The Black Rose headquarters had gone quiet in a way that felt unnatural.
Not the usual working silence.
Not the midnight calm after a mission.
But a silence born from fear — a silence that settled into the walls and pressed against every person's throat until even breathing felt like a risk.
Everyone knew why.
Their leader was thinking.
Inside her private room, Arora reclined in her leather chair, one leg crossed neatly over the other, her posture deceptively relaxed. A small stress ball bounced rhythmically against her palm — slow, steady, controlled. The glow from the floor lamp cast sharp lines across her face, highlighting the calm storm in her eyes.
Her mind wasn't quiet.
Her mind was tearing through the past six months like pages in a file she'd forgotten to review.
Every mission.
Every failed lead.
Every traitor.
Every clue about her — the woman in burgundy — that vanished just before Arora could reach it.
Everything had gone exactly as planned.
