The streets of Mumbai blurred past as Vihan, Zara, and Asha moved swiftly through the maze of abandoned alleys and forgotten passageways. The weight of the Bhagavad Gita pressed against Vihan’s back, a constant reminder that they were carrying something people were willing to kill for.

  The city was alive, but in this part of town, there were no crowded markets, no flashing billboards, no late-night street vendors. Here, silence was an omen.

  Vihan could feel it—the eyes watching them, the figures moving just beyond his line of sight. Whoever they were, they weren’t amateurs.

  Zara, leading the group, suddenly stopped at a crossroads between two alleys. Without turning, she muttered, “We’ve got four on our tail.”

  Vihan swallowed hard. “Four that we can see.”

  Asha scanned the rooftops. “More could be hiding.”

  Zara smirked. “Good. I was hoping for a challenge.”

  Vihan shot her a look. “You think this is a joke?”

  Zara rolled her shoulders, adjusting the grip on her knife. “No. I just know that if we run, we die.”

  Asha exhaled. “We’re close to the safe house. If we make it there, we can regroup.”

  Vihan nodded, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Council’s agents weren’t just tracking them. They were herding them.

  The realization came too late.

  A loud thunk echoed through the alley as something embedded itself in the brick wall inches from Zara’s head. A black, needle-like dart. Poisoned.

  “Move!” Zara shouted.

  The silence shattered. From the rooftops and alleyway corners, figures in dark tactical gear emerged like shadows materializing from the night itself. No insignia, no spoken words—just silent, deadly precision.

  Vihan barely had time to react before the first attacker lunged at him.

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  The Fight in the Alley

  Zara moved first.

  Her knife flashed in the dim light as she twisted around, parrying the first strike from an incoming assassin. A single, clean cut across the enemy’s wrist sent their weapon clattering to the ground.

  Asha, though not a fighter like Zara, wasn’t defenseless. She grabbed a loose pipe from the ground and swung it at the nearest attacker, catching them off guard.

  Vihan’s instincts screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. One of the assassins lunged at him, aiming for his bag—the Bhagavad Gita.

  They don’t want to kill me, Vihan realized. They want the book.

  Adrenaline surged through his veins. He ducked, narrowly avoiding a blade that would have cut across his shoulder. Without thinking, he slammed his elbow into the attacker’s ribs, throwing them off balance. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to slip past.

  “We have to get out of here!” he shouted.

  Zara was already on it. She feinted a strike to the left before twisting in the opposite direction, slashing her knife across an attacker’s thigh. “Asha! Take Vihan and go—I’ll hold them off!”

  Asha hesitated. “Zara—”

  “GO!”

  Asha grabbed Vihan’s wrist and pulled him toward the end of the alley. They sprinted, weaving through narrow streets, their lungs burning with exertion. Behind them, the sounds of battle echoed—grunts, the clash of metal, the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground.

  Vihan’s heart pounded. If Zara didn’t make it out—

  No. She had to.

  They turned a corner, and suddenly, Asha yanked him backward, pressing him against the cold metal of a shipping container.

  “Stay quiet,” she whispered.

  Vihan barely had time to catch his breath before he saw them. More figures emerging from the darkness, moving methodically.

  They were trapped.

  The Shadow Who Knew His Name

  One of the figures stepped forward. Unlike the others, he wasn’t dressed in tactical gear. He wore a dark overcoat, his posture relaxed, almost casual.

  Vihan’s stomach twisted. There was something familiar about him.

  “Vihan,” the man said.

  Asha tensed beside him. “They know who you are.”

  The man smiled. “Of course we do.”

  Vihan swallowed hard. “Who are you?”

  The man tilted his head. “Someone who has been watching you for a long time.” His gaze flicked to the bag on Vihan’s back. “And someone who is very interested in what you’re carrying.”

  Vihan’s mind raced. He knew the Council of 9 had agents everywhere, but this man wasn’t just a foot soldier. He was someone important. Someone who knew things.

  Asha’s grip tightened on Vihan’s arm. “We have to run.”

  The man chuckled. “Where would you go?” He took a slow step forward. “We don’t want to hurt you, Vihan. We only want the book. Hand it over, and this all ends.”

  Vihan felt his breath hitch. The Bhagavad Gita had been entrusted to him—first by his mother, then by fate itself.

  And now, the people who had hunted it for centuries were standing right in front of him.

  Demanding it.

  Vihan’s hands curled into fists. “No.”

  The man sighed. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  He nodded toward his men.

  And all hell broke loose.