Rudra's routine in Kupam was surgical. Wake before dawn. Train. Observe. Blend in. Move like water—always flowing, never standing still.
But in the two weeks since Karthik's humiliation, something had shifted.
Rudra felt it every time he walked through the corridors. Eyes on him. Not obvious. Not hostile. Just... present. Someone was watching.
And not the way students watched each other during fights or gossip. This was different.
Calculated. Deliberate.
Professional.
At first, he tried to dismiss it. Paranoia was normal after any operation. You execute, you clean up, you worry about footprints. But Rudra's instincts had kept him alive this long. And his instincts were screaming.
He started testing the environment.
Little Traps
On Tuesday, Rudra left his bag unattended in the library. Inside was a decoy notebook—filled with fake plans, random doodles, nonsense theories. If anyone went through it, they'd find nothing useful.
He set a single hair across the zipper.
When he returned, the hair was gone.
Someone had opened his bag.
On Wednesday, he borrowed a book from the Kupam institute's old collection—a dusty volume on Indian mythology. Before returning it, he left a folded note inside.
The note read: "Whoever's watching, let's talk."
The next day, the book was back on the shelf.
The note was still there.
But on the facing page, someone had underlined a sentence from the Mahabharata: "The hunter who reveals himself is no longer a hunter."
Rudra's blood ran cold.
Whoever this was, they knew exactly what he was. And they were playing with him.
Bhairav
The first real clue came during the geology field trip.
The class had hiked out to a limestone quarry on the outskirts of Kupam—an old mining site filled with jagged rock formations, deep pits, and the kind of silence that made your ears ring.
Rudra stayed at the back of the group, as always, watching the teachers fumble through explanations about sedimentary layers while students zoned out.
That's when he noticed him.
A boy. Maybe seventeen. Local. Didn't wear the school uniform. He was sitting on a boulder near the edge of the quarry, sketching in a worn leather journal.
Most people wouldn't have looked twice. Just another Kupam kid wasting time.
But Rudra saw the details.
The way his posture was too relaxed—like he belonged there, like he was comfortable in isolation.
The way his eyes flicked up every few seconds, scanning the crowd, cataloging faces.
The way his pencil didn't move for sketching. It moved like someone taking notes.
Rudra memorized the face. Sharp cheekbones. Dark, intelligent eyes. Scar on his left eyebrow. Lean build, but strong. Hands rough from work, not school.
The boy glanced up once. Their eyes met.
For a second, neither moved.
Then the boy smiled—not friendly, not mocking. Just... aware.
He closed the journal, stood, and walked away into the forest trail.
No one else noticed.
But Rudra did.
The Follow
That night, Rudra broke curfew.
He didn't bring his phone. Didn't tell anyone. Just wore dark clothes, a hoodie, and his old hiking boots—the ones that didn't squeak.
The forest trail behind the compound was easy to find. Rudra had memorized it on day one. What he didn't know was where it led.
He moved silently through the trees, stepping carefully over roots and loose rocks. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, just enough to see by.
Half a kilometer in, the trail opened into a clearing.
And there, sitting cross-legged on a flat rock, was the boy from the quarry.
Waiting.
He had a small camping stove next to him, boiling water in a dented steel pot. The smell of chai drifted through the air.
"You're late," the boy said, without turning around.
Rudra froze.
"I figured you'd show up yesterday," the boy continued, pouring water into two tin cups. "But you're careful. I respect that."
Slowly, Rudra stepped into the clearing, hands visible, stance neutral.
"Who are you?"
The boy turned, meeting Rudra's eyes. He was younger than Rudra had thought—sixteen, maybe. But there was something ancient in his gaze. Like someone who'd lived too much too fast.
"Name's Bhairav," he said simply. "And you're Rudra. The silent watcher. The one who doesn't trust anyone."
Rudra's jaw tightened. "You've been following me."
"Observing," Bhairav corrected. "There's a difference."
He gestured to the second cup of chai. "Sit. We need to talk."
Rudra didn't move. "About what?"
Bhairav smiled faintly. "About why you're in Kupam. What you're really looking for. And what you're about to walk into."
"I'm not looking for anything."
"Liar."
The word hung in the air between them like a blade.
Bhairav stood, stepping closer. He was shorter than Rudra, but there was an intensity in him that filled the space.
"I know your type," Bhairav said quietly. "You don't come to places like Kupam by accident. You're running from something. Or hunting it."
Rudra said nothing.
"The thing is," Bhairav continued, "Kupam isn't what it looks like. This town has layers. Secrets buried so deep most people don't even know they're standing on them."
He handed Rudra the cup of chai. "You've been poking around. Asking quiet questions. Installing cameras. Watching."
Rudra's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"
Bhairav laughed softly. "Because I do the same thing. Only I've been doing it longer."
He sat back down, staring into the fire. "You took down Karthik. Smart. Clean. No fingerprints. But you made a mistake."
"What mistake?"
"You thought no one was watching you."
The words hit like a punch.
Rudra sat down slowly, keeping distance between them. He sipped the chai—strong, overly sweet, but warm.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Bhairav shrugged. "Because you're going to need help. And whether you know it or not, you're already part of something bigger."
"I don't want help."
"Doesn't matter. You're in it now."
Rudra studied him carefully. "What's 'it'?"
Bhairav's smile faded. For the first time, he looked serious. Almost sad.
"You ever hear stories about Kupam? The old ones?"
"Like what?"
"Disappearances. Strange accidents. People who come here and never leave the same."
Rudra frowned. "You're saying this place is cursed?"
"I'm saying this place is dangerous. And the people running it—" Bhairav paused, choosing his words carefully. "—they don't like outsiders who ask too many questions."
He stood, dumping the rest of his chai onto the ground. "You've got two choices, Rudra. Walk away. Finish your course, go back to wherever you came from, and forget Kupam."
"Or?"
Bhairav looked him dead in the eye. "Or you trust me. And we figure out what the hell is really going on here."
Rudra didn't answer.
Bhairav nodded slowly. "Think about it. But don't take too long."
He picked up his journal and turned to leave.
"Wait," Rudra called out. "Why do you care? Why help me?"
Bhairav paused, his back still turned.
"Because someone has to," he said quietly. "And because I know what it's like to be alone in a place like this."
Then he disappeared into the trees, leaving Rudra alone in the clearing with nothing but questions and cold chai.
For the first time since arriving in Kupam, Rudra felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel.
Uncertainty.
And that scared him more than anything.