Priya adjusted the strap of her satchel as she walked out of the university library. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked earth. She was tired but content—the day had been full of small victories. A problem solved for one of her students, a breakthrough in her own research. Ordinary, grounding moments.
But as she crossed the courtyard, she felt it—a shift. Not sound, not sight, but a prickling at the back of her neck. She slowed her steps, glancing around. The lamps lining the path flickered, though the power hadn't wavered anywhere else.
"Strange," she murmured.
A shadow shifted near the fountain, too fluid, too deliberate. When she looked directly at it, it was gone. She shook her head, forcing a small laugh at her own nerves. You've been listening to Mukul's warnings too much, she thought. Not every strange flicker means danger.
Still, she quickened her pace.
Behind her, boots pressed softly into the gravel, perfectly in rhythm with her steps, pausing when she paused. The sound was too faint to catch, but her instincts screamed. She turned sharply—nothing. Only the fountain trickling water, the rustle of leaves, and the silence of the evening.
Priya's hand brushed the small charm Mukul had given her months ago, tucked safely in her pocket. A protection rune, he had called it. At the time, she'd teased him for being overcautious. Now, she gripped it tightly.
At the safehouse, Mukul leaned over the table strewn with maps and coded reports. His mind was a storm, piecing together fragments, but the threads felt… off. Too neat. Too orchestrated.
Raghav slammed a fist against the wall. "We're wasting time chasing shadows. The Puppeteer is always one step ahead."
"No," Mukul said quietly, eyes narrowing. "Not always. He wants us to feel that way. That's his pattern—pressure, confusion, and then…" He trailed off, staring at the glowing points on the magical tracker spread across the table.
Ansh frowned. "Then what?"
"Then he strikes where we least expect it," Mukul finished, his chest tightening. He didn't say the name, but his gaze flicked to Priya's marker on the map. Bright, steady, pulsing.
The room grew heavy. Shalini's loss was still raw, an open wound. No one wanted to believe another was in danger. But the silence said it all.
Kavya broke it softly. "Priya's alone tonight, isn't she?"
Mukul's jaw clenched. His mind screamed go now, but instinct warned him—it might already be in motion. The Puppeteer thrived on timing. If they rushed blindly, they'd risk falling straight into his snare.
Still, the unease gnawed at him. Something was wrong. He could feel it, like static in the air before a storm.
Back on the path, Priya reached her car, fumbling with the keys. Her reflection in the window showed nothing unusual, yet her heart pounded as if she had run miles.
The streetlight above her buzzed and went out, plunging the area into half-darkness.
She froze.
For just a second, across the street, she thought she saw him—tall, armoured, faceless. The Warden. The figure stood impossibly still, as though carved from shadow itself. And then, like smoke in the wind, he was gone.
Priya's breath came sharp. Her rational mind told her it could have been a trick of the light, exhaustion, or imagination. But deep inside, she knew better.
She slid into the driver's seat, locking the doors with trembling fingers. The charm in her pocket felt warm, almost alive.
"Something's coming," she whispered to herself. "I have to warn Mukul."
Her phone buzzed just then—a message from Mukul himself. Stay where you are. Don't go anywhere alone. We're coming for you.
Priya's heart steadied a little. But in the shadows, unseen, the Warden watched. Patient. Waiting for the moment the Puppeteer had chosen.
The game had begun again.