Luca Pov
The sun dipped lower as I exited the garden, its warmth replaced by the shifting orange haze of Delhi's evening. Horns blared in the distance. Street vendors called out prices. But none of it registered.
My mind was back in that park.
That girl.
Her face had barely turned toward me, and still... I remembered it in too much detail. The faint crease between her brows, the way her fingers picked at the edge of her book, the way her smile vanished the second she thought no one was looking.
It shouldn't have mattered. I had a mission.
Dragan. The innocents. The operation.
But somehow, in that fleeting moment, she'd become a crack in the armor I had spent years forging.
I drove back to the safe house without turning on the radio. Silence gave me clarity.
By the time I stepped inside, it was almost eight. The control room was busier now. Maps were projected across the wall, dots blinking, photos pinned. One of my men—Mahmoud—was reviewing the infrared drone captures over the old cinema.
"Sir," he greeted as I walked in, "we have movement patterns now. Guards rotate every three hours. At least two per floor. Heat sensors confirmed roughly sixteen people inside who aren't armed. Could be the innocents."
I stared at the blueprint. An old cinema, hollowed out, now a cage.
"And the others?"
"Armed. Heavily. I'd say ten men minimum. Could be more underground. Cameras only show above-ground levels."
"We are going in soon," I murmured.
Aditya stepped forward. "Okay sir".
Aditya gave a nod, his jaw set in stone.
I turned away, resting my hands on the window ledge. The night outside was deepening. Delhi's skyline looked tired. Cities like this, they never sleep—they suffer.
Behind me, the murmurs of planning continued. I trusted my men. I had trained them myself. But something still pulled at my spine.
I closed my eyes. That girl's laughter echoed again. That emptiness behind her smile.
Was she one of them?
Was she hiding from someone? Or something?
I didn't even know her name.
And yet, it gnawed at me.
I shook it off. There was no time for softness. Not now.
Aditya walked up beside me. "Sir, you look... unsettled."
I raised an eyebrow.
"More than usual," he clarified.
I gave a half-smile. "I saw something in the garden today. Something I can't explain."
He waited, expecting more.
I didn't offer it.
Instead, I shifted gears. "Prep the extraction for 4 a.m. We'll use two vans. Infiltration through the ventilation ducts. I want it surgical. Silent. We get the innocents out. Then we burn the place to ash."
"Yes, sir."
He turned to leave, then hesitated.
"You know," he added carefully, "we've all done terrible things. Things that weigh."
I looked at him.
"But you? You always carried yours differently."
I didn't respond. I didn't need to.
Instead, I returned to the board. We had forty hours left.
And I would use every second.
I would save them.
And then I would find Dragan Iyer and make him bleed.
But somewhere in the back of my mind... I knew.
This mission was no longer the only thing haunting me.
That girl in the garden—her smile that wasn't real—had started a storm I hadn't expected.
And Luca Volkov didn't like the unexpected.
Not when it came wrapped in innocence and pain.
Not when it felt... personal.
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