The locker room was buried three levels underground, a concrete box that smelled of stale sweat, damp towels, and the lingering, metallic scent of ozone from the ventilation system. It was the only place in the compound where the cameras were rumored to have blind spots.
Arpika sat on a wooden bench, holding a bag of frozen peas against her cheek. The ice was melting, condensation dripping down her wrist, staining the expensive silk of her dress. The red handprint Asrit had left on her face was darkening, shifting into a deep, ugly purple.
She stared at the opposite wall, her eyes vacant. She wasn't crying. She wasn't speaking. She was just enduring the throb of the bruise.
Pranav couldn't stand the silence. He couldn't stand the sight of her sitting there, marked and broken. It was a visual confirmation of his own impotence. He paced the narrow aisle between the metal lockers, his footsteps sharp and agitated.
"He didn't have to do it there," Pranav muttered, his voice bouncing off the metal. "He could have done it in the car. In the office. But on the steps? In front of the cameras?"
Sanvi leaned against a locker, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. She looked exhausted, her usual aggression dampened by the sheer weight of the legal ordeal they had just survived.
"He made his point," Sanvi said quietly. "We're not partners. We're employees. Employees get reprimanded."
"We're not employees!" Pranav spun around, his hands balling into fists. The fear from the police station had curdled into a hot, irrational anger. He needed to be angry. Anger felt like power. Fear felt like dying. "We're the ones taking the risks. We're the ones bleeding in fish markets and penthouses while they sit in air-conditioned offices and complain about timelines."
He looked at Arpika. She didn't react to his defense of her. She didn't even blink.
"He humiliated you," Pranav said to her, his voice rising. "He humiliated all of us. It was a power trip. A cheap shot from a man who's never thrown a punch in his life."
Gautham, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, looked up. "Pranav, keep your voice down. The vents carry sound."
"Let them hear!" Pranav snapped. The adrenaline of the near-miss with the law was flooding his system, making him reckless. He felt a desperate need to reassert the hierarchy, to prove that he was still the leader, that he could still protect his crew, even if only with words.
He slammed his hand against a locker door. The metal rattled loudly.
"He had no right," Pranav hissed, the words tasting satisfyingly dangerous. "In front of everyone... I should have broken his jaw."
The sentence hung in the air, heavy and stupid.
Sanvi looked at him with pity. Arpika shifted the ice pack. Gautham flinched.
Then, a laugh cut through the room.
It wasn't a humorous sound. It was a high, scratching noise, like metal dragging over glass.
Pranav froze. He turned slowly toward the entrance of the locker room.
Kevin Corvini was leaning against the doorframe.
He was wearing his lab coat over the silver suit, the white fabric stained with yellow chemical burns. He looked disheveled, his eyes bright and dilated, his jaw working as if he were chewing on something bitter. He had been passing by—or perhaps prowling—and the noise had drawn him in.
Kevin pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room. The recruits instinctively shrank back, pressing themselves against the lockers.
"Broken his jaw?" Kevin repeated, savoring the phrase. He giggled. "That's ambitious, Pranav. Stupid, but ambitious. Asrit has a very expensive dental plan. It would be a shame to ruin it."
Pranav's throat clicked dry. The bravado evaporated instantly, leaving him cold and exposed. "Mr. Corvini. I was just... venting. It was a stressful day. The arrest—"
"Oh, I know," Kevin interrupted, waving a hand. "Stress. Trauma. The pressure of the life. I get it."
He stopped in front of Pranav. He was shorter than the recruit, but he felt massive. He smelled of sulfur and unwashed skin.
"But here's the thing about jaws, Pranav," Kevin whispered, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Only we get to break them."
Kevin reached out and poked Pranav in the chest. It wasn't a hard poke, but Pranav flinched as if he'd been burned.
"I hate Asrit," Kevin said, his voice conversational, intimate. "He thinks he's smarter than me. He looks at my lab and sees a cost center. He looks at me and sees a mistake."
Kevin's face twisted, a flash of genuine, ugly pain crossing his features before it was buried under a manic grin.
"But he's a Corvini. His name is my name. His blood is my blood. And when you threaten him..." Kevin tilted his head, looking at Pranav with the curiosity of a child pulling legs off a spider. "...you threaten the organism."
"I didn't mean it," Pranav stammered, stepping back. His back hit the cool metal of the lockers. There was nowhere to go. "It was just noise. Like Asrit said. Just noise."
"Noise," Kevin nodded. "Yes. You make a lot of noise, Pranav. You talk about empires. You talk about plans. You talk about breaking jaws."
Kevin's hand shot out.
He grabbed Pranav by the throat. It wasn't a martial arts move. It wasn't the trained restraint of Vikram. It was a clumsy, desperate, squeezing grip. Kevin's fingernails dug into the soft skin of Pranav's neck.
Pranav gasped, clawing at Kevin's wrist, but the smaller man possessed a terrifying, chemically fueled strength.
"You're boring me with your talk," Kevin spat. "Arpika? She acts. You? You just vibrate."
Kevin yanked Pranav forward, pulling him off balance.
"Come with me."
"Where?" Pranav choked out, stumbling as Kevin dragged him toward the door. "The holding cells are... downstairs."
Kevin laughed again.
"Not a cell," Kevin said, his grip tightening. "Cells are for criminals. You're not a criminal, Pranav. You're a project. I have a room. Soundproofed. Ventilation is excellent."
Gautham stood up, trembling. "Mr. Corvini, please, he didn't—"
Kevin whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto Gautham. "Do you want to come too, Number Cruncher? I have a new formula I need to test on a control group."
Gautham snapped his mouth shut, sinking back down to the floor, terrified. Sanvi looked at Pranav, her hand twitching toward her belt where a knife used to be, but she didn't move. She couldn't fight a Corvini inside the compound. It was suicide.
Pranav looked at his crew. He looked at Arpika, who had lowered the ice pack and was watching him with a cold, detached interest. She didn't say a word. She didn't intervene. She just watched the hierarchy reassert itself.
Kevin dragged Pranav into the hallway.
"You want to be a tough guy?" Kevin whispered into Pranav's ear as he marched him down the corridor, away from the barracks and toward the heavy, reinforced doors of the laboratory wing. "You want to talk about breaking bones? Let's see how much pressure you can take before you stop talking altogether."
Pranav stumbled, his shoes squeaking on the polished floor, his grand leadership reduced to a frantic struggle to keep his footing as the predator dragged him into the dark.