This chapter takes you briefly away from the intense action and the high stakes because it shows the complicated dynamics between Chhayika and Giriraj in a comparatively casual setting. The tension is not erased, there is only a change in tone as it is light and the negotiation is a little playful. They do circle around their mission, but also around each other. There are no life or death situations here, you can enjoy the two people navigating through strategy, trust and some sharp words.
Giriraj leans back in his chair, gaze locked on Chhayika as if he is dissecting her silence, pulling apart each subtle shift of her shoulders, every calculated pause in her breath. The tension in the room has ceased being a presence and become the very air they are breathing, and yet she still kept herself folded away from the name he has spoken, as though if she stays still enough, it would vanish. She is bracing, waiting for him to press. But he wouldn't hand her that leverage. Not yet.
"Enough about him," Giriraj says, his voice too calm to be harmless. "We're wasting time. We both know why we're here." The pause that follows is deliberate, baiting. He watches her, not blinking.
Chhayika's eyes meet his with that impassive steel she wears like a second skin, but her hand curves a little tighter around the coffee cup, the edge of porcelain pushing into her palm like an anchor.
He can hear the refusal in her silence, he can taste the bitterness she is biting back, and that bitterness has a name. She doesn't want to let go of it. Not yet. She wants the conversation to stay where it stung. But he wouldn't let her bleed on his time. Not when he has death on his mind.
A folder slides across the table. The corners are frayed from handling, worn like the thoughts that had been circling in his head for days. "I've been going through the intel," he says, voice low and flat, carrying the weight of unsaid things. "There are matters we need to settle before this moves another inch forward."
She doesn't open it, not right away. Just studies his face as if it would tell her whether this was strategy or manipulation. She has walked with him through too many wars to not wonder when the knife would turn.
He lets her wait and suspect. She would open it when she chooses to, when she will be ready to. He wasn't here to coax. He has walked with her through too many wars to understand when she is falling apart and when acting to.
"The mission specifics," he says, shifting into the sharp precision that has made him lethal long before she ever met him. "The one behind all this, the so-called master mind, is still far from the edge. But not beyond reach." He leans forward slightly, elbows resting, fingers folding into themselves. "You know the rules, Chhayika. We have only one shot, and that is everything. There's no space left for slips. No room for improvising. This time, we finish what we started, or, we never reach the end."
She opens the folder then, but her expression doesn't shift. The same line of tension holds her jaw, the same storm behind her eyes. "You'll need to decide quickly," Giriraj says, watching her the way a hawk watches something it has already claimed. "Every second we waste thinking about what you're going to do with Aariz, we're handing the enemy more moves, more time, and you know exactly what it means, how lethal it is. This is no longer a game that tolerates sentiment."
As soon as she turns the page, her gaze narrows. "So, what's the next move?" Giriraj leans back again, the cold flicker returning to his eyes. "Several operations are on the table. You'll be in the field. And this time, you'll have to act fast, so you'll follow the lead. No more detours, and no more emotional debris." There it is. Not a warning, but something crueler in its restraint. Aariz isn't just a distraction to Giriraj, he is a fracture in the system. And Giriraj never tolerated cracks, let alone fractures.
"But," he adds, voice cooling further, "if you're planning to keep him alive long enough to clean up the chaos you left behind, make sure you don't add more to it. You don't use your brain excessively, especially when you are in stress." Chhayika's eyes darken. A pause, then, "Ok fine, not stress but emotional strain, because you need to agree on this fact that you do stupid stuff under emotional strain, Ms. Chhayika Mishra." That extra emphasis on the word fact and Ms. Chhayika Mishra isn't missed by Chhayika. Her eyes flare, voice cutting through the stillness with steel. "I don't need your permission to finish what I started, Mr. Giriraj Singh Pradhan."
His gaze hardens, but his tone does not waver. "Oh Chhayika! That would be sir, if in any case you want to address me formally. And, I don't give permission, instead I give directions. And before we proceed, we need to be clear and on the same page. Aariz should be the least of your thoughts, because clearly, when this ends, you'll have much heavier ghosts waiting for you." He pauses, the weight in his stare sharpening to something colder. "I don't care about him, Chhayika, not the way you do. The reality is, he's a pawn. A distraction in the whole mess, a fracture in the entire system. And I've never had patience for pawns that think they can outlast the board, especially when we have a bigger fish to fry. If he disrupts this again, I won't let him see the finish line. He will never be able to make to the end of this, for your clarity, I repeat, never"
She doesn't flinch, nor do her eyes flare. Just studies him, gaze narrowing like she is peeling something back layer by layer. She sees it now, that crack under the surface, not just disdain but something deeper, uglier. She catches the cold, almost possessive undertone in his voice. The hate isn't professional anymore. It is personal. Her voice, when it comes, is silk wrapped around a blade. "The way you erase Aariz from every sentence, it doesn't sound like strategic clarity anymore. I am not exaggerating, but it clearly sounds like jealousy. So thick, that you'd kill him without a second thought, just to make space for your version of the plan, or maybe your version of the world. Let me say what you feel, 'I just want a utopian world with no Aariz on Earth, and a Chhayika with shallow, weak eyes. I want to make the world Aariz free, because he is though not a toxin to the plan, but a threat to my entire being for no reason.' Like no, just tell me what do you want from that poor guy, let him live, he saved me. If anything that was a charity to the plan, not a toxin, Mr. Pradhan. And yes, we do need to be on the same page, so, get that shitty 'sir' out of your disbalanced and distorted mind."
The silence snaps taut. His eyes flare for a moment, that razor-thin control fraying at the edges. He says nothing, but something clenches in his jaw, and she knows she has struck the bone. "I'm not the one with a blind spot," Giriraj says, voice dipped in frost, but there is an edge beneath it that betrays more than calculation. "I see exactly what he is. And I won't let anyone, especially someone like him, get in the way of what we're trying to build or derail what we've built."
Her lips curve, but it isn't a smile. It is a mirror. "You see exactly what he is," she echoes, voice soft with venom. "But you don't see what that's doing to you. Funny, for someone so certain of this clarity, this level of smartness, Mr. Pradhan." It's high time. The way she says 'Mr. Pradhan' now, it's enough to make him want to kill something, or maybe someone. He doesn't respond. He doesn't have to. The small twitch at the edge of his mouth was enough. She had him. She'd pressed the wire where it hurt.
The silence holds for another breath before he shifts back into the mission, voice smoothing over the crack, like it never existed. "Enough about Aariz. We've got bigger shadows to chase." Her eyes don't soften. She can read him too well. She knows that pivot. That withdrawal. But the mission, that is something she could grip with both hands. Another folder crosses the table. The second act is unfolding. "The one we're after is still moving," he says, eyes scanning the paper like it might try to run. "This isn't about low-level pawns. This is the root, a network stitched over years."
He looks up, fire coiled behind the stillness of his stare. "The next phase is extraction. High-level. There's someone inside. Someone close. We've been chasing their trail, and now we have a name. We can't afford any more leaks. The eagle has landed, and we need to know what's inside. No more shadows and no more whispers. We bring them into the light." Chhayika scans the page, her breath caught on the name. Her mind moves faster than her fingers. "The eagle," she said aloud, eyes flickering. "This isn't just another mole." She remembers his voice in her earpiece, the way he said, "The eagle never misses." She used to believe it. Now, she wonders if the eagle had been hunting her all along.
"Exactly," Giriraj replied. "This one holds more than secrets. They hold the entire cage, they hold your name, you know him, isn't it? He is the same man who coordinates with you and me, of course, in almost all our ventures, the one who gave you the name EAGLE, the one whom you respect more than anything, the exact one who should have never done something like this. My subordinate in training you, who now works under you, do I need to tell you why he did that? Or the one who just gave a long lecture on jealousy already understands, huh? Forget it, if someone else gets to them before we do, you know what's at stake."
She leans back, the folder still open before her, but her gaze had gone far beyond the pages. This man isn't a target. He was the hinge, and now the menace. "So," she says, voice low and steady, "what's the plan?" "No room for delay," he answers. "We move fast. We move clean. He's already in motion. You'll be on ground. This one needs your precision. Get in, get it done, get out." She gives a tight nod. "I'll need backup. This isn't a one-woman op." His expression shifted, barely. "You'll have a team. But you lead. No split focus. This mission is yours to anchor. Once we have that man, the rest falls into place." And there it is. The line between mission and fate. The kind of mission where the fallout isn't in blood, but in memory. And memory never dies clean.
"Understood," she says, closing the folder with quiet finality, letting the weight of the next move settle into her bones. Giriraj stands, sharp and efficient, already moving. "Get your end in order. I'll handle mine."
When he leaves, the silence doesn't leave with him. The echo of the eagle's name remained. That one wasn't just part of the plan. He was the turning point. And she would make sure the turning happened on her terms.
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Author's note
If you enjoyed the story, a vote would mean a lot.
If something felt off, feel free to comment , I'm always trying to improve.
Compliments and honest criticism are equally welcomed here.
Honestly, this was fun to write, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Love you all.