December 24th, 2029. Mumbai.
Christmas Eve meant little to Aanya. She had no childhood memories of stockings, no stories of gifts under trees. Holidays in her world were just more days to get ahead while others rested.
But this year, the city felt different. Or maybe she did.
It wasn't the lights or the sound of choirs floating from luxury malls. It was the quiet that followed chaos—the eye of a storm. The part that felt too calm. Too deliberate.
Dev hadn't spoken much that morning. He was on his third burner phone, scrubbing metadata from archived footage they retrieved from the damaged Colaba servers. Whatever was salvageable wasn't enough to expose the fire's source, but it revealed something else.
A ghost ID. Logged in 19 seconds before the shutdown.
XSV-01.
Three letters Dev recognized instantly. His jaw tightened.
"They've sent her," he said quietly.
Aanya leaned forward. "Who?"
"Xara."
The name fell like a dagger on tile. Not loud. But sharp.
Dev didn't elaborate.
He didn't have to.
The strike plan came together in silence.
Aanya gave three orders:
Activate Project VEIL—an internal audit system that tracked corporate leaks through metadata traps and false breadcrumb files.
Reopen the Kirloskar Archive—a dormant IP vault storing old biotech patents that had once threatened global pharma monopolies.
Schedule a 'leak' to the press—a whistleblower video exposing Rathore Tech's anonymous investor blacklist, a move designed to bait The Consortium's agents into acting rashly.
It was a chessboard now. And she had made the first move.
At 6:00 PM, Dev appeared in the doorway to her office.
"She's in the city."
Aanya didn't look up. "How do you know?"
"She tagged me."
He showed her his phone. A single image had appeared in a secure chat window.
It was a photo of Aanya, taken from a café they'd walked past two days ago.
No words. No watermark.
Just a time-stamped shot.
"She's better than me," Dev said.
Aanya didn't flinch. "Then we'll have to be smarter."
"She's a weapon. Not a mind."
"Even weapons need a target."
He nodded. "You just became hers."
By 9:00 PM, the 'leak' had spread.
Tech media outlets ran headlines:
"Rathore Whistleblower Leaks Insider List—Conflict of Interest in Global Acquisitions?"
The video was blurry, the voice distorted. The claims were dangerous, but vague. Just enough to invite interest. Not enough to validate.
That was the point.
By midnight, Rathore Tech's stock dipped 3.7%. Not a crash. A ripple.
But on the dark web, the reaction was immediate.
An anonymous user named WIDOWMARK posted a bounty for any traceable link between the whistleblower and the company's internal archive systems.
The moment Dev saw the username, his eyes narrowed.
"Xara," he said.
"She's taking the bait," Aanya said calmly.
"No. She's taking inventory."
They met on the rooftop of a defunct textile mill at 2:43 AM.
Aanya waited in the shadows. Dev stood beside her, eyes scanning every reflective surface.
The air smelled of dust, metal, and monsoon leftovers.
Then she arrived.
Xara.
She didn't walk. She slid through space like silence personified. Black tactical gear. Gloves. Eyes covered with red-tinted lenses. Her presence was neither soft nor loud—it was surgical.
She looked at Dev.
"Still breathing," she said. "Disappointing."
Dev didn't react. "You shouldn't be here."
"I go where I'm sent."
"And if I kill you?"
She smiled faintly. "Then someone else replaces me. Just like I replaced the last one."
Aanya stepped forward. "You're not interested in him. You're interested in what he protects."
Xara turned her gaze to her.
"You must be the reason he broke protocol. Strange. I thought he didn't believe in attachments."
"I don't," Dev said. "I believe in outcomes."
"And yet you're still here. Fighting ghosts."
Aanya spoke again. "Tell them this: we're not surrendering. If they want silence, they'll have to bleed for it."
Xara's smile didn't fade. "That's not how this works."
"No," Dev said. "It's how it starts."
Xara tilted her head. "This will end badly for you."
Dev stepped closer. "Then you'll be the first to find out how badly."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Xara turned. Walked back into the darkness.
Gone.
When they returned to the penthouse, Aanya didn't speak.
She stood at the window for a long time, watching the lights of Mumbai flicker like distant wars.
Dev sat nearby, hands clasped.
"She's not bluffing," he said.
"I know."
"They'll escalate."
"I want them to."
He looked at her. "Why?"
"Because until now, they've been in the dark. Operating like shadows. That's where they have power."
She turned to him.
"But when we bring them into the light—they'll have to play by different rules."
"And if they don't?"
"Then we make new ones."
She picked up her phone. Called her legal director.
"Tomorrow, we file a claim with the international commerce tribunal. Anonymous collusion. Attempted asset destabilization. Use my name. Use the evidence."
Dev raised an eyebrow.
"You're going public?"
She nodded. "Strike first. Make them react. Force them into the system they thought they controlled."
Dev stood. "You're risking everything."
"I've already lost what mattered."
"No," he said. "You're just starting to find it."
She paused.
Then smiled. Just barely.
Outside, the wind picked up.
And somewhere far from Mumbai, someone read the news—and ordered the next move.
But this time, Aanya was ready.