The ventilation shaft was tight, the cold metal pressing against Vihan’s back as he crawled forward. The scent of dust and rust filled the narrow space, mixing with the faint sting of liquid nitrogen still lingering in the air.

  Behind him, Asha’s breathing was quick, controlled. Zara was the last one in, pulling the grate back into place before whispering, “If I die crawling through this, I’m haunting you both.”

  Vihan ignored her. His thoughts were still spinning.

  His mother was alive.

  And she had warned him.

  "Don’t trust them."

  Asha had switched sides—or so she claimed. And the Council had wanted the Bhagavad Gita not just to keep it hidden, but to rewrite it.

  But none of that mattered right now. Right now, they had to get out.

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  Vihan checked his tablet. The vents led toward a secondary exit near the docks. If they were lucky, they could slip out before the entire facility went on full lockdown.

  “Keep moving,” he whispered.

  Zara muttered something about hating small spaces, but they pressed forward.

  Minutes passed, stretching into what felt like hours. Then, finally, they reached another grate. Through it, Vihan could see an empty corridor.

  He twisted the screws loose, careful not to make noise, and dropped down onto the cold floor. Asha followed. Then Zara.

  They barely had time to breathe before the emergency speakers crackled to life.

  A distorted voice filled the corridor.

  "*Vihan.*"

  His blood ran cold.

  The others froze.

  The voice wasn’t the man in the suit. It wasn’t a Council agent.

  It was her.

  His mother.

  “Vihan,” her voice repeated, laced with static. “If you’re hearing this… then you’re close.”

  Asha sucked in a sharp breath. Zara’s grip tightened on her knife.

  The voice continued, weaker this time. “They don’t want the book… They want… the—”

  The transmission cut out.

  Silence.

  Then, a slow click echoed from the far end of the hall.

  The sound of a gun being cocked.

  Vihan turned—

  And found himself face to face with the man in the suit.

  Surrounded. Again.

  Only this time, there was no vent to escape through.

  And the Council was done playing games.