The sharp buzz of the biometric scanner opened the HQ doors with a hiss as Kiaan walked in the next morning, eyes slightly heavy but stride steady as ever. His face wore the usual calm, composed expression—but the night's bitterness still lingered behind those eyes. As he entered the operations room, the usual early buzz of systems and caffeine-fueled analysts filled the air.
But what made him pause mid-step was the sight waiting for him on his desk.
Three envelopes. Thick. Clean. Unlabeled.
His brows furrowed. He glanced around, slowly approached, and opened the first one. Money — neat bundles of cash, no note, no explanation. The second envelope held the same. So did the third.
He narrowed his eyes. This wasn't protocol. Not in an intelligence unit where every rupee had to be accounted for.
"Whose idea of a joke is this?" he called out, voice calm but unmistakably sharp.
Tara spun from her seat first, lips tugging in a warm, slightly guilty smile. "It's not a joke."
Dev leaned against the wall beside her, arms crossed. "It's from us. Me, Tara, and Rehan."
Kiaan's frown deepened. "What is this supposed to mean?" he asked, his tone somewhere between confused and on the verge of frustration. "Do you even realise that handing over cash like this is borderline illegal? Paying pennies under the table is a crime—"
"—But it's not illegal money, Captain," Tara interrupted gently, stepping closer. "This is clean. From our own salaries. We know where your paycheck goes every month. And it's not into your food, your bills, or even your clothes."
Rehan walked over with a lopsided grin, tossing his arm around Kiaan's shoulders. "Don't get all righteous on us now. We know you carry more than your own weight. You protect us every damn day — not just as an agent, but as a friend. This is just... a thank-you fund. Call it emotional tax if that helps."
Kiaan's mouth opened slightly, stunned silent for a moment. These three — his team, his friends — had seen more than he realized. Dev nodded toward the envelopes.
"We've been saving a portion every month," he said. "We know you won't ask. You'd rather starve than complain. But this time, we give. And you take."
Kiaan looked at them all, emotions flickering behind his controlled expression. The tension in his jaw softened. "You idiots," he muttered. "You should've used this for yourselves."
Tara rolled her eyes, "We already spend enough on ourselves. Let us do this one thing for you, Captain."
And just like that, the room warmed — a moment of genuine connection, friendship forged in the midst of cold missions and hidden wounds. They didn't need to say how much they trusted each other. It was already understood.
Unbeknownst to them, across the hall behind soundproof glass, Arav stood with one earbud in, hearing every word through the feed. His expression was unreadable. He leaned against the console, arms folded, eyes narrowed.
He didn't rush to tell Rex — not yet. Rex was deep in a conference call with global intel heads, far too occupied with arms trade networks and digital infiltration breaches.
Arav turned back to the sound stream, eyes focused.
"…Interesting," he murmured to himself, lips twitching into a thoughtful smirk. "So the lone wolf isn't so alone anymore."
He made a mental note to document the conversation — but he also made a second note, a quiet one just for himself.
Kiaan's bonds run deeper than expected. That makes him both powerful… and vulnerable.