Morning, Police Station
The station buzzed with the usual clatter of typewriters, ringing telephones, and the thrum of boots on concrete floors. Vihaan stood near the evidence board, his jaw tight, crimson magic flickering faintly at his fingertips until he forced it down. Harsh strode in, file in hand, his face grim.
"Sir, we've got new intel," Harsh said, sliding the folder across the desk. "That same brothel on the outskirts—it's not just for trafficking. The women are being used as pawns. They're smuggling drugs in and out of the place, under cover of their shows. Last night's surveillance confirmed multiple exchanges."
Vihaan's eyes narrowed. He flipped open the file, scanning the grainy photographs of parcels, hidden compartments, and coded ledgers. Each page deepened the cold in his expression. "So it's filth on top of filth," he muttered. "Not just ruining lives inside, but poisoning streets outside."
Harsh leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Do you want me to alert narcotics?"
"No," Vihaan said sharply, then steadied. His voice dropped to a razor's edge. "We don't hand this off. This is ours. We go in quiet. We infiltrate that place ourselves, in disguise if needed. I want every name, every ledger, every route they use." He closed the folder with finality. "And once we have proof, we burn their whole empire down."
Harsh straightened, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "Understood. When do we move?"
"Tonight," Vihaan answered without hesitation, his gaze hardening with resolve. "Before another girl is broken, before another drug packet leaves that den. This ends now."
Brothel – Special Room
The air inside the "special room" was thick with incense, perfume, and suffocating silence. Velvet curtains muffled the outside laughter and music, trapping Gauri in a cage of gold and silk.
She sat before the mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable—heavy jewelry draped around her neck, a crimson saree pinned to her trembling shoulders, her lips painted, her kohl-lined eyes hiding the storm of tears.
Her fingers twisted together on her lap as if praying. Every time she blinked, the image of Charvi tied up, unconscious, flashed in her mind. Her chest burned. She reached out to the mirror, touching the glass as if it might shatter and free her from this nightmare.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, smudging the carefully applied makeup. "Why, Maa…" she whispered hoarsely. "Why did you do this to us? Charvi's suffering because of you… and now I…" Her voice broke, unable to finish.
The door creaked open. Two of Dianaaswari's girls peeked in, their expressions unreadable. One said coldly, "Get ready. Tomorrow night you'll be on stage. Don't even think of running—your sister won't survive if you try."
They shut the door again, leaving Gauri alone with her reflection.
She bowed her head, clutching her hands tightly, and through her sobs whispered a desperate prayer: "Devi Maa, give me strength… don't let me fall apart… please, save Charvi."
The trident she had once held, the water that had once risen behind her—it all felt like a dream. But somewhere deep within, a spark stirred again, faint but alive.
At night
As the spotlight cast its golden glow upon the stage, Gauri's sultry voice wafted through the crowded room, entrancing all who laid eyes on her. Her lithe body swayed seductively to the rhythm, the delicate fabric of her attire shimmering with each movement. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke and desire, and Gauri was the embodiment of it all.
But beneath the façade of confidence and charm, a tempest raged within her. With each step, each note, she felt a piece of her soul slipping away. The crowd's cheers and applause were a distant hum, a reminder of the prison she had built around herself.
Just as she was about to reach the crescendo of her performance, a flurry of activity at the entrance caught her attention. Two figures, clad in shadows, slipped into the room, their eyes scanning the space with an air of urgency. Gauri's gaze met theirs, and for an instant, time froze.
Vihaan's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in a mixture of shock and disgust. "I didn't expect you to stoop so low, Gauri," he thought to himself, his mind reeling with the implications of what he was witnessing. Beside him, Harsh's face was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed a deep-seated concern.
As the music reached its climax, Gauri's voice soared, but her heart sank. She knew that her life was about to take a drastic turn, one that would either lead her to redemption or drag her further into the depths of despair. The spotlight's glow began to fade, and as the curtains drew to a close, Gauri's fate hung precariously in the balance.
As Vihaan's voice whispered urgently in Harsh's earpiece, the latter's eyes scanned the crowded room, his gaze lingering on the shadows that danced upon the walls.
"Sir, I'm in position," Harsh replied, his voice barely audible over the pulsating music.
"Good, Harsh," Vihaan's voice crackled back. "I want you to search the entire brothel, every room, every corner. I need you to find that shipment of cocaine."
"Yes, sir. Approximately 5 kilograms, hidden in packets of heroin."
"That's correct, Harsh. Be careful; we don't know who's involved or what they're capable of."
"Roger that, sir. I'll be careful."
With a subtle nod, Harsh began to weave through the throng of people, his eyes locked onto the door that led to the brothel's inner sanctum. His heart racing with anticipation, he knew that their mission was to uncover the truth behind the mysterious drug shipment, rumored to be hidden somewhere within the brothel's walls.