• ONE •
AGASTYA
The room was wrapped in an unsettling silence, the kind that carried authority without demanding it.
As I stepped inside, the heavy wooden door shut behind me with a muted click, sealing me in with the only other person present. He stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, his back to me, one hand clasped behind him while the other rested lightly against the glass.
Even without seeing his face, his presence filled the room. Men like him never needed to turn around to command attention.
“You’ve arrived,” he said, his voice calm, measured, as though he had expected me to walk in at that exact second.
“I came as soon as I got your message.”
“There isn’t much time, so listen carefully.”
I remained silent, waiting.
“Your next mission begins the moment you leave this building. A flight has already been arranged for you. You’ll board it immediately, and once you land, you’ll go straight to the address inside the file waiting on the desk.”
My gaze shifted briefly to the brown folder lying neatly beside him before returning to the still figure by the window.
“And who am I meeting?”
“Mrs. Devyani Oberoi.” The name didn’t ring a bell.
“Who is she?”
“A woman who has requested your presence personally.”
I frowned. “People don’t usually get to request me.”
“This isn’t a usual assignment.”
His tone remained calm, but there was enough finality in it to end the discussion before it could begin.
“What does she want?”
“She’ll tell you herself.”
I looked at him, waiting for something more.
“Whatever she asks of you, hear her out before making a decision.”
“You flew me across the country... for a conversation?”
“If it were only a conversation, I wouldn’t have sent you.”
Silence settled between us once again.
I finally picked up the file, feeling the weight of the documents inside. “Anything else?”
He paused for a moment before answering, his gaze never leaving the skyline beyond the glass.
“Yes. Keep an open mind. By the time you walk out of that house, you’ll understand why I couldn’t explain any of this here.”
There was something about the certainty in his voice that made me stop asking questions.
“Once you meet Mrs. Oberoi,” he continued quietly, “everything else will follow.”
The flight was uneventful.
Just the way I preferred it.
I spent most of the journey skimming through the file that had been handed to me. It contained little more than an address, a handful of names, and a brief profile of the woman I was supposed to meet.
Mrs. Devyani Oberoi. Age: Seventy-eight.
No explanation. No mission briefing. No threat assessment. Just enough information to ensure I reached the right destination.
Which meant the real briefing would begin after I landed.
The moment I stepped out of the airport, the humid Mumbai air hit me like a wall. The city pulsed with its usual chaos, a constant symphony of honking horns, hurried footsteps, and voices blending into one another.
Amid the crowd, a man dressed in a crisp black suit stood beside a gleaming black Mercedes, holding a placard with nothing but my name printed across it.
He spotted me almost instantly.
“Mr. Agastya?”
I gave a single nod.
“This way, sir.”
He opened the rear door before I could reach it.
I slid into the back seat without a word, and within seconds, the car merged into the city’s relentless traffic.
The drive lasted nearly an hour.
Gradually, towering office buildings gave way to quieter roads lined with ancient banyan trees and sprawling estates hidden behind impossibly high walls.
The further we drove, the fewer people there were. Privacy, I realized, had replaced luxury as the defining feature of the neighborhood.
Then the car slowed.
Massive wrought-iron gates, nearly three stories high, began to slide open before us.
For the first time in years...
I looked twice.
The mansion beyond them wasn’t merely large. It was colossal.
Every assignment I’d ever taken had led me to embassies, military compounds, billionaire penthouses, private islands, and estates owned by men powerful enough to influence governments. I’d seen wealth dressed in every imaginable form.
None of it came close to this.
The mansion stood like something pulled from another era, a blend of timeless architecture and modern grandeur. White sandstone walls stretched endlessly in either direction, their elegance broken only by ivy climbing over carved pillars. A magnificent fountain dominated the circular driveway, surrounded by gardens so meticulously maintained they looked untouched by nature itself. The estate seemed to go on forever, disappearing behind rows of towering palm trees.
Money built houses.
Power built places like this.
The Mercedes rolled to a stop beneath an enormous portico supported by marble columns.
Before I could reach for the handle, another uniformed attendant opened the door.
“Mrs. Oberoi is expecting you, sir.”
Of course she was.
I stepped out, my eyes instinctively sweeping the surroundings. Old habit.
Security cameras. Motion sensors. Armed guards positioned discreetly enough that most visitors would never notice them.
Whoever owned this place hadn’t invested only in luxury.
They had invested in survival.
The front doors swung open before I reached them.
Inside, polished Italian marble reflected the glow of crystal chandeliers suspended from ceilings that seemed impossibly high. Priceless paintings adorned the walls, while antique sculptures occupied every carefully chosen corner. Yet despite the extravagance, the mansion felt strangely... quiet.
Heavy.
As though every corridor carried stories no one spoke about anymore.
A woman in her late forties approached me, dressed neatly in a cream-colored saree. She offered a polite smile.
“Sir, this way please. Madam has been waiting.”
Without another word, she turned, and I followed her through a maze of hallways, past grand living rooms and silent courtyards until we stopped outside a pair of carved wooden doors.
She knocked gently.
A soft voice answered from within.
“Bring him in.”
The doors opened.
The first thing I noticed wasn’t the room.
It was the steady rhythm of a heart monitor.
A frail elderly woman rested against an elevated hospital bed placed beside the windows. Transparent tubes disappeared beneath the blanket covering her, while medical equipment surrounded her with an efficiency that transformed the luxurious bedroom into something resembling a private intensive care suite.
A nurse adjusted an IV stand quietly before stepping aside, giving the woman her full attention.
Despite the oxygen cannula resting beneath her nose and the obvious toll illness had taken on her body, there was nothing fragile about her eyes.
They were sharp. Observant. Alive.
The corners of her lips lifted into a warm smile the moment they settled on me.
“Welcome... welcome,” she said, her voice weak but filled with unmistakable warmth. “I’ve been waiting for you, Agastya.”
“It’s my pleasure to be at your service, ma’am.” I say.
A faint smile touched her lips, the kind that carried years of wisdom and quiet exhaustion. She gestured toward the cushioned stool placed beside her bed.
“Come. Sit.”
I pulled the stool closer and settled onto it, close enough for conversation yet far enough to avoid disturbing the maze of tubes and monitors surrounding her.
Up close, the signs of illness were impossible to miss. Her hands had grown frail, her breathing came with measured effort, and every few seconds the monitor beside her reminded the room that time was moving one heartbeat at a time. Yet none of it diminished the authority she carried. If anything, it only made it more remarkable.
For a brief moment, neither of us spoke.
She studied me with an intensity that made it feel as though she wasn’t merely looking at me, but measuring every decision I’d ever made.
“I believe you’ve already been informed,” she said at last, “that you’re here for a very important mission.”
“I was told only enough to get me here.”
“And now you’re wondering what that mission is.”
I nodded once. “What exactly am I here to do?”
Instead of answering immediately, she turned her head slightly. “Meera.”
The maid standing quietly near the door stepped forward.
“The file.”
“Yes, madam.”
She disappeared for only a few moments before returning with a thick navy-blue folder. Walking over to the bedside, she placed it carefully in Mrs. Oberoi’s hands before stepping back.
Mrs. Oberoi looked down at it for a second, almost affectionately, before extending it toward me.
“This contains everything you need to know about my granddaughter.”
I accepted the file, my fingers brushing against its worn edges.
“Her name is Tarvi Oberoi.”
She waited until I opened the folder.
A photograph rested on the very first page.
A young woman. Bright eyes. An effortless smile. Someone who looked entirely out of place in a file that had brought me halfway across the country.
“Your mission,” Mrs. Oberoi continued softly, “is to protect her.”
I looked up. “From whom?”
“Anyone who intends to harm her.”
“And the threat?”
“It exists.” Her answer was calm. Too calm.
“I need more than that if I’m expected to keep someone alive.”
“You’ll receive whatever information becomes necessary when the time comes.”
I closed the file. “With respect, ma’am, I don’t accept assignments built on half-truths.”
For the first time, she smiled a little wider. “I was told you would say that.” She watched me for a moment before speaking again. “Turn the page.”
I did as instructed.
The next page contained a single photograph.
It wasn’t of a person.
It was a locket.
A simple gold chain with an equally simple oval pendant. At its center sat a deep red ruby, small enough to appear ordinary at first glance, yet striking enough to draw the eye the longer one looked at it. There was nothing extravagant about it. If anything, it resembled an old family heirloom that had been passed down through generations.
“That,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the photograph, “is the Oberoi family locket.”
I looked up.
“It has been in our family for decades.”
Her voice remained steady, but there was an unmistakable weight behind every word.
“To most people, it’s nothing more than a piece of jewelry.” She paused. “But there are others who see it very differently.”
My gaze returned to the photograph.
“Your responsibility isn’t just to protect my granddaughter, Agastya.”
She met my eyes.
“It’s to make sure that locket never falls into the wrong hands.”
Silence settled over the room before she leaned back against the pillows, a distant smile crossing her face.
“There was a time,” she said softly, “when I understood this world better than most.”
I frowned slightly.
“I wasn’t always just the head of the Oberoi family. Long before any of this... I worked alongside people whose lives revolved around secrets, intelligence, and protecting things the world could never know about.”
She let the words linger.
“So in some ways... I know the kind of life you’ve chosen.”
She offered no names, no ranks, no explanations.
Only the quiet certainty of someone who had once belonged to that world.
I lowered my gaze to the file once more, slowly turning the pages as though I had somehow missed the answers the first time. Every detail had been carefully documented. Her full name, age, education, routines, interests, medical history, close relatives, and photographs from different stages of her life. It was thorough in every sense, yet strangely hollow.
The more I read, the more obvious it became that the most important pieces had been deliberately left out.
Who wanted the locket? Why did they want it? How long had this threat existed? Had there already been attempts to reach her?
There wasn’t a single answer.
Only silence disguised as information.
A protection assignment without an identified enemy wasn’t a protection assignment at all. It was a guessing game where one wrong move could leave someone dead before I even understood what I was up against.
I closed the file and rested it on my lap, my thumb absentmindedly tracing its edge.
Mrs. Oberoi had entrusted me with her granddaughter’s life, yet I knew almost nothing about the people who might be coming after her. Every possibility that crossed my mind led to another unanswered question, and every unanswered question made the mission more unpredictable than the last.
My gaze drifted toward the old woman lying before me.
Despite her frail condition, she looked remarkably composed, almost as if she’d expected my uncertainty. There was no panic in her expression, no desperation. Only quiet conviction.
I was about to ask another question when my phone buzzed.
