The crash outside sent a ripple of tension through the room. Satya's pulse pounded in his ears. Someone was out there.
Samar Pratap Singh didn't hesitate. He grabbed the folder of documents and shoved them into Satya's hands. "If they take me, you run. The truth has to survive."
Virendra peeked through a gap in the window. Two SUVs. Dark. Unmarked. Their pursuers weren't being subtle anymore.
"There's a back exit," Samar whispered, already moving.
Satya, Saanvi, Aryan, and Virendra followed, weaving between stacks of books and old furniture. The historian led them through a narrow passage, lined with faded photographs—snapshots of history nearly erased.
Samar stopped at a wooden panel. He pulled at it, revealing a concealed door. "This leads to an alley. Move fast."
Before they could slip through—a knock at the front door.
Not a polite one. Heavy. Demanding.
Then—the doorknob twisted.
"They're coming in," Saanvi whispered.
Samar looked at them one last time. "Go. Now."
Satya clenched his jaw. He wanted to fight, to stand his ground—but the historian had risked everything. They couldn't waste this chance.
They slipped into the alley, keeping low. Boots thudded inside the house.
A voice barked orders. "Find him. Find the papers."
Satya gritted his teeth. Too late. They had the documents. Now they had to stay alive long enough to understand them.
They moved swiftly through the alley, winding through the old streets of Jodhpur. The city was quiet at this hour, but their enemies wouldn't stop searching.
Saanvi grabbed Satya's arm. "Where do we go?"
Virendra pulled out his phone. "I know a place. We'll be safe for the night."
Satya glanced back. Samar had sacrificed everything for this moment.
Now, it was their turn to uncover the truth.