May 25, 1992
The Bombay afternoon was a restless simmer, the air heavy with the promise of rain and the city's unyielding pulse. Shiva sat on the apartment's balcony, his bandaged hands resting on the railing, the faint glow of the Kaal's marks hidden beneath the gauze. The burns no longer pained him, but their pulse—a rhythm tied to the mysterious force of time—kept him on edge. The Council's last note—"The Kaal is eternal. You've only delayed us."—lay folded in his pocket, a reminder that his victory at the mansion had merely bought time, not freedom.
Inside, the apartment was a fragile haven. Lakshmi moved through her chores with renewed purpose, her trust in Shiva slowly mending. Ramesh read The Hindu, murmuring about the stock market's ongoing turmoil (Moneycontrol, May 1992), unaware of Shiva's role in navigating its chaos. Meera, sketching at the table, hummed a tune, her nightmares fading. Their decision to stay in Bombay was a victory, but Shiva knew it was precarious. The Council was regrouping, and the Kaal's power, now a part of him, was both a weapon and a chain.
Anita Desai's article had hit the presses that morning (Indian Express, May 1992), a scathing exposé on Vishrambaug Enterprises and Arun Sethi's ties to organized crime. The singed documents Priya delivered had given Desai enough to stir public outcry, but not enough to topple the Council. Sethi remained untouchable, his office in Nariman Point still operational, his influence a shadow over the city. The article was a spark, but Shiva needed a fire to burn the Council's web.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock. He stepped inside, his heart quickening as he opened the door to find Priya, her face pale, her eyes darting nervously. "We need to talk," she said, her voice low. "Somewhere private."
Shiva led her to the balcony, closing the door behind them. "What's wrong?"
Priya leaned close, her voice barely a whisper. "I found something—a ledger from one of Vishrambaug's properties. It lists payments to someone close to us, someone feeding the Council information."
Shiva's blood ran cold. "A traitor? Who?"
Priya hesitated, her expression pained. "I don't have a name, just a codename—'Sparrow.' But the payments started months ago, around the time you got involved with the gangsters. Whoever it is, they've been watching you, Shiva. They knew about the warehouse, the mansion."
Shiva's mind reeled, Priya's earlier warning—Someone tipped them off—now a chilling truth. Sanjay, the informant who vanished, was an obvious suspect, but he was gone. Vikram? The thought was a knife to his heart, but he couldn't dismiss it. Priya herself? Her intensity, her connections—she could be playing a double game. Even Anita Desai, with her timely article, wasn't above suspicion.
"Who else knows about this?" Shiva asked, his voice tight.
"Just you," Priya said. "My contact's terrified—says Sparrow's dangerous, tied to Sethi himself. We need to move fast, figure out who it is before they strike again."
Shiva nodded, his burns pulsing. "Set up a meeting with Vikram. We'll confront this together, flush out the truth."
Priya's eyes narrowed. "You sure about Vikram? He's been with you through everything, but…"
"I trust him," Shiva said, though doubt gnawed at him. "But we'll be careful."
That evening, Shiva and Priya met Vikram at a crowded tea stall in Matunga, the air thick with the scent of cardamom and diesel. Vikram's usual grin was absent, his posture tense as he sipped his chai. "What's this about?" he asked, eyeing Priya's grim expression.
Shiva kept his voice low, scanning the crowd for eavesdroppers. "Priya found evidence of a traitor—someone feeding the Council information. They're called Sparrow."
Vikram's eyes widened, his cup pausing mid-air. "A traitor? You think it's one of us?"
"It could be anyone," Priya said, her tone sharp. "The payments line up with our moves—Byculla, the warehouse, the mansion. Sparrow's been one step ahead."
Vikram leaned back, his jaw tight. "And you're looking at me, aren't you? After everything I've done, you think I'd betray you?"
Shiva's heart ached, but he held Vikram's gaze. "I don't want to believe it, but we have to be sure. Tell me where you were the night of the mansion raid, before we met up."
Vikram's face flushed with anger. "I was at home, Shiva. Studying, like I told you. You think I'd sell you out to those psychos?"
Priya crossed her arms. "Then you won't mind if we check your place. Phone records, notes—anything that might clear you."
Vikram stood, his chair scraping loudly. "This is bullshit, Shiva. I've risked my life for you, and now you're accusing me? Search my place, fine. But when you find nothing, don't expect me to stick around."
He stormed off, leaving Shiva and Priya in tense silence. Shiva's burns pulsed, a warning he couldn't ignore. "We need to follow through," he said, his voice hollow. "If it's not him, we clear him. If it is…"
Priya nodded, her expression unreadable. "Let's go. But Shiva, be ready for what we find."
Vikram's apartment was a small, cluttered space, books and cricket gear strewn about. He stood by the window, arms crossed, as Shiva and Priya searched. Shiva's hands trembled as he rifled through drawers, guilt warring with necessity. Priya checked the desk, her movements swift and methodical.
Under a stack of textbooks, Shiva found a folded paper, its edges worn. His heart sank as he opened it—a receipt for a payment of 5,000 rupees, stamped with Vishrambaug's logo, dated the day of the warehouse raid. The recipient was listed as "Sparrow."
"Vikram," Shiva said, his voice breaking, holding up the receipt. "Explain this."
Vikram's face paled, his eyes darting to the paper. "I… I don't know what that is. I've never seen it."
Priya stepped forward, her voice cold. "It was in your desk, Vikram. You're Sparrow."
"No!" Vikram shouted, his voice cracking. "Shiva, you know me. I'd never betray you. Someone planted that!"
Shiva's burns flared, the Kaal's pulse urging caution. Vikram's desperation seemed genuine, but the evidence was damning. "Why should I believe you?" he asked, his voice raw. "Everything lines up—the ambushes, the Council always knowing our moves."
Vikram's shoulders slumped, tears in his eyes. "Because you're my brother, Shiva. I'd die for you. If you don't trust me, then what's the point?"
The words shattered Shiva's resolve. He wanted to believe Vikram, but the Kaal's whisper warned of betrayal. Before he could respond, Priya's hand shot to her pocket, pulling out a small knife. "He's lying, Shiva. We can't take the risk."
Shiva grabbed her wrist, his burns searing. "Stop! We don't know it's him."
Priya's eyes flashed with frustration. "Then who? We're running out of time, Shiva. The Council's moving, and Sparrow's their eyes."
Shiva's mind raced, the Kaal's pulse a drumbeat. Priya's intensity, her sudden aggression—something was off. "Priya," he said slowly, "where were you the night of the mansion raid?"
Her grip on the knife tightened, her expression flickering. "What are you implying?"
"You've been pushing us hard," Shiva said, his voice steady despite the fear. "Always one step ahead with intel. How do we know you're not Sparrow?"
Priya's face hardened, but before she could respond, a loud crash came from the street—a black car screeching to a halt, men in dark suits spilling out. The emissary stepped from the car, his white kurta stark against the night.
"They're here!" Vikram shouted, grabbing a cricket bat from the corner.
Priya dropped the knife, her eyes wide with panic—or guilt. "We need to run!"
Shiva's burns glowed faintly, the Kaal's power urging him to act. He grabbed Vikram's arm, pulling him toward the back door. "Priya, come on!"
But Priya hesitated, her gaze darting to the approaching men. In that moment, Shiva saw it—a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "Priya…" he whispered, betrayal cutting deep.
She turned and ran, not toward the back door but into the night, vanishing as the Council's men stormed the apartment. Shiva and Vikram fled through the back, the Kaal's pulse guiding them through alleys, the emissary's shouts fading behind.
They collapsed in a deserted lot, panting, the city's hum a distant roar. Vikram's face was streaked with tears. "Was it her?" he asked, his voice broken. "Priya?"
Shiva's burns pulsed, the Kaal's whisper confirming his fear. "I think so," he said, his voice hollow. "She played us."
Vikram punched the ground, his anger raw. "And I let her. I trusted her."
"So did I," Shiva said, guilt weighing him down. The receipt, the knife—Priya had orchestrated it all, framing Vikram to cover her tracks. But why? Was she Sparrow from the start, or had the Council turned her?
A new note appeared, slipped into Shiva's pocket during the chaos: "The Kaal reveals all. Sparrow flies, but the nest burns." His heart sank. The Council knew, and they were taunting him. Priya's betrayal was a wound, but it also exposed a truth: the Kaal's power was growing within him, guiding his instincts, unveiling secrets.
"We're not done," Shiva said, his voice resolute. "We find Priya. We find Sethi. We end this."
Vikram nodded, his grief hardening into determination. "Together."
Foreshadow & Reflection
As Shiva clutched the note, the Kaal's glow in his hands flickered, a beacon in the darkness. Unbeknownst to him, Priya's flight was not an escape but a step in a larger plan, her role in the Council's game far from over. The traitor's mask had fallen, but the true face of the enemy was yet to be revealed, and the Kaal's final demand loomed closer with every heartbeat.