That night, Malik's men broke into Rahul Shiva's flat, who had been killed by the police. Signs of a thorough search were evident throughout the flat.
Aman knelt down, his fingers brushing just above the faint, smudged footprints etched into the glossy white tiles. The room was eerily quiet, yet these silent marks spoke of urgency, of someone's desperate search in the dead of night. He lingered there, absorbing the details—the direction of the steps, their uneven weight, the story they whispered but refused to fully reveal. It wasn't just a trail; it was an unanswered question.
"Has anything gone missing?" Aman asked, his voice low, almost as if speaking louder might disturb the fragile echoes of the past still clinging to the room.
"Nothing," Arun replied from behind, his words precise but weighed with finality. "The police were meticulous. They took every crucial piece of evidence. Whoever came here… they found nothing to take."
Aman didn't look up. His gaze remained fixed on the prints, as if he could unearth more if he simply stared long enough. It wasn't just about what was taken—or not taken. It was about the intent behind this trespass, the purpose that drove someone to wade through a place already stripped bare by the authorities. Desperation or calculation? Aman couldn't tell. But one thing was clear: someone had come here looking for something they believed still mattered.
"They even destroyed the CCTV in the parking lot," Aman said, his tone edged with certainty. "That means this was premeditated."
Straightening up, he turned to face Arun. "Did you check Rahul Shiva's laptop?"
"Yes," Arun replied. "There wasn't much. Just a few photos of Miss Ayesha."
Aman's expression tightened, his thoughts racing. "Send me those pictures," he instructed, his voice calm but resolute. "And make it a priority to trace the sender of that anonymous email about Rahul."
Arun nodded, silently acknowledging the urgency in Aman's voice.
"Their next target will undoubtedly be Ayesha's house," Aman said, his voice steady but heavy with conviction.
"Is she safe?" Arun asked, a trace of doubt in his tone.
"Yes," Aman replied. "Angelina is there. Let things proceed here as planned. If you notice anything, call me immediately. I need to head back."
---
Angelina stood by the window, her gaze fixed on Ayesha's house across the street. The lights inside glowed faintly, but the drawn curtains revealed nothing of the life behind them. The world outside was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze. Midnight was near, and with every passing second, the weight of the quiet grew heavier.
Restlessness crept in. Angelina moved to the kitchen, opening the fridge more out of habit than hunger. The sparse contents—frozen meals and a few cans of soda—felt like a snapshot of loneliness. The fridge of a man who lives alone, she mused with a faint smile, tinged with a sadness she didn't dare acknowledge.
She grabbed a can of Pepsi, the cold metal refreshing against her fingers. Back in the hall, she paused by the open window overlooking the yard. The night air brushed her skin as she cracked open the can, the soft hiss breaking the silence. Taking a slow, deliberate sip, she let the cool fizz settle her nerves.
The stillness outside was unnerving, a quiet so deep it felt like a prelude to something inevitable. Two hours of waiting had stretched thin her patience, but she stayed alert, her senses sharp despite the monotony. She stared into the darkness, a silent sentinel bracing for what she couldn't yet see. Whatever happens, I'll be ready, she told herself, even as the night whispered its uncertainty.
At the same time, Angelina's eyes caught the movement of a black van as it slowed and parked at the side of the road. She instinctively ducked behind the curtain, her breath held as she observed its every motion. The van had stopped directly in front of Ayesha's house, offering her a perfect vantage point. Within moments, two figures emerged, their faces obscured by masks and their hands gloved, signaling intent to remain unseen. Angelina's mind sharpened—their target is Ayesha's house, without a doubt.
A confrontation now would be reckless. She knew the urgency of the situation but also the importance of discretion. I can't act hastily, she thought. I need to move them away without alarming them too soon. Her gaze swept the room, pausing on the keys to her police car, carelessly left on the sofa. She moved quickly, her fingers brushing the cold metal as she seized the keys and pressed the button to activate the alarm.
The shrill wail of the siren broke the quiet night, echoing through the street like a warning. The figures in the van froze, their bodies tense with the sudden awareness of danger. Panic flashed across their masked faces as they scrambled to get back inside the vehicle. In less than a minute, the van roared to life and sped off into the night, vanishing into the shadows.
Angelina exhaled slowly, her hand steady as she turned off the alarm. She checked the street once more, ensuring the threat had passed. Only then did she lower her weapon and let herself breathe.
But something gnawed at her. Despite the commotion and the siren, there had been no response from Ayesha's house—no movement, no sign of life. Was she truly alone? It felt wrong. Frowning, she tucked the gun into her waistband, adjusted her shirt to hide it, and walked toward the house. Her steps were measured, purposeful. Whatever awaited her inside, she needed to be prepared.