Later, after the others had finished their drills and the gym had thinned, Shivam lingered on the bench, toweling sweat from his hair. The coach dropped onto the seat beside him with a grunt, cracking open a water bottle.
"You've got power," the coach said after a moment, his tone calmer. "Good instincts too. But none of that matters if your mind's somewhere else."
Shivam's throat tightened. He twisted the towel in his hands; eyes fixed on the floor. "I know. I'm sorry. I just… can't shut it off. Not after everything."
The coach studied him, expression unreadable. "You can't control the storm outside. But you can control what's in here." He tapped Shivam's temple. "And you better, before it costs you."
Shivam finally met his gaze. "Then teach me. Teach me how to take down someone bigger, stronger. Someone who doesn't give me room to think. I need that."
The coach leaned back, considering him. Then he nodded once, sharp. "Alright. But don't waste my time. Tomorrow, you're going to learn what it feels like to fight uphill. And you're going to learn how to win anyway."
Shivam exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping, a flicker of determination threading through the exhaustion. "Good."
Dikshant's laugh echoed from the lockers. "Don't worry, bhai. I'll be your punching bag."
"Careful what you wish for," Shivam shot back, faint smile tugging at his mouth.
The coach stood, tossing the empty bottle into the bin. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, no distractions. Only the fight."
Shivam nodded, but as he picked up his phone again, the screen glowed with Naina's last message. His thumb hovered, hesitation creeping back.
The coach's voice carried from the exit. "Leave the ghosts outside the ring, Shivam. Or they'll bury you."
Shivam clenched the phone in his hand, jaw tight. He didn't reply.
The whiteboard marker squeaked as Naina drew another uneven line across the board. She stepped back, hands on her hips, lips pressed in thought. The library room Rathod's team had lent them smelled faintly of chalk dust and stale air, but its quiet corners were perfect for digging into the past.
"Blue Noctirum," she said aloud, writing the words in careful block letters. "Properties: volatile, unstable… but alive."
She underlined alive twice, the ink smudging under her fingertip.
Behind her, Aman leaned over a spread of old research clippings and maps, his elbows braced on the table. He looked up with a skeptical brow. "Alive is a stretch, don't you think?"
Naina turned, one brow arching. "Shivam said it spoke to him. That stone wasn't just glowing rocks and fireworks. You don't get hallucinations that specific without a cause."
Aman leaned back in his chair, arms folding. "Maybe it was just him. Compatibility, remember? The rest of us didn't hear voices."
"Exactly." She pointed the marker at him. "So, compatibility is a factor. That makes it more dangerous, not less. Imagine a weapon that chooses its wielder."
He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Sounds less like science, more like mythology."
"History starts as myth," Naina shot back, though her smile was faint. She turned to the board again, scribbling underneath.→ Gives power (space-time distortion).
→ Violent in nature.
→ Responds selectively (compatibility).
She paused, the marker hanging in the air. "And it's been around for at least 150 years before we got dragged into that world. Which means…?"
Aman finished for her, his voice steady. "Which means someone's been hiding the truth longer than any of us thought."
The room fell quiet, except for the scratching of his pen as he jotted notes on another sheet. Naina rubbed her temples, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Her mind spun with fragments, battles in another world, the way the ground shook when Noctirum pulsed, Shivam's haunted expression every time the topic came up.
She capped the marker, drew a deep breath, and wrote a new heading: Orange Noctirum.
The pen hovered, uncertain. "So far, what we know… it gives us weapons. That's it."
Aman looked up, brow furrowed. "The gas. Crowd control dispersal. SynerTech already handed it over to the police."
"Exactly." She circled the words gas weapon on the board. "Blue Noctirum warped time and space, changed reality itself. Orange…" She tapped the circle. "It wants blood. Or at least, violence."
Aman's jaw tightened. "So far, that's all it's good for." He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "That makes it worse. Tools designed for nothing but control, suppression, destruction."
Naina set the marker down, staring at the board. "We don't have enough. Not yet. But one thing's clear…" She looked at Aman, her voice low, steady. "If orange Noctirum's just getting started, and SynerTech is mass-producing it,"
"Then we're already late," Aman finished, his voice grim.
The silence that followed was heavy, only the ceiling fan clicking overhead.
Her phone buzzed against the table, the screen lighting up with Shivam's reply. Okay. Good luck.
Naina glanced at it, then looked back at Aman. "We need more data. More than maps and second-hand accounts. If SynerTech is stockpiling orange Noctirum, then… we'll have to see it for ourselves."
Aman's eyes hardened. "And that means finding a way inside."
For the first time in hours, a small spark of determination crossed Naina's face. She grabbed the marker, wrote one last line on the board, the letters sharp and final:
Next Step: Field Proof.
She capped the marker, turning back to Aman. "We've studied enough. Now it's time we start moving."
Meanwhile in Chanakyapuri, Aanchal had lost track of how many times she'd ridden the elevator in SynerTech's headquarters these past three days. Polished chrome, mirrored walls, piped-in music that was too cheerful for its own good. Each time the doors closed, she caught her reflection, braid tight, kurta plain, badge clipped neat. She hardly recognized the girl staring back.
Three days, and she'd played the role of Adhivita Singh well enough. Filing small reports, carrying folders between departments, sitting through bland "orientation" lectures. But beneath the ordinary office rhythm, she could feel it, something humming just out of sight.
The cafeteria was buzzing that afternoon. Employees in ties and cardigans lined up for coffee, voices overlapping in a hundred tiny conversations. Aanchal sat alone at a corner table, stirring her tea, ears tuned not to her drink but to the chatter.
"…military contracts, that's why they're hiring like crazy…""…level ten is off-limits, even senior staff don't get clearance…""…big reveal party, end of the month. CEO himself is hosting it."
Her pen hovered over her notepad, pretending to doodle while her mind raced. Level ten. She'd heard the phrase twice now, both times whispered, never explained. If there was an answer to what SynerTech was hiding, it was buried down there.
"Daydreaming?"
The voice yanked her back. A young scientist in a white coat was standing by her table, balancing his coffee and tray. He had a distracted air, eyes glued to the files under his arm.
Aanchal forced a sheepish smile. "Oh, sorry, was I staring?"
He chuckled politely and started to move past her, but her hand twitched, almost on instinct. She shifted her cup, and as he stepped by, her elbow nudged the tray just enough.
Hot coffee sloshed over the rim, splattering across his coat.
"Damn it!" He cursed under his breath, fumbling with napkins. His files slipped in the chaos, pages scattering to the floor.
Aanchal sprang up immediately, voice a flurry of apologies. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't…. let me help,"
She crouched, gathering the loose pages, her hands moving fast but careful. And in that whirlwind of spilled papers and muttered annoyance, her fingers brushed the lanyard at his side. A keycard, hanging loose.
Her breath hitched. One second. Two. She slid it into her sleeve with a practiced motion, slipping the last page back onto his tray.
"There, got it," she said, eyes wide with contrition.
The scientist sighed, blotting his coat with a wad of tissues. "It's fine, it's fine. Just… watch where you're sitting next time."
"Of course," she nodded quickly, biting her lip as if embarrassed.
He stalked off, muttering about replacements and dry-cleaning, leaving her alone with her tea, her pounding heart, and the weight of plastic now pressing against her wrist.
Aanchal sat back down slowly, her hands trembling just enough to rattle the cup. Around her, the cafeteria buzzed on as if nothing had happened.
But her world had just tilted.
She slipped the card into her bag, lips pressed tight. Level ten. A reveal party. Military contracts.
She stared down at her reflection in the untouched tea, eyes sharp, steady.
"Alright," she whispered under her breath, almost like a promise. "Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes."