Chapter 12: The Ghost in the Code
Narrated by Aanya Kapoor
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If my life were a movie, this would be the part where the music shifts — from upbeat indie pop to low, pulsing suspense.
Because ever since I opened that file from the burner email… I hadn't been the same.
Isha's video kept replaying in my mind like a cursed lullaby.
"If you're watching this... I'm probably gone. Or close to it."
What did that mean? Was she dead? Hiding? Being followed?
And why did she trust me enough to send that file — or whoever had access to it?
I didn't have answers.
I barely had sleep.
What I did have was a gut instinct that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
---
Rohan and I spent the whole night combing through the rest of the backup.
There were three things that stood out:
1. An encrypted folder labeled "GHOST."
2. A fragment of code marked "Prototype v3."
3. An investor name I'd never seen before — "Apex Seven."
Rohan furrowed his brows when he saw it.
"Apex Seven… I don't recognize that."
"It's in the metadata," I pointed out, tapping the screen. "Last edited two weeks before Isha disappeared."
He looked stunned. "That's impossible. She said she'd stopped working on it long before that."
I frowned. "Maybe someone else accessed her files?"
"Or she lied."
The words sat between us like an unwelcome guest.
I hated the way my brain split now — half rooting for Isha's genius, the other wondering if she'd been playing us both.
"Let's find out who Apex Seven is," I said.
---
I didn't sleep that night.
Rohan stayed over, but we didn't touch. We just stayed on opposite ends of the couch, laptops glowing like tiny moons, researching everything we could.
Apex Seven wasn't a registered company.
No LinkedIn profiles. No Crunchbase entries. No leaks on Reddit, which was basically the sacred gossip temple of tech nerds.
Until…
I stumbled on a forum thread from two years ago.
It was buried deep in a thread about anonymous funding in AI startups.
One user, anonymousAF934, wrote:
> "Anyone ever heard of Apex7? Heard they back projects that 'nudge' behavior. Sketchy as hell. No board. No press. Just exits."
Rohan leaned over my shoulder.
"I think I've seen that username before."
He clicked on the profile.
The posts were sporadic. Code snippets, deep-dive threads about surveillance tech.
One stuck out.
Posted one year ago:
> "Sometimes I wonder if she knew they were watching. Isha always said 'truth lives in the backup.' Hope someone listens."
My heart stopped.
"I think… I think that's her," I whispered.
Rohan sat back. "Holy sh—"
"Language," I muttered, dazed.
"If Isha used an anonymous forum to leave breadcrumbs," he said, "then she knew someone might come looking."
I opened a new tab. "Time to follow the trail."
---
The encrypted folder took hours to crack.
I felt like we were playing chess against a ghost — every time I thought we were making progress, a new layer of encryption slapped us back to square one.
Until finally, at 4:36 AM, the folder opened.
Inside: One document.
Plain text.
Subject: Apex7 – Behavioral Weaponization Risk Log
I read the first line out loud:
> "Project NUDGE is no longer under ethical jurisdiction. They've modified the prediction engine to generate response triggers without user consent."
Rohan paled.
"That's not my version," he whispered.
I scrolled down.
> Primary engineer: Isha Mehra
> Silent stakeholder: Apex Seven Investments
> Flagged keywords: manipulation, radicalization, targeted dissent, control
My stomach turned.
I scrolled further.
At the very bottom:
> "If you're reading this… I failed to stop them. But maybe you won't."
I looked at Rohan.
His jaw was tight.
Eyes stormy.
"Did you know any of this?"
"No," he said immediately. "Aanya, I swear. My version of Nudge is opt-in only. It doesn't manipulate. It adapts based on feedback. That's why it passed compliance."
"Could they have taken her code?" I asked. "Modified it after she disappeared?"
He nodded slowly. "That's what it looks like."
Which meant…
Whoever Apex Seven was, they didn't just steal ideas.
They turned Isha's work into a weapon.
And now?
They knew we were snooping.
Because ten minutes later, my phone rang.
A number I didn't recognize.
I shouldn't have picked up.
But I did.
---
The voice was synthetic.
Like a Siri clone with a British accent.
"Miss Kapoor," it said. "You're digging in places you shouldn't."
My throat dried. "Who is this?"
"You're trespassing on proprietary research. We suggest you stop."
I heard a faint beep — a location ping?
"You're being watched," the voice said calmly. "And so is he."
Click.
The line went dead.
I turned to Rohan. "We need to move."
---
By morning, we were in a different Airbnb — a nondescript 2BHK in East Delhi with blackout curtains and terrible Wi-Fi.
Perfect.
Rohan paced while I reassembled my travel laptop.
"This is bigger than just Nudge," I said. "Apex Seven's targeting behavior modification. That means political campaigns. Advertising. Maybe even international intel."
"You think they're blackmailing startups?"
"Or funding them. Then quietly taking over."
His eyes narrowed. "Using our data to test responses."
"Social engineering 101," I muttered. "And Isha got too close."
He sat beside me, closer than usual.
"Promise me something," he said.
I looked up.
"Promise me if it gets worse… you'll walk away."
I laughed. "Have you met me?"
"Aanya, I'm serious."
"So am I."
I took his hand.
"I'm not walking away. Not until we know what happened to her. And not until we expose these bastards."
He squeezed my fingers.
"I'm in."
---
We launched a private GitHub repo that afternoon.
Inside it: everything we found. Encrypted, with rotating access codes.
Just in case.
We labeled it: "Project Lighthouse."
Because sometimes, the only way to fight darkness is to shine a brutal, blinding light.
---
Later that night, I sat on the balcony of the Airbnb, sipping too-strong chai from a cracked mug, watching the night blur into early morning.
Rohan stepped out.
He had that look again — thoughtful, rumpled, unfairly attractive.
"I miss when things were simpler," he said, sliding into the chair next to me.
"You mean… before the global tech conspiracy?"
He cracked a tired smile. "Yeah."
I nudged his arm. "We could still bail. Move to Goa. Start a food truck. 'Byte & Chai.'"
He chuckled. "Only if you handle marketing."
"Only if you handle customer complaints."
He looked at me then — full on, eyes warm.
"I never thought I'd say this," he said softly, "but I'm glad you delivered that weird post-it to my desk that day."
I smiled. "Yeah. You didn't even tip me."
"I'm making up for it."
He leaned closer.
I leaned too.
And when we kissed — properly, this time — it wasn't tentative or uncertain.
It was real.
Messy.
Perfect.
---
But nothing gold stays.
Because just as we were catching our breath, my laptop beeped.
An alert.
I raced inside.
Someone had tried to access the Lighthouse repo.
Blocked.
Traced.
Location: Sector 45. Gurgaon.
The same building Nudge's first investor used.
I turned to Rohan.
"We found them."
He stood up.
Eyes sharp.
Posture tense.
"Then let's pay them a visit."
---
End of Chapter 12
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Teaser for Chapter 13:
A shadowy meeting in Gurgaon
A name from Isha's past
And a betrayal neither of them saw coming