Rishi, what are you doing over there? The conference is about to start. They'll be arriving any moment now."
"They should've been here by now. I'm behind the pillar near the entrance. He'll definitely come in through here—like last time. I want to stay out of sight and begin my work right here. You keep an eye on the rest."
"Bro, be careful. That guy gives me alien vibes. I've heard he never shows up at events like this. Are you sure about your lead?"
"Hundred percent. I've got info that Kabir Sinha is his best friend. They've known each other since play school in the US. They even did their graduation together there. He was rarely seen publicly, but apparently lived with Kabir during college too. Kabir Sinha is hosting this press conference—he will definitely show."
Rishi was speaking through his Bluetooth earpiece, while Vedant stood at the other end of the grand hall near a pillar. The hall was packed—everyone was waiting for Kabir Sinha, a well-known young politician, to announce his election manifesto.
"This guy… man, he's the most mysterious person I've ever heard of. No clue where he publishes his books. No publisher name, no writer name—and he's written more than fifty books, all bestsellers. He tops every chart. I swear he's not human. Never given an interview. Never appeared publicly," Vedant said.
"He doesn't feel human. Whatever his secret is, I'm bringing it out today. I just hope he's not some serial killer," Rishi replied. Vedant let out a quiet laugh.
Both of their eyes scanned the crowd—looking for only two people. Suddenly, Rishi felt something behind him. He turned around instantly.
In front of him stood a tall, well-built man—around six feet—holding a glass of wine. He wore a black shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and grey trousers. His curly black hair fell messily over his forehead, long enough to hide his eyelashes. But his deep black eyes were staring right at Rishi.
For a moment, Rishi locked eyes with him.
The man took a sip of wine, and under the spotlight, his lips shimmered as the drink touched them. Rishi's gaze moved from his eyes to his lips… then to his throat, watching every drop of wine trickle down slowly.
He drank that one sip like it was an act of love.
"Who are you?" the man asked, after swallowing the last drop.
Rishi kept staring.
"Do I need to repeat my question?" the man's deep voice made Rishi flinch.
"Uhh… do we know each other?" he replied nervously.
"No, we don't. So who are you? And why are you hiding behind that pillar?"
His voice was so deep, it gave Rishi chills.
"Uh... I'm—I'm from the media," Rishi stammered.
"Which media house? Where's your ID card?" the man asked firmly. His voice had a hint of warning.
"Uh... who are you? Why should I tell you? This event is hosted by Mr. Kabir Sinha. He called the press conference, so I don't need to show my ID to just anyone," Rishi replied nervously.
The man tilted his head slightly, but didn't say anything. Sensing trouble, Rishi quickly left, fear creeping into him, his forehead dripping with sweat. The man continued to stare at Rishi until he disappeared into the crowd.
"Why are you so out of breath, bro? And why are you sweating so much?" Vedant asked.
"No idea who that was. He asked what media house I'm with and demanded my ID. Whoever he was, he was super creepy. He literally gave me a heart attack."
"A man?"
"Yeah," Rishi said, trying to calm himself down with a deep breath.
"If you're so scared of people, maybe you should quit chasing them. I don't think cowards like us are meant for media work," Vedant replied, shaking his head.
"I'm only here for that writer. I'll find out who he is—ghost or alien, I don't care," Rishi muttered.
"Take your camera. Let's blend in with the other reporters so no one suspects us," Vedant said, and they both entered the crowded hall where reporters had gathered.
They stood in the back row, trying to stay hidden. Just then, Kabir Sinha entered surrounded by PSO guards. Dressed in white kurta pajama, he was known as India's youngest leader—famous for his strong speeches and sharp questions directed at the opposition.
Despite his young age, even senior politicians and media reps hesitated to speak against him. His deep knowledge was probably why—everything he said was packed with facts and logic, making it almost impossible to challenge him. He had become a rising star within just two years, gaining influence like a lion claiming his territory.
Suddenly, the sound of applause snapped Vedant out of his thoughts. Kabir Sinha had taken his seat on stage. There was an innocent smile on his lips, glasses on his eyes, a watch on one wrist and a mauli thread on the other. His hair was perfectly styled. He looked genuinely handsome.
"Ved, where are you lost? Take off your camera lens cap!" Rishi elbowed him, bringing him back to focus. Vedant quickly removed the lens cap and peeked through the camera. Kabir Sinha seemed to be looking directly at the lens.
Vedant quickly looked up—and Kabir was staring straight at him. Vedant lowered his cap slightly. Kabir's smile widened.
"Mr. Kabir, do you really think you'll be a better leader for this city? Your promises could turn out to be hollow, like those of other politicians. Your party is new, so obviously your funding must be limited. What if you start committing scams to financially support your party after winning the election? It's happened before," a reporter asked.
Kabir turned toward the reporter. Instead of getting offended, he paused for a moment, took a quiet breath, and smiled gently.
"That's a great question. I truly appreciate it. If I had ten journalists as bold and honest as you, half the corruption would end right away," he said.
"But you still haven't answered the actual question," Vedant interrupted.
Kabir turned his head toward him.
"Yes, our party is new. But we have educated young leaders. We may not have a large crowd—but each one of them is worth a million. About the funding—we have records of every single rupee. You can check our website for the full details. Corruption has been happening for centuries, but those who stand with truth are often left empty-handed. They don't have the tools or schemes to hide lies. If we have the people's support, we can fight problems like corruption. Lies attract many selfish interests, but truth always stands alone." His response sounded like a mini-speech.
Suddenly, the hall burst into applause. Vedant was a little startled, while Rishi kept looking through the crowd, searching for someone. No unknown person was on the stage—clearly, the person Rishi was chasing wasn't there.
After about half an hour, Kabir Sinha stood up and folded his hands respectfully. But his sharp eyes remained fixed on Vedant, who was still awkwardly trying to stay hidden.
As Kabir walked away, he signaled something to his men. Meanwhile, Vedant and Rishi moved with the crowd like two sneaky shadows. No one stopped them. Once outside the hall, they slipped off to a quiet corner.
"Man, there's nothing here!"
"Who gave you that false information?"
"Whoever it was, he's trustworthy. He must've realized someone was tracking him," Rishi said. But suddenly, a wild idea popped into his head.
"Ved, there's no security here. When we came in, there were tight checks—from the gate to inside. Now it's all cleared."
"What are you trying to say?"
"We can track them here. Maybe they're still inside—maybe even together. Let's do one thing: you go around to the other side of the building, and I'll check this side. There's got to be some way to get in. We'll definitely see something."
"You're gonna get yourself killed. It's really your death wish, Rishi."
"It'll be fine, trust me."
"By God, who would believe you had that terrible accident just four days ago?"
Rishi took a deep breath.
"Ved, it's better to live with struggle than live in fear. Without risk, life is as good as death."
Ved looked at him with surprise.
"What kind of spiritual guru are you listening to these days?"
"My inner guru," Rishi said. "Now hurry up—we've got a chance."
He gave him a thumbs up, and they both moved off in opposite directions around the building.
Rishi started checking each window on the left side—but it looked like they were all painted black. Every window was tightly shut. Rishi grew frustrated.
"What should we do with these two fools?" Inside, Kabir Sinha was sitting on a sofa in a dimly lit room, looking at his phone. On one side of the screen was Vedant, and on the other, Rishi.
"What are these two even trying to do? Whose agents could they be?" Kabir said. Right in front of him sat a shadowy figure, partially hidden in the darkness.
"So, what do you say—should I have them picked up?" the figure said with a crooked smile on his lips.
"But first, they need to be separated. I've been bored staying alone in Red Pine anyway. Something interesting should happen."
"You're the only one who can handle these nuisances. Otherwise, they'll become a threat to me."
"Man! I think you should keep Vedant close. He'll be very useful to you. I'm damn sure he's the one who could be the key to winning your election."
"Writer sir, this election is a battle for truth for me. I don't want any trouble in it. I know you're capable, but I'm leaving these pests entirely in your hands," Kabir said, now sounding serious.
"You don't worry. Glad to be of service. But my suggestion remains—Vedant is valuable to you." Kabir stood up and embraced him. The man patted Kabir's back.
"You said it, so I'm ready."
"You just focus on the election," Kabir said with a smile and walked out.
Kabir walked out smiling. Suddenly, the writer pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He inhaled the smoke deeply and began blowing smoke rings as he walked forward. He glanced at his phone screen, where Rishi was seen sneaking into a building through a window like a thief. A hook on the window had cut Rishi's hand, but he was driven by obsession. What he didn't know was that the hall he had just entered had death waiting for him right above—on the railing—smoking a cigarette, playing with the smoke.