December 27th, 2029. Mumbai.
The city never truly slept, but some nights it held its breath. This was one of them.
Aanya's move had shaken more than just her board. It had rattled the foundation of the game. The Consortium hadn't expected her to invoke Article 11-B, and in doing so, she had removed every predictable piece from the board.
Now, only wild cards remained.
And one of them had just gone missing.
At 2:12 AM, a transmission was intercepted on a retired military frequency used once by Dev's old handler network. It was short. Seven seconds. Scrambled.
But it carried a signature Dev hadn't seen in years.
Ghost Protocol Active.
A failsafe.
Not theirs.
Hers.
Xara.
Dev was already in motion by 3:00 AM. Aanya tried to stop him.
"She's coming for you. Not me," she said.
"That's exactly why I have to go."
"You're not going alone."
"I always go alone."
"Not anymore."
He looked at her then, long and quiet. Something passed between them. Not permission. But acknowledgment.
"She's not just a ghost," he finally said. "She's the one who taught me how to disappear."
By 5:00 AM, they were in transit—Dev, Aanya, and two operatives she trusted implicitly. The convoy moved under diplomatic cover, a leftover trick from a favor owed by the Singapore consulate.
Destination: an abandoned naval listening post off the Konkan coast.
That's where the signal originated.
And it wasn't random.
It was bait.
The facility looked like something from another war. Rusted towers, gutted offices, and satellite dishes pointed at skies that no longer listened.
Dev entered first. One hand on his sidearm, the other adjusting the jamming device clipped to his belt.
Aanya followed close. No hesitation now. She moved like someone who had already burned the map.
Inside, the air smelled of oil and cold salt. The hallway was lined with old codes, scratched off badges, and faded footprints.
And then, a voice.
"Still trailing me, Dev?"
Xara stepped out from the shadow of a control room.
She looked the same—deadly, minimal, eyes like polished steel.
But there was something new.
Exhaustion.
Dev didn't raise his weapon. Neither did she.
"You activated Ghost Protocol," he said.
She nodded. "Because I'm out."
Aanya stiffened. "What does that mean?"
Xara looked at her. "It means I've run every mission, erased every identity, killed every name they fed me. And now they want me dead, too."
Dev was silent.
"Redcode includes everyone who knows where the bodies are buried," Xara said. "That means me. That means you."
"And yet you're here," Dev said.
"Because I have one card left."
She tossed a drive onto the floor.
Aanya picked it up.
"What's on this?"
"Everything. Blueprints. Names. Internal proxies. The real target."
Dev narrowed his eyes. "You're lying."
Xara almost smiled. "I'm tired."
Aanya turned the drive over in her hand. "And why would you give it to us?"
"Because you haven't lost yourself yet."
Silence followed. A rare kind. Not tense. Not tactical. Just human.
Then Xara said, "You have three days. After that, they'll erase the chain."
"What chain?" Aanya asked.
"The one that proves The Consortium exists."
Dev leaned forward. "Where are they hiding it?"
"Zurich. Layered inside a shell account tied to a South Korean trade route. You'll need a key."
Aanya looked up. "And who has it?"
Xara's voice barely wavered. "Mrinal."
Back in Mumbai by 3:00 PM, Aanya convened her inner circle—what remained of it.
Rishad, her chief legal officer, and Dev.
She dropped the drive on the table.
"This is our proof. But it's encrypted with a key only Mrinal has."
Rishad sat back. "He's disappeared. No activity. No trace."
"He's not hiding," Aanya said. "He's being protected."
Dev nodded. "Which means they still trust him."
"Then we take that trust," Aanya said. "And weaponize it."
They built the plan in hours.
Rishad traced Mrinal's offshore accounts. One of them had a pattern—a small, consistent withdrawal at the same time every week, routed through a private server that hadn't changed in five years.
It was his weak spot.
A sanctuary.
The withdrawal was tied to a remote safehouse in the Nilgiris. Off-grid. Untouchable. Unless invited.
But now, Aanya had the invitation.
At 11:17 PM, a message was sent to Mrinal's secure line:
"You were right. I'm ready to walk away. Let's talk." —A
It took 8 minutes for him to respond.
"Come alone."
She typed back:
"I won't."
A minute later:
"Then come armed."
As the car rolled into the hills at midnight, Aanya sat in silence beside Dev. Neither spoke.
But something had changed.
Not the mission.
The air between them.
They weren't just fighting together.
They were burning together.
And they both knew it.