The war-room beneath Vora Heights was deathly still.
Only the lamp's flame moved, throwing long shadows across the faces of Jai's inner circle.
Jai stood at the head of the table, palms flat on the teak, voice low and unhurried, yet every word landed like a coffin nail.
"Seven nights from tonight the moon dies.
On the eighth night, the earth will drink deep in three places at once."
He unrolled three maps side by side.
"First river: the Tapti and Narmada corridor to Indrapuri."
He tapped the black-ink line that snaked four hundred and fifty kilometres inland.
"Maya. You take Arjun, Rahil, Sanjay, Dhruv, and six more of the shadow squad. Twelve souls total.
You will sail the **Black Shrike**—my steam launch.
Eighteen knots on muffled engine, fibreglass-resin skin, chimney silenced, hull painted midnight.
Ten hours to the safe-house bend near Bharuch, another ten on fresh horses from the grid.
You will reach Alok Chaudhary's ancestral fortress in Indrapuri at the exact stroke of the third watch."
Maya's eyes glittered. "Orders?"
"Five kills an hour, every hour, for three hours.
One silent round each time.
Ten thunder-makers on surrounding rooftops and hills to scream false directions.
Fifteen of his blood and household gone before the cocks even think of crowing.
On the fourth hour—burn the armoury, the stables, the granaries. Leave the main house standing.
Leave The Chaudharies alive and screaming in an empty palace."
(Three years earlier, when Jai was barely thirteen, he had begun planting seeds no ledger would ever record.
Every month Sarita quietly set aside a small chest of silver—profits skimmed from saffron, glass, bicycles, never more than one percent, never missed. That silver was carried at night to Kali's quartermaster wagons and vanished into the countryside.
"Six hundred kilometres in every direction.
Every fifty kilometres, one safe house.
Two hundred and eighty-eight in total.
Invisible. Unbreakable."
"Every safe-house on the grid were ordered to support the holder of Vora emblem, who know the answer to the passphrase.
"What does the black tiger like?",
Real answer: 'It likes to dream.'
Alert answer: 'It likes to hunt.'
Then They will feed you, horse you, hide you.)
Twelve lives ride on their silence."
Maya touch the big coin she kept in her pocket, the coin, thick, heavy, the Vora emblem: a crowned man on a throne, tiger asleep at his feet.
"Second river: the Godavari mouth—Masulipatnam."
Jai tapped the eastern coast.
"Amir. You lead ten blades. Same steam launch waits for you at a hidden cove south of Broach.
You will strike the East India Company's fortified factory at the same three hours.
Fifteen English guards and officers.
One silent headshot every hour.
Thunder-makers on the masts and godowns.
Fourth hour—torch their powder magazine and sail before the flames touch the sky.
Let London hear the explosion across the ocean."
Amir's grin was wolfish. "With pleasure."
"Third river: the Tapti again—right here in Surat."
Jai's finger stabbed the red lotus mark three miles east of the city.
"Nishil. You take the second shadow squad—twelve more.
Same timetable.
Fifteen of Alok Chaudhary's best guards in this haveli.
Silent kills for three hours.
Fourth hour—vanish.
Leave the corpses arranged in the courtyard like offerings.
Leave Alok Chaudhary kneeling among them, alive, unharmed, gagged and bound so he cannot even scream for help until dawn."
Nishil's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "He will piss himself before the sun rises."
Jai straightened, eyes sweeping the room.
"Forty-five dead across three cities.
Fifteen kin and retainers in Indrapuri.
Fifteen English officers in Masulipatnam.
Fifteen elite guards in Surat.
And leave the Blunt daggers at each place with the words -
"My hatred is reserved for those who are disloyal, and duplicity is the most shameful act of all".
All in the same four hours of the same moonless night.
I wantt them to hear Only the sound of a single shot that no one can place, and thunder that comes from everywhere and nowhere."
He let the silence settle, heavy as wet earth.
"Alok Chaudhary will wake to an empire of ghosts.
His confidence gone,
His English masters bleeding on the other side of India.
His strongest blades dead at his feet.
And he will know—finally know—who he chose to stand against."
Kofi spoke for the first time, voice grave. "And when he runs to the English for protection?"
Jai's smile was winter steel.
They themselves will be scrambling in fear,
The Black Shrike is already coaled and waiting under the old banyan dock.
Horses are saddled in every safe-house from here to Malwa.
Powder, shot, thunder-makers—Kali has them crated and sealed.
Seven nights to sharpen blades and calm hearts.
On the eighth night, the Vora family reminds the world what happens when you try to cut our roots."
He looked at each face—friends, brothers, sisters, killers.
"Forty-five graves.
One message.
Written in blood that will not wash away."
The lamps were extinguished one by one.
In the perfect dark, many shadows slipped out toward the river, and the soft thump of the steam engine began to beat like a second heart beneath the city.