The corridor outside Mayank's office was dimly lit, the faint hum of the air conditioner echoing off the polished floor.
Four men, black-clad and alert, stood at various points near the door, their eyes scanning the hall, weapons ready. The office itself was just ahead, its warm light spilling through the slightly ajar door, a stark contrast to the sterile chill of the hallway.
Suddenly, the silence shattered. Aarav appeared at the far end of the corridor, his steps fast and controlled, every muscle coiled with precision.
The first man moved to block him—but Aarav was faster. A swift strike, a single blow, and the man crumpled silently. Another lunged, but a quick kick sent him sprawling against the wall, knocking the weapon from his hand.
Two more men raised their guns, but Aarav's rifle was already aimed and fired with unerring accuracy. Each shot hit its mark; the remaining guards collapsed, leaving the hallway empty.
Breathing steady despite the intensity of the encounter, Aarav strode toward the office. The door stood slightly ajar, the warm glow from inside inviting yet tense.
Inside, Ayan sat on a chair, slightly stiff but otherwise unharmed, his posture a mix of alertness and relief. At the far side of the room, Mayank leaned casually against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, as if he had been waiting for someone like Aarav to arrive.
Aarav didn't hesitate. He closed the distance to Ayan in a few strides, dropping into a crouch beside him. "Are you all right?" he demanded, eyes scanning Ayan's face for any sign of injury.
Ayan's shoulders relaxed slightly. "I'm fine, Senior," he said evenly, and gave him a soft smile.
Mayank's calm nod confirmed it. "Everything was under control. No one touched him."
Aarav's gaze flicked toward Mayank, urgency still pulsing through him. "Then tell Arun and Abhi to proceed… now."
Mr. Mayank's eyes met Aarav's, sharp and calculating. Without a word, he reached for his phone, fingers moving with precise speed.
The tension in the room shifted, from the aftermath of violence to careful strategy, as Ayan allowed himself a quiet exhale, relief replacing the puzzle in his eyes.
---
[The meeting room]
Mr. Singh and Mr. Rawat were being forced to sign the papers, pens trembling in their hands under the weight of the intruders' threat, while the officials—some loyal, some complicit—stood across the room, tense and uneasy, eyes darting between the guns and the leaders.
A soft buzz from Mr. Raj's phone cut through the tension. He glanced down, eyes narrowing at the screen. A message from Annaya: "Ayan is safe... and we are about to proceed now."
Mr. Raj glanced toward Mr. Singh. A slow, almost imperceptible nod conveyed the news. The tension in their faces shifted, taut strings snapping just enough to give them the advantage.
"Now," Mr. Singh whispered, his voice low but edged with lethal precision.
Without hesitation, Mr. Singh and Mr. Rawat snatched the guns from the intruders beside them, their movements swift and deadly. The black-clad men froze, confusion and shock crossing their faces as the tables turned in an instant.
One of the traitorous officials made a desperate lunge toward the table, but Mr. Raj's gun pressed firmly against his chest stopped him cold.
The rest of the officials who had betrayed their oath were held in check in the same way—every intruder and traitor now firmly at gunpoint, trapped in the web they had tried to spin.
From the tablet, Mr. Sidharth's face appeared again, eyes gleaming with malice. "What the hell...? Don't you love your son, or do you think I can't harm him—"
He lifted his phone and started calling his men. "Then I will let you die with regret if you don't believe me..."
Mr. Singh gave him a slightly suspicious but terrifying smile. His hand was faster than thought. The screen shattered under the crack of his gunshot, the video feed instantly cut. The room went silent, save for the sharp breaths of those held at gunpoint.
A single truth hung in the air, clear and unspoken: the balance had shifted, and the hunters had become the prey.
---
[On the other side]
Mr. Sidharth almost trembled at the echo still ringing in his ears—the gunshot fired by Mr. Singh at the screen. The office air carried a damp chill, the kind that now made silence feel heavier than sound.
For a brief, irrational moment, it had felt as if the bullet might pierce through the glass and strike him dead where he sat. Even now, his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the memory of that crack reverberating in his bones.
He sank back into his leather chair, fingers drumming restlessly against the screen as he tried calling his men again. The line rang and rang, but no one answered. His jaw tightened.
"What the hell are they doing…?" he muttered under his breath, frustration rising like bile.
He dialed again—still no answer. Finally, with a sharp breath, he stabbed at the screen and called Mayank instead.
The line clicked alive. "Yes," came Mayank's calm voice.
"Why the hell are none of my men picking up?" Sidharth snapped, his tone sharp with irritation. "Send me a video of that boy—shoot a bullet into him if you have to. I want proof."
There was a pause on the other end, followed by a long, weary sigh.
"Sorry, Mr. Sidharth," Mayank said evenly. "But I told you before—I don't play cheap revenge games like you."
The words cut like glass, and before Sidharth could retort, the call ended with a cold click.
For a long moment, he stared at the dead screen, betrayal and confusion twisting in his gut. Then—
Bang. Bang.
Gunshots cracked outside, followed by the heavy thud of boots and the desperate shouts of his men. His head snapped toward the sound, breath catching.
Cautiously, he moved to the window and pulled the curtain back just enough to peek outside.
What he saw drained the color from his face.
Arun. Abhi. Annaya. They were advancing with brutal precision, flanked by a massive, professional team of fighters. His men were outmatched, collapsing one after another under the relentless assault. The courtyard below was chaos—gunfire, smoke, bodies hitting the ground.
Sidharth's pulse thundered in his ears. Fear gripped him cold and tight. He slammed the window shut, stumbling back a step, his breathing uneven.
"No… no, this can't be happening... I shouldn't have trusted that coward," he muttered, pacing the length of the office like a caged animal.
His eyes darted around, searching desperately for options, for an escape, for anything. Then they landed on the pistol resting on the table.
He hesitated only a second before snatching it up. "I can't lose to them..." he murmured in a shivering voice.
The weight of the weapon pressed heavy against his palm. His fingers tightened around the grip, knuckles whitening as if he were forcing every last scrap of courage into his trembling body.
For the first time, the hunter felt like the hunted.