The cold night air carried the scent of blood and gunpowder. Antony, the old housekeeper, stood frozen, his trembling hands gripping his cane as he stared at the massacre. He could barely breathe.
Twenty-four trained guards—slaughtered in the blink of an eye. And the culprit? The man who stood calmly in the midst of carnage, his sword still gleaming in the dim light.
A sudden metallic click echoed through the silence.
"Hands Up! Drop your weapon. Surrender now..."
A woman's voice rang from behind Vikram Das, firm and commanding. Vikram Das turned slightly, his sharp eyes catching a glimpse of the gun barrel aimed at the center of his back. The grip was steady. This wasn't an amateur.\
Vikram was surprised for a second as the woman before him was a police lady. With a tall frame, slender body with delicate features, she looked more like an actress than a police.
For a brief moment, silence stretched between them. Then, something unexpected happened.
