“Superintendent!” a voice hissed in his ear—but it wasn’t Vinay. It was a voice he didn’t recognize, cold and sharp as a scalpel. “The transmission just went live on the dark web. Every news agency in the state has your audio. But Shinde’s men have surrounded the block. We have three minutes before they burn this house to the ground with us inside.”
Rana blinked through the stinging smoke, trying to see the face of his savior, but all he could see was a shadow. Then, from the stairs above, Shinde’s voice roared through the haze, distorted by fury and panic:
“Seal the tunnel! Pour the gasoline! Let them burn in their red room!”
A heavy, metallic thud echoed from above. The sliding panel behind the Shiva idol had just been slammed shut from the outside, followed by the unmistakable, terrifying sound of heavy iron chains locking them in. Then came the smell—sharp, pungent, and lethal.
Gasoline was pouring down the wooden stairs, soaking the earth, creeping toward the crimson walls like a black tide.
And in Rana’s hand, the small golden key was still unturned in the lock of the safe.
