The man in the suit stood at the far end of the hall, his polished black shoes clicking against the floor as he stepped forward. The Council’s guards flanked him, their rifles raised, red lasers cutting through the dim light.

  Vihan’s heart pounded. The recording—his mother’s voice—was still ringing in his ears.

  "They don’t want the book… They want… the—"

  The what? What had she been trying to say?

  The man sighed as he adjusted the cuffs of his pristine jacket. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

  Zara shifted her stance, her knife hidden beneath the folds of her jacket. “You’re really committed to the whole ‘evil mastermind’ aesthetic, huh?”

  The man smirked. “Zara. Always the rebel.” His eyes flicked to Asha. “And you, Asha… I expected better.”

  Asha’s jaw tightened. “I expected the truth.”

  The man exhaled sharply. “The truth?” His gaze snapped back to Vihan. “You think you want the truth, boy? You have no idea what’s at stake.”

  Vihan forced himself to breathe. “Then tell me.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The man’s expression darkened. “Alright, then. Since you seem so determined to throw your life away… let me show you.”

  He motioned to one of his men, who stepped forward with a small, metallic device in his hands—a sleek, black cube no bigger than a fist.

  Vihan frowned. “What is that?”

  The man tilted his head. “This is what your mother spent years trying to protect. Not the book.” His lips curled into a slow smile. “This.”

  Zara tensed. “You’re bluffing.”

  The man chuckled. “Am I?”

  He pressed a button on the cube.

  The air seemed to bend around it, waves of energy rippling outward like invisible currents.

  Then—

  A holographic projection flickered to life in the space between them.

  And Vihan’s entire world stopped.

  Because standing there, in the hazy blue light of the projection, was his mother.

  Not a recording. Not a message.

  A live feed.

  She was in a dimly lit room, her wrists bound, her breathing shallow but steady. She wasn’t looking at the camera—she was looking at him.

  The man in the suit stepped aside, allowing the projection to remain between them. “See? She’s alive.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “And she will stay alive—if you do exactly as I say.”

  Vihan’s fingers twitched at his sides. His mother. Alive.

  “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice raw.

  The man shook his head. “That’s not the question you should be asking.”

  Vihan’s pulse roared in his ears. “Then what should I be asking?”

  The man smiled.

  “Why do you think we need you?”

  Vihan froze.

  Something inside him twisted. “What?”

  The man’s voice was calm. Controlled. “You think you’ve been hunting the truth, Vihan. But the truth has been hunting you.”

  Vihan’s breath caught.

  The Council didn’t just want the Bhagavad Gita.

  They wanted him.

  And he had no idea why.