"You owe me treat for this."
Ahan Vedant shot a glare at Samaira Rauniyar as they walked side by side toward their commanding officer's office. She, of course, looked completely unbothered—hands casually stuffed into her pockets, chewing on a piece of gum like she was strolling through a marketplace instead of a high-security military base.
"I don't owe you anything," Ahan muttered. "I was the one who covered for you during PT."
Samaira snorted. "Covered for me? You tripped over your own foot and face-planted in front of the entire unit. The instructor got so distracted laughing, he forgot I was even late."
Ahan groaned. "It was a tactical fall. Distraction is a valid combat strategy."
"Right. And you screaming 'Oh god, my nose!' was part of the plan?"
"That was for authenticity."
Samaira smirked. "Well, your sacrifice was noted. But I still don't owe you anything."
Ahan threw his hands in the air. "Unbelievable! You have no honor. No integrity."
"I have a perfectly good sense of integrity. I just use it selectively." She winked. "Now hurry up, before the major thinks we're plotting something."
Ahan huffed, straightening his uniform. "Plotting? Please. We're the picture of professionalism."
Samaira arched an eyebrow, smirking. "Sure. Says the man who walked into the barracks this morning wearing mismatched boots."
Ahan didn't even flinch. Instead, he gasped dramatically. "Oh no! Not again! This is the third time this week!"
Samaira blinked. "Wait, what?"
Ahan placed a hand on his chest. "I can't believe I did it again! When will I learn?!" He glanced down at his perfectly matched boots, then looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Samaira, what do I do?"
Samaira burst out laughing. "Okay, okay! I was just messing with you! You actually had me for a second."
Ahan smirked. "Well, you deserved it."
She shook her head, grinning. "Fine. I'll admit, that was good. But if we're late, I'm blaming your imaginary boots."
They reached the door to the major's office, pausing just long enough to exchange a glance—Ahan looking vaguely terrified, Samaira looking like she was about to say something reckless just for the fun of it.
Ahan sighed. "If we die in there, just know I would've been a great husband, father, and soldier if given the chance."
Samaira patted his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. I'll tell your imaginary kids you were a hero."
Ahan groaned again. "I hate you."
Samaira grinned. "No, you don't."
And with that, she pushed the door open, stepping inside like she owned the place. Ahan took a deep breath and followed, already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.
Major Rudra Thakur sat behind his desk, eyes scanning a classified report for what felt like the hundredth time. His black hair, usually neatly combed, was slightly disheveled from hours of stress. His beard, well-maintained on most days, looked a little rough—an unspoken sign that something serious was weighing on his mind.
He heard the knock on his door but didn't immediately respond. Instead, he took a deep breath, closing the file in front of him. "Enter."
The door swung open, and in walked Ahan Vedant and Samaira Rauniyar, looking far too casual for his liking. They weren't sloppy—just… comfortable. Too comfortable.
He glanced at the clock. Two minutes late. Not enough to make a scene, but enough to irritate him. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he observed them with a slow, unimpressed nod.
"Ah, look who finally graced me with their presence. The epitome of military discipline." His voice was laced with pure sarcasm. "Tell me, was it a tough decision? Arriving fashionably late versus actually pretending to be soldiers?"
Ahan, sensing the tone, straightened up immediately. "Sir, we—"
Rudra raised a hand, cutting him off. "No, no. Don't ruin the moment. I'm savoring this. Two officers, full of potential, yet tragically allergic to punctuality." He exhaled, shaking his head. "It's heartbreaking, really."
Samaira, ever the bold one, smirked slightly. "We do our best, sir."
Rudra gave her a flat look. "And yet, your 'best' is consistently disappointing."
Ahan coughed to cover a chuckle, and Samaira shot him a look. Rudra sighed. "Enough. You're not here so I can admire your ability to waste time." He tapped the file on his desk. "I need you both on an investigation."
Their expressions immediately shifted to seriousness.
"Have either of you heard of Chandipur?"
Ahan nodded. "The village in Odisha, sir. Near Wheeler Island."
"Correct. Or rather, what is now known as Dr. Abdul Kalam Island." Rudra leaned forward, his voice turning serious. "That island houses one of India's most crucial missile testing facilities. And a few hours ago, we received an anonymous warning."
Samaira frowned. "Warning? About what?"
Rudra pushed the file toward them. "That's what you're going to find out. You leave for Chandipur first thing tomorrow."
Ahan picked up the file, scanning the details. "Sir, if it's just a warning, why are we being sent in? Isn't this something intelligence should handle?"
Rudra's eyes darkened. "Because this isn't just some random hoax. The message was precise. Whoever sent it knows things they shouldn't. And if they're right… our missile testing facility could be in danger."
A tense silence filled the room.
Rudra Thakur wasn't a man who believed in coincidences.
And yet, here he was—staring at a classified report while two of his most unpredictable officers stood in front of him, completely unaware of the mess unfolding behind the scenes.
His fingers tapped against the desk, his mind racing. Why now?
He had picked Ahan Vedant for this mission weeks ago. Not because of his discipline—because, frankly, the man had none—but because Rudra knew what Ahan was capable of. He had an instinct that couldn't be taught. A way of seeing things differently, of breaking down problems in ways that even seasoned officers struggled with.
That was why he had chosen him.
And then, out of nowhere, the damn warning came in.
Anonymous. Direct. Specific. Chandipur. The missile testing site. A threat that shouldn't exist—but somehow, it did.
Rudra exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. If this hadn't happened, he would have told Ahan the full story already. He would have tested him—seen how quickly he could piece together the information. Because Ahan thrived in situations like this.
But now? Now there were too many unknowns.
The message hadn't been meant for Ahan. Hell, the sender probably didn't even know Ahan existed. But the timing? That was the problem.
What were the odds that just as Rudra finalized his selection, a warning would land on his desk about the very place he was sending them?
Too convenient. Too calculated.
And Rudra didn't like being played.
His eyes flicked to Ahan, who was pretending to skim the report with disinterest, but Rudra knew better. He was already analyzing. Already thinking.
If only things were different. If only this warning had never come.
Because then, Rudra could have actually trusted the plan.
Now? Now, he wasn't sure if he was sending Ahan and Samaira on an investigation… or walking them straight into a trap.
Rudra leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. Enough thinking. It was time to give the orders.
"Listen carefully, both of you. You're leaving for Chandipur immediately." His tone was sharp, leaving no room for arguments.
Ahan and Samaira straightened instinctively.
"When you get there, you'll rendezvous with Anubhav's squad. He'll be your contact on the ground and will lead you to the mission site."
Samaira nodded. "Understood, sir. What exactly are we dealing with?"
Rudra exhaled. "That's what you're going to find out." He tapped the folder on his desk. "We received an anonymous warning about the Chandipur missile testing facility. It could be a hoax, it could be something worse. Your job is to investigate, but"—his gaze hardened—"you do it quietly."**
Ahan raised an eyebrow. "Quietly, as in…?"
Rudra's voice was firm. "As in no unnecessary attention, no recklessness, and absolutely no screw-ups. The last thing we need is panic or suspicion."
Ahan sighed dramatically. "So no grand entrances, no loud gunfights, no dramatic last-minute rescues? You're really taking the fun out of this, sir."
Rudra gave him a flat look. "You can be as dramatic as you want—in your own time. On this mission, you move like shadows. No one should know you're there."
Samaira smirked. "Ahan moving like a shadow? That's asking for a miracle."
Ahan placed a hand on his chest, looking wounded. "I'll have you know I'm very stealthy. People just happen to notice me because of my natural charisma."
Rudra pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is exactly why I'm worried."
Then his expression darkened. "I need you both to understand something. If this warning is real, it means someone out there knows things they shouldn't. And if they were bold enough to send a message to us, it means they're either watching… or waiting."
A brief silence settled over the room.
Samaira's smirk faded. "Understood, sir."
Ahan gave a short nod. "We'll handle it."
Rudra studied them for a moment before giving a sharp nod. "Good. Then get moving. Anubhav will be expecting you."
Ahan and Samaira saluted before turning to leave. Just as Ahan reached the door, Rudra called out—
"And Vedant."
Ahan turned back. "Sir?"
Rudra smirked slightly. "Try not to get caught this time."
Ahan grinned. "No promises."
And with that, they were gone.
Rudra sighed, leaning back in his chair.
This mission needed to be silent. But with those two?
He had a bad feeling silence wouldn't last long.
At the same time, in a different part of the city, a man and a woman stood on the balcony of a luxurious hotel suite. Their attire—a sharp suit for him and an elegant sari for her—contrasted with their non-Indian features, adding an enigmatic air to their presence. The city sprawled beneath them, oblivious to the pivotal conversation unfolding above.
The woman leaned against the railing, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "So, you've made your choice?" she inquired, her tone carrying a hint of curiosity. "Already pulling the strings?"
The man adjusted his cufflinks, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "It's only a matter of time," he replied. "Soon, the world will know about 'Deviant,' 'Apostle,' and 'Demon.' I have to set the narrative in motion."
She turned to face him, an eyebrow raised. "And what did you write in that letter?"
He chuckled softly. "Nothing significant. Just a selection of individuals."
A prolonged silence settled between them, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. Finally, he sighed, glancing up at the sky. "I've granted them millennia, but now... I don't think I can hold back the eclipse any longer."
The woman nodded, her expression contemplative. "Then let the story begin."