The night broke with a scream.
Not from Delhi's crowded streets, but from a quieter district where Shalini—one of Mukul's trusted field contacts—kept her safehouse. She was sharp, resourceful, and had once saved Mukul's team from walking into a trap. If anyone could handle danger, it was her.
But tonight, danger came cloaked in silence.
Shalini had just finished encrypting a report when the lights flickered. She frowned, setting down her pen. The air felt different—colder, heavier, as though someone had opened a door to a void. She reached for her concealed blade, her instincts kicking in.
"Who's there?" she demanded, her voice steady.
The only answer was a soft rasp, like chains dragging over stone. Then, out of the shadows, a figure emerged—a tall, spectral presence wrapped in tattered black armour, eyes burning faintly like dying embers. The Phantom Warden.
Shalini froze, her grip tightening on her blade. She had heard whispers of him, but whispers didn't prepare anyone for the weight of his presence. It was like being smothered by fear itself.
"You shouldn't exist," she hissed, trying to steady her breath.
The Warden tilted his head, the motion inhumanly slow. His voice, when it came, was hollow, as if echoing from deep underground. "All who resist the Puppeteer… are marked."
He moved. Not with speed that could be followed, but with a flicker that blurred reality. One moment, he was across the room. Next, his hand of black steel was at her throat, lifting her off the ground with terrifying ease.
Shalini struggled, slashing her blade at his arm. The steel screeched uselessly against his armour, sparking but leaving no mark. She kicked, clawed, gasped for air, but his grip was merciless.
"You will deliver a message," the Warden said, his ember-eyes glowing brighter. "Through your silence."
And then—darkness consumed her.
Miles away, Mukul shot upright in his chair at the Sharma house. His chest clenched with a sudden, sharp dread, undeniable. He knew the feeling too well—an ally had fallen.
Kavya, seated across from him, saw the change in his expression. "What happened?"
Mukul's voice was low, clipped, but there was a tremor of rage beneath it. "The first strike."
The room went silent. Aaradhya's hands trembled as she set down her tea. Raghav looked from face to face, already piecing it together.
"Who?" Kavya asked.
Mukul's jaw tightened. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to steady. "Shalini."
The name landed like a stone. Shalini wasn't just an ally—she was a friend, someone who had bled alongside them before.
Kavya's fists curled. "So, it begins."
"No," Mukul said, standing, his gaze burning now with cold fury. "It's already begun. The Puppeteer has unleashed something new. The Phantom Warden. And he won't stop at one strike."
The others rose with him, the air around them tense, hearts pounding. Somewhere out there, the Warden was already fading back into the shadows, his task complete, his message delivered.
The Puppeteer's game was no longer silent. It was war.