The chaos of the airport didn't stop for investigations. Passengers hustled, intercoms rang, and luggage rolled over polished floors. Yet, within the inner halls of Royic Airlines' administration wing, the atmosphere was tense and sharp—quiet, but no less electric.
Kiaan, Rehaan, and Dev stood by the operations table, files spread open, with several officers cross-checking lists and records. The Royic staff—managers, supervisors, and senior handlers—were unusually cooperative, answering every question, pulling out archived passenger manifests, and even providing personal IDs where available.
Rehaan glanced at the massive stack of printouts. "This level of access... it's almost too easy."
Dev muttered beside him, "Yeah. It's either a clean table... or a perfectly staged illusion."
Just then, the air shifted.
Black shoes tapped crisply against the tile, and heads turned.
Vihaan Roy entered the room.
Not in his usual composed silence—but with the storm of authority.
His assistant trailed behind, clipboard in hand.
Vihaan's eyes swept over the room once before landing directly on the airport manager. "Did you give them everything they asked for?"
The manager straightened. "Yes, Mr. Roy. Every manifest, travel log, employee shift chart—everything."
Vihaan's gaze moved slowly, until it landed on Kiaan, who was flipping through a thick folder. Without asking, Vihaan stepped closer and took the top file from Kiaan's hand, scanning it briefly.
"Yesterday," Vihaan began, his voice even but cutting, "Rehaan said that someone was missing in our passenger list. That someone boarded... but their name never showed."
His eyes lifted to meet Kiaan's. "You think that missing name is your ghost? The one you're chasing?"
Kiaan didn't answer.
Vihaan smirked faintly and continued, "If someone entered... they didn't enter as themselves. They'd have used a fake identity. These names"—he tapped the list—"won't help you. It's like chasing a shadow in a hall of mirrors."
Without waiting for a response, he turned slightly and held out a hand. His assistant immediately stepped forward with a sealed envelope.
Vihaan handed it to Kiaan.
"This is every passenger's personal information we could extract—email trails, ID numbers, seat numbers, boarding gate surveillance data. You can cross-check every individual. You'll find the fake name... but not the real man behind it."
Rehaan took the envelope cautiously, thumbing through its contents.
Vihaan added, "I've also instructed my team to collect every usable CCTV footage from the airport's entry gates to the departure lounge. I'll hand them over when we're done consolidating the timestamps."
Just as Vihaan finished, his assistant's phone buzzed. A nervous expression crossed the assistant's face as he stepped forward.
"Sir, this is urgent—"
Vihaan raised a hand, cutting him off coldly. "Not now."
"But—"
Vihaan turned, eyes sharp and full of warning. "I said, not now."
The room stilled.
Even Kiaan's eyes narrowed slightly at the rare moment of unease on the assistant's face.
The assistant hesitated for a second longer under Vihaan's withering glare... then stepped back, swallowing whatever words had tried to escape. He disappeared into the hallway.
Vihaan turned back to the files, as if nothing had happened.
His voice returned to its calm rhythm. "You're smart officers. If you want to catch a ghost, stop chasing footsteps... and start tracing the silence."
He looked directly at Rehaan.
"And sometimes, the loudest silence is the one you already spent a night with, isn't it?"
Kiaan's head snapped to Rehaan.
Rehaan's jaw stiffened, but he said nothing.
Dev blinked, confused. "What's he talking about?"
Vihaan smiled.
The kind of smile that concealed a weapon beneath velvet.
He leaned closer to Rehaan and whispered, "Find your shadow, agent. Or I'll make sure it finds you first."
Then, Vihaan turned, adjusted his watch, and walked out—leaving behind a room full of suspicion, loaded silences, and a hundred pieces that no longer fit the way they used to.
The echo of footsteps bounced sharply off the marbled corridor walls as Vihaan exited the operations room with his signature calculated grace, the long coat of his charcoal suit billowing subtly with each step.
Behind him, his assistant nearly jogged to catch up.
"Sir—Sir, we need to talk," the assistant whispered quickly, checking to make sure no one else was listening.
Vihaan didn't slow. "I said not now."
"But—" the assistant persisted, flustered, "you skipped the 10:30 meeting with the international board, and the Singapore delegates have been waiting since morning. The 11-billion dollar merger—they're ready to finalize today. They just need your—"
Vihaan halted.
Completely. Abruptly. Like a wave crashing against cold steel.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Let. Them. Wait."
The assistant blinked in disbelief. "But sir, it's an eleven billion—"
"And?" Vihaan's voice was calm, but laced with venomous weight. "Is the money about to evaporate if I don't breathe on it?"
The assistant hesitated. "N-No, but they've flown in from—"
Vihaan stepped closer, invading the assistant's space.
"You know what's more fragile than an international deal?" he whispered. "A reputation. And mine doesn't revolve around how desperate I am to sign something. It revolves around how desperate they are to have my signature."
He leaned even closer, voice now lower. "It's not my urgency to make this deal. It's theirs. And if they want Vihaan Roy on their contract, they'll wait. Because I don't give my damn signature to just anyone. And you—you of all people—should know that by now."
The assistant's throat bobbed. "Understood, sir."
Vihaan took a breath, eyes darkening now—not in anger, but in something deeper.
More personal.
"Besides," he added, his tone softer but more resolute, "before I sign anything... I want a full, clean background on every single name in that boardroom. I don't care if it's a million-dollar handshake or a billion-dollar merger. If I smell even the slightest dirt—deal's off."
The assistant nodded quickly. "I'll get the files compiled—"
But Vihaan raised a hand again. "No. First, you'll remember this: someone in that room back there"—he flicked a glance toward the operation area where the agents remained—"is more important to me than any of your boardrooms today."
The assistant blinked. "You mean... the agents?"
"No." Vihaan's voice dipped with dangerous affection. "An agent. Rehaan."
The assistant's expression faltered for a second—but said nothing.
Vihaan's jaw clenched slightly as he looked toward the hall, eyes distant for a beat.
"I'm helping someone... for the first time in my life," he said, half to himself, half aloud. "That doesn't happen. Ever."
The edge in his voice returned as he faced his assistant again. "So keep your mouth shut... and keep everyone out of my way until I say otherwise."
Without another word, Vihaan walked off, steps controlled, head held high—but something unseen burning beneath his composed exterior.
What he didn't realize… was that a pair of calculating eyes were quietly watching from the corridor bend.
Kiaan had followed him.
He had heard everything.
And for the first time, he wasn't just suspicious of Vihaan's involvement.
He was suspicious of Rehaan's attachment.