horrific hours—his capture, the trap at Noir Haven, the agents they lost, and the moment he offered himself in exchange to protect Tara and the remaining team. Then came the darker truths—the blindfolds, the drugs, the heat injected into his bloodstream that left him powerless.
He spoke of Rex. Of Reyaan Malhotra.
"He didn't kill me," Kiaan said, his voice lowering. "He didn't want to. He wanted to... mark me. Own me."
He slowly rolled up his sleeve, revealing the name inked on his skin like a brand: Reyaan Malhotra.
Gasps filled the room. Rehaan clenched his fists. Raghav's jaw visibly tightened.
Kiaan then pulled down his collar just slightly, showing the bruising—blue and red, raw and ugly.
"This," he said, "wasn't just a physical attack. It was psychological warfare. And he's not done."
Director Bansal stared at him with a hardened gaze. "What do you think he wants now?"
"He sent me a video," Kiaan said. "Just me. Vulnerable. A threat masked as a game. And a message: 'Behave, baby, or the world sees it.'"
Raghav stepped forward. "He's asserting dominance. And planning something bigger."
Director Bansal leaned back slowly, absorbing every word. "Then we hit back. But smartly. No emotion. Just strategy."
Kiaan met his eyes. "I'm ready to go back in. But this time, with my eyes open. I'm not his victim. I'll be his shadow."
There was a pause. Then Director Bansal spoke with finality.
"Then this war begins now, Agent Kiaan. We use his obsession against him."
Kiaan nodded.
The flames of humiliation no longer burned in his veins. Only vengeance did.