The highway to Alibaug was soaked in the sort of quiet that only two human beings with common blood and shattered lies could thrive on. The engine of the car purred like a lullaby to their wounds. Arpan drove with one hand at the wheel and the other close to the pistol holstered under his jacket. Samruddhi sat upright, her eyes fixed on the horizon, but her mind in reverse.
What if my father betrayed me as a traitor?
What if Arpan is my brother?
What if I still want to kiss him anyway?
They didn't talk. Words had lost their sting in the fire that pursued them both.
The house emerged out of the distance like a specter from a black-and-white photograph—Portuguese-style bungalow hidden behind vines and salt-crusted remembrance. Years had passed since it was left abandoned. Yet, as Arpan walked out and looked around at the lawn, he realized something was amiss.
The grass was mowed.
The path had new footprints.
Samruddhi walked in behind him, her boots clattering on the veranda. The door was open.
Inside, the mold and mothball scent filled the air. White sheets covered furniture. Paint peeled in forgotten whispers.
"Clock," she said softly.
They made their way in silence to the master bedroom. On the back wall, an antique wooden clock hung like a wound. Arpan stretched out his hand, then hesitated.
"You do it," he said.
She arched an eyebrow.
"If it's trapped, I die?"
"No," he replied. "If it's trapped, I shoot the wall instead."
She rolled her eyes, stepped up, and took the clock out slowly. Behind it, an empty panel. She ran her fingers along the lip.
It popped open.
A metal box, wrapped up with yellowed tape inside. A single word written on top: PRAVAAH.
"What is that?" she asked.
"Not a name. A code. It was the name of a covert mission my father once mentioned. A file so dangerous it got two CBI agents killed."
He took the box and opened it.
Newspapers. Letters. Photos.
A younger Devraj More, arm-in-arm with Samruddhi's father.
A woman—Rina—caught between them.
A child—labeled only as "Subject 14."
Then a black notebook. Arpan opened it.
Inside were confessions. Names of politicians. Dirty operations. Payments. Surveillance logs.
But one line was circled in red:
**"JJ gave her to the Mores in exchange for immunity. He never told her the truth."**
She gasped. "JJ. Jai Jadhav. My father? Gave who?"
Arpan closed the book slowly. "You."
She backed away. "No. That's not possible. He raised me. Loved me."
"Yes. But not as his daughter. As his penance."
She felt the ground tilt. Her knees gave way, but Arpan caught her.
"Don't touch me," she growled.
"You don't get to hate me for a past we didn't choose."
She pushed him away. "You murdered your brother. You burn human beings alive."
His eyes were empty. "And still, I'm the only one keeping you safe."
A crash from downstairs stopped her from answering.
Then a voice: "Bring the girl. Kill the heir."
Arpan drew her behind the wardrobe. "They found us."
She grabbed the pistol from his jacket. "I can shoot."
"You ever killed a man?"
"Only in my columns."
"Welcome to the front page."
Bullets tore through the walls. The room became smoke and screams.
Arpan returned fire, aiming low, counting shadows. Samruddhi stayed beside him, heart hammering, until a man lunged from the hallway.
She didn't hesitate.
One shot.
Center mass.
The man dropped.
Arpan glanced at her. "Not bad."
"You're welcome."
They worked their way through the house, clearing the rooms one by one, until there was only a single attacker left.
He attempted to escape through the back gate. Arpan pinned him down, gun to his temple.
"Who sent you?"
The man smiled. Blood in his teeth.
"The same man who founded Pravaah. The same man who destroyed it."
Arpan cocked the gun. "Name. Now."
"Raghav Rao."
Samruddhi gasped. "No. He was a friend of my father's. He. he took care of me."
"He was guarding the secret," the man coughed. "Not you."
Arpan fired.
The man fell.
Silence descended once more.
Only this time, it felt heavier.
They buried the dead in the woods. Quietly. Efficiently. Criminal.
Samruddhi sat on the porch steps, the black notebook in her lap.
Arpan sat beside her, lighting a cigarette. Holding out one.
She shook her head. "I already have poison in my system."
He nodded.
She opened the notebook again. "So now what? We pursue Raghav?"
He blew smoke out. "No. We get him to pursue us."
She stared at him, flabbergasted.
He grinned, for once. "It's time we set ourselves ablaze."
End of Chapter 3.