The air in Inspector General Vikram Rathore's Delhi home was thick with tension, the dim lamplight casting long shadows that seemed to dance with Amar's presence. Rathore sat at his desk, coffee cold, his grizzled face a mask of skepticism and curiosity. Amar stood before him, a silhouette of darkness, his golden eyes glowing like embers in the gloom. The weight of their last encounter lingered—Malhotra's death, the vanished bodies, the mysterious email. Rathore leaned forward, his voice gruff. "So, you went to Malhotra to make him confess, like the others? Extract his sins, force him to spill on live TV?"
Amar's chuckle was low, a rumble that stirred the shadows. "No, Rathore. Confession wasn't the plan. I was going to kidnap him—drag him into the darkness, rip every secret from his mind, and then bring justice to him and his allies all at once. Clean, efficient, final."
Rathore's brow furrowed, his fingers tapping the desk. "But you didn't get the chance. You said they attacked you—those eight soldiers. Killed Malhotra and his assistant instead."
"Exactly," Amar said, stepping closer, his voice sharp. "Or maybe they weren't after me. Malhotra was their target from the start. A stray bullet? No. They wanted him silenced, and they wanted me blamed."
Rathore leaned back, eyes narrowing. "If what you say is true, then…" He paused, piecing it together, his detective's mind racing. "It makes sense. We got that encrypted email about Malhotra's death—sent straight to the task force. Why rush us to the scene? Bodies would've been found eventually. Unless…"
Amar nodded, shadows curling around him. "Unless they wanted you to move fast, to pin it on me before the trail went cold. But think, Rathore—who knew about your task force? Its location, its secure channels? Only the higher-ups, right?"
Rathore's jaw tightened, his voice low. "You're saying someone up top is in on this. Feeding info to whoever's pulling the strings."
"Not someone," Amar said, his tone heavy with certainty. "Most of them. You don't know what I know, Rathore. You don't see and hear what I do. Out of hundreds of politicians, officers, power brokers—only a handful are untainted. The rest? Puppets, dancing for the man at the top."
Rathore's eyes widened, his voice rising. "You're telling me the entire system's rotten? That's a hell of a claim, shadow. You got proof, or just more ghost stories?"
Amar's golden eyes locked on his, unyielding. "I'm the proof. I've heard their whispers, seen their deals in the dark. The Man—the one behind Malhotra, behind the traps—he's woven a web through your government. I'm asking for your help to cut it down."
Rathore crossed his arms, skeptical but intrigued. "What kind of help? You're a wanted man—or whatever you are. You expect me to just join your crusade?"
Amar's lips twitched into a grim smile. "Not join. Just do what you're supposed to. Use your task force to hunt me—keep up the chase. But along the way, expose the corruption you find. Dig into the names I give you, the leads I point to. Shine a light on the rot. Sound fair?"
Rathore snorted, leaning forward. "So you want me to pretend to catch you? Play your game while you slip through my fingers?"
"Exactly," Amar said, his voice laced with confidence. "Try to catch me, Rathore. I'm telling you now—you won't. Even if you try for real, you can't touch me." He chuckled, the sound echoing like a storm. "But every step you take, you'll uncover more of their lies. I'll come to you when I need to, share what I find. Deal?"
Rathore studied him, his weathered face softening into a rare, grudging smile. "You're cocky, I'll give you that. A vigilante with glowing eyes, asking me to play double agent? Hell of a night." He paused, then sighed, his voice quieter. "If there's a conspiracy as big as you say, I can't ignore it. But I'm not your pawn, shadow. I'll hunt you, and if I catch you, you're done."
Amar's grin widened, shadows flaring. "I'd expect nothing less. Try your best, Inspector General. You'll need it." He stepped back, his form dissolving into the darkness. "Keep digging, Rathore. The truth's closer than you think."
The room warmed, the shadows receding, leaving Rathore alone with his thoughts. He stared at the empty space where Amar had stood, his mind racing. "A conspiracy bigger than Malhotra," he muttered, rubbing his chin. "If he's right…" He shook his head, a mix of frustration and resolve settling in. "Damn you, shadow. You'd better not be playing me."