The air inside Noir Haven was suffocating.
Glass crunched beneath blood-slick boots, shards reflecting the wild, stuttering light of broken chandeliers. Red stains smeared across the opulent marble floor—the kind of crimson that had nothing to do with club lighting and everything to do with death. The once-luxurious underground den now looked like a battlefield.
Ten agents were on their knees—hands over their heads. Kiaan, Dev, Rehaan, Tara, and six others. Their faces were bloodied, clothes torn from the brutal fight that had taken place just minutes ago. Around them stood heavily armed men in black, some holding guns, others baseball bats stained with flesh and blood. Mocking smirks curled on their lips as they circled like wolves around a caged prey.
One agent groaned in pain, bleeding heavily from a gunshot wound to the leg. Another lay motionless in the corner, unmoving. Tara's hand was pressed to her side, blood leaking through her fingers, yet her eyes were still burning with fire.
Kiaan didn't flinch.
Despite the chaos, despite the fallen agents, despite the gun aimed at his forehead—he knelt like a statue, back straight, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the blood-smeared wall ahead. His mind was racing, heart pounding—but his body showed nothing.
> "Look at the mighty CBI dogs now," one of the masked men laughed darkly, spitting near Kiaan's feet. "Thought you'd walk into our den and walk out heroes?"
Another thug laughed louder, swinging a bat casually.
> "Maybe we should send your heads back as souvenirs."
As the tension built, one of the men's phones began to ring.
The room fell still.
The ringtone was unlike any of theirs—a clean, high-pitched digital chime.
The man who held the phone froze. His expression, which was smug moments ago, changed instantly. His eyes widened in raw fear. His hands trembled slightly.
> "It's... it's him," he whispered to the others.
Everyone stepped back.
Silence washed over the room like a storm cloud.
The man holding the phone gulped and hesitantly walked toward Kiaan, extending the ringing phone with a shaky hand.
> "He… he wants to speak with you."
Kiaan's eyes flicked toward him. Not a hint of panic.
The phone was pressed against his ear.
And then came his voice—smooth, lazy, venomous:
> "Hi, little agent..."
> "Still alive?"
Kiaan didn't reply. He didn't need to.
Just the sound of Rex's voice filled the room with something deeper than fear.
It was domination—the kind that came from a predator who knew the exact weight of his power.
Rex chuckled on the other end, the sound dark and deliberate.
> "I was beginning to get bored of the chase. But now... now you've bled for it. That's better."
> "This was fun, wasn't it?" he added coldly. "But you should've known... this floor was painted red even before you arrived."
Then the line cut.
The silence that followed was heavier than the screams that had come before.
Tara stared at Kiaan, whose jaw tightened as he exhaled slowly.
Dev whispered under his breath, blood on his lips:
> "That bastard knew we were coming all along."
Rehaan gritted his teeth.
> "This was a warning."
But Kiaan… he lifted his head, eyes blazing.
> "No," he muttered, voice low but deadly. "This was his mistake."
And in that broken ruin of Noir Haven, with bodies sprawled like broken puppets and blood soaking their boots—
The war between the hunter and the hunted had just turned personal.