The warrant came through on a Friday morning.
Advocate Sharma called Rudra directly. "We got it. Judge approved the search warrant for Dr. Rathore's residence. Police are executing it in three hours."
"I want to be there," Rudra said immediately.
"You can't. You're a witness. Your presence could compromise—"
"I need to be there. To see. To understand."
Silence on the line. Then: "Observer only. You don't touch anything. You don't speak to anyone. Understood?"
"Understood."
Three hours later, Rudra stood outside Dr. Kavita Rathore's home in South Delhi. Posh neighborhood. Elegant bungalow. Gardens. Security gates.
The kind of place that screamed respectability.
Police and federal agents were already inside. Searching. Documenting.
Rudra watched from the street. Waiting.
Then: commotion. Raised voices. An agent emerged from the house. Running.
"She's gone!" he shouted. "Rathore's not here!"
Rudra's blood went cold.
He approached the gate. Showed credentials. Was let through.
Inside, the house was immaculate. Organized. Every book aligned. Every surface clean.
But empty. No personal items. No computers. No journals.
Just furniture and decorations.
"It's been cleared," a senior officer said, frustrated. "Professionally. Within the last twelve hours."
"She knew," Rudra realized. "About the warrant. About the investigation."
"How?"
"Because she still has people inside. In government. In law enforcement. In the judiciary. She has a network."
The officer swore. "So where is she?"
"Running. Or preparing to disappear permanently."
Rudra pulled out his phone. Called Karan.
"Rathore's in the wind. Can you track her?"
"Already trying. Her phone is off. Credit cards unused. No digital footprint in the last fourteen hours."
"What about physical movement? Airport? Train stations?"
"Checking now. Give me... got something. A private flight. Left Delhi six hours ago. Destination: Dubai."
"Can we stop her?"
"She's already out of Indian airspace. Beyond our jurisdiction."
Rudra felt the frustration building. They'd been so close.
"What about bank accounts?" he asked. "She'd need money to run."
"Most of her accounts were cleared yesterday. Transferred to offshore holdings. But there's one account that's still active. Small. Maybe she forgot about it. Or maybe she's using it to—"
"Track her," Rudra finished. "If she uses that account, you can trace the transaction. Find her location."
"Exactly. I'm monitoring it now."
Rudra turned to Advocate Sharma, who'd arrived at the scene.
"She ran. Before we could arrest her."
"Then we issue an international warrant. Interpol. Extradition."
"That takes months. Years. And she has resources. She'll keep running. Keep hiding."
"Then what do you suggest?"
Rudra thought. Calculated.
"We make running impossible. We expose everything. Even without the physical journals. We use what we have. The recording. The testimonies. The financial trails. We make her so infamous that nowhere is safe. No country will harbor her. No ally will protect her."
"That's... aggressive."
"That's necessary. Rathore isn't just a criminal. She's an ideology. As long as she's free, as long as she can communicate, she can rebuild. We need to neutralize her completely."
Advocate Sharma considered. "I'll coordinate with international authorities. But we need more. We need to know her network. Her allies. Her resources."
"I know someone who might help," Rudra said.
He made another call. To Sierra-4.
She was in custody. Awaiting trial. But also potentially useful.
"You want my help?" she said when Rudra visited her cell. "After I betrayed you?"
"I want information. About Director E. About Rathore's network. Her safe houses. Her contacts."
"And why would I give you that?"
"Because you're facing thirty years in prison. But if you cooperate, if you provide material assistance, that could be reduced. Significantly."
Sierra-4 laughed. "Immunity deal? From the prosecution? They'd never—"
"They might. If the information is valuable enough. If it leads to Rathore's capture."
She studied him. Calculating. "You really think you can catch her? She's been doing this for thirty years. She's a ghost."
"Then help me make her visible."
Sierra-4 was quiet for a long moment. Then: "She has three primary safe houses. All international. One in Dubai. One in Singapore. One in Brazil."
"Addresses?"
"I don't have exact addresses. But I have contact protocols. Ways to reach her. Emergency channels."
"Give them to me."
"In exchange for?"
"I'll recommend leniency. Can't promise anything. But I'll advocate for you."
"Why?"
"Because despite everything, you're still a victim. Nexus made you. Shaped you. Used you. That doesn't excuse what you did. But it explains it. And I believe in second chances."
Sierra-4's eyes softened. Just slightly. "You're either very noble or very stupid."
"Probably both."
She gave him the information. Contact codes. Communication protocols. How to reach Rathore's network.
"One more thing," Sierra-4 said as Rudra prepared to leave. "Rathore isn't running scared. She's regrouping. Planning. She's going to Dubai because that's where Phase Two resources are located. Equipment. Facilities. Subjects already selected."
"How many subjects?"
"Fifty. To start. All between twelve and fifteen. All flagged by Nexus scouts. All high potential."
Fifty more victims. If they didn't stop her.
"Thank you," Rudra said.
"Don't thank me. Stop her. Because if you don't, this never ends."
Rudra left the detention center with new purpose.
They had a lead. A location. A timeline.
The Team Assembles
Back at the warehouse, Rudra gathered everyone.
"Rathore is in Dubai. Setting up Phase Two. We have contact protocols. We have a general location. But we need to move fast."
"Dubai is outside our jurisdiction," Anvi pointed out. "We can't just raid a facility in another country."
"Then we don't raid. We infiltrate. We gather evidence. We coordinate with local authorities."
"That's risky," Maya said. "Dubai authorities might be compromised. Rathore has money. Influence. She could have bought protection."
"Then we work around them. Priya, can you hack into Dubai's municipal systems? Find facility registrations? Properties owned by shell companies linked to Rathore?"
"Probably. But it'll take time."
"How much time?"
"Forty-eight hours. Maybe less."
"Do it. Karan, coordinate with international law enforcement. Interpol. FBI. Anyone who has jurisdiction or interest."
"On it."
"Bhairav, Maya, Arjun—start planning an infiltration. Assume worst case. Assume Rathore has security. Guards. Operatives."
"Are we doing this legally or illegally?" Bhairav asked.
"Legally preferred. Illegally if necessary. Our priority is stopping Phase Two. Protecting those fifty kids. Everything else is secondary."
The team dispersed. Working. Planning.
Rudra stood alone. Looking at a map of Dubai.
Somewhere in that city was Dr. Kavita Rathore. The architect. The true believer.
And in three days, he'd find her.
One way or another.
The Message
That night, Rudra received an email. Encrypted. From an unknown sender.
Karan decrypted it.
The message was simple:
You're persistent. I respect that. But persistence without wisdom is just stubbornness. You've won battles. Disrupted operations. Captured my colleagues. But you haven't won the war. You can't. Because the war isn't against Nexus. It's against human nature. People will always seek power. Control. Improvement. I'm just one manifestation of that impulse. Stop me, and another will rise. Always. So I'm offering you a choice. Walk away. Take your survivors. Build your lives. Let the world continue its evolution. Or keep fighting. And lose everything in the process. You have seventy-two hours to decide. After that, Phase Two begins. And this time, you won't stop it. - K.R.
Rudra read it twice. Processing.
It was a test. A psychological operation. Trying to make him doubt. To give up.
Or maybe it was genuine. A tired old woman offering an exit.
Either way, his answer was the same.
He typed a response:
I've already decided. We're coming for you. And we're bringing everything. Evidence. Witnesses. International law enforcement. Media. You can run. You can hide. You can threaten. But you can't stop us. Because we're not just fighting for ourselves anymore. We're fighting for every future subject. Every potential victim. Every person you'd hurt in your quest for 'improvement.' See you in Dubai. - R.
He hit send.
Then called the team back together.
"Change of plans. We're not waiting forty-eight hours. We leave tomorrow. We find Rathore before Phase Two starts. And we end this. Permanently."
"How?" Anvi asked.
"With everything we have. Legal resources. Media exposure. International pressure. And if necessary, direct action."
"You mean..."
"I mean we do whatever it takes. Within reason. Within morality. But without hesitation."
The team looked at each other. Understanding the stakes.
This was it. The final operation.
Win or lose. Stop Rathore or let Phase Two begin.
No middle ground.
No second chances.
"Pack for warm weather," Rudra said. "And bring everything we might need. We're not coming back until it's done."
As they prepared, Rudra stood on the warehouse roof. Looking at stars.
Thinking about the train to Kupam. Months ago. A lifetime ago.
When he'd been just a student. Hoping for a quiet field trip.
Now he was a leader. A fighter. A protector.
And he was about to take the biggest risk yet.
International operation. Outside his jurisdiction. Against a target with resources and connections.
It could fail. Spectacularly.
But it could also succeed.
And if it did? If they stopped Rathore and dismantled Phase Two?
Then maybe, finally, survivors could rest.
Could heal. Could build lives without fear.
That was worth fighting for.
That was worth everything.
The escape plan wasn't for Rathore.
It was for the survivors.
Escaping the cycle. The trauma. The endless fight.
And Rudra would make sure they got that escape.
No matter what it cost.