Shivam leaned down, his shadow stretching over the map. "Good. Then tomorrow night, we move. Two fronts, one chance. If either side hesitates, we lose everything."
The lantern flickered, throwing the group's tense faces into momentary darkness. When the light steadied again, so did their resolve.
They gathered close around the table as if the maps themselves could be pressed into doing what they wanted. Shivam spread the blueprint of the SynerTech complex and let his thumb trace the service corridors until the lines started to feel like paths rather than ink.
"All right," he said, voice low and steady. "We split. Gala team goes inside, draws attention. Rescue team moves on the factory. No guns, no fireworks. We extract Aanchal and get out."
Anchal Rathod stood opposite him, hands folded, baton strapped at her hip. She had the look of someone who had spent years on the street and did not flinch at impossible questions. "I will be on the factory side," she said. "I know how to move in that area. There are two access points that are less watched. One is a service tunnel that runs under the main road. The other is a staff elevator on the west side. Cameras loop there less frequently."
Rajni leaned in, eyes on the same paper. She filled in the gaps quietly; the kind of detail that came from having been close to the ground. "They moved Aanchal into a converted machine hall. It is louder, harder to hear small noises, which helps if we need to shout and mask movement. But the staff elevator is the weak point. It will be guarded, but not with senior men. That is your window."
Mansi's fingers were already on a laptop, pulling up camera feeds she had managed to intercept. "I can blind a cluster of cameras for exactly ninety seconds if I inject a decoy feed," she said. "Pawan and I will run the van. I will throttle the feeds in a pattern to match a maintenance alert. That should buy you two minutes outside the elevator and another sixty in the loading bay if we time the loop and the alarm perfectly."
Dikshant, restless, jabbed a finger on a corridor. "If we get two minutes, what about recon inside? How many guards usually rotate those shifts? Are they armed heavy or light?"
Aman's hand tightened on his lathi as he spoke. "And what about dogs? They put dogs near the loading docks sometimes. We cannot sprint through scent lines."
Naina folded an arrow between her fingers without looking up. "If I take a rooftop, I can handle a guard who has a rifle or a dog handler before they close ranks. One quiet shot. Then I move. My shots are silent and precise. I will need a perch with clear sightlines."
Shivam met each question with a nod, making choices as he went along. "Dikshant, you and Aman move first into the loading bay. Your job is control. Keep them breathing. Non-lethal where possible. Naina, you take the rooftop nearest entrance B. Cover approaching routes and cut rotations. Aanchal, you lead inside. You know the weak doors. You pick the door we hit."
Anchal's jaw tightened. "I will get them to the central shaft. We break the cuffs, get them to the van. We move quietly and fast. If the sidearm comes out, it is to open a path to a stretcher, not for show."
Pawan watched Mansi's screen, silent till now, then added, "Van will be on the Mirza Road route. Two safe points if we get separated. We will monitor city cams. If anything moves outside the plan, we call the pull. No heroics."
Sumit, who had been watching the blueprints like it was a new map of a planet he had never visited, finally spoke. "My family's invite covers the guest list. They won't question a plus-one if I say I brought friends. It gets Shivam and Bhumika through the front doors without a package check. That is our bait."
Suchitra shifted her weight and offered a small observation, quieting the room even as she spoke. "The ballroom has three public exits. They funnel guests through a receiving area. If you can time the lights and a small smoke trigger in the east wing, people will move away from section two. That is where the service corridor opens to the staff elevator."
Bhumika sat back and let her fingers curl in her lap. She watched the faces around the table but said nothing. Pawan adjusted the comms mic clipped to his collar and checked the channel. The silence from him felt like the room holding its breath.
Shivam folded the map and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second. "Roles then," he said. "Gala team draws Veeraj and senior security.
Rescue team slips in the staff elevator at the west wing while Mansi loops cameras. Naina covers from the roof. Dikshant and Aman handle the bay. Aanchal leads extraction. Pawan runs the van. Sumit and Suchitra keep cover inside the gala."
They looked to him then as if he would call the thunder. He felt the weight of it and pushed the worry down into the part of him that always preferred action. "We move at dusk," he said. "Dress, practice cover stories, check weapons, and meet two hours before showtime at the staging point. We pull back to Mirza Road if anything goes wrong. Stay sharp."
There was a brief silence while the plan settled, then the room filled with the soft, practical sounds of preparation. Boots against a concrete floor, the rustle of fabric, the click of a safety being checked on a baton. Shivam let his hand rest on the folded paper and gave a single, steady nod. They would move together. They would move hard.
The Warehouse felt strangely alive that afternoon. Sunlight cut through the dusty windows, bright and sharp, and for a brief few hours the tension of maps and weapons gave way to a different kind of preparation.
Boxes lay open, clothes scattered over the backs of chairs, and the air carried the faint smell of ironed fabric rather than oil and dust.
Sumit was crouched over one of the boxes, digging through it with the enthusiasm of a man picking through treasure. He held up a folded tuxedo jacket, admiring it like it was an ancient artifact. Then he turned to Shivam with mock seriousness.
"Tell me you have a tux," he said.
Shivam blinked. "What for?"
Sumit almost dropped the jacket. "What for? Bruh, it's a black-tie gala. We're not sneaking into some roadside Dhaba. You can't just walk in wearing your training hoodie."
A small laugh escaped Bhumika before she caught herself. Shivam rolled his eyes, though a faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. "I didn't exactly pack one for the end of the world," he said.
"Then lucky for you," Sumit replied, shaking out the tuxedo with a flourish, "my wardrobe is prepared for both social collapse and high society." He tossed the jacket toward Shivam, who caught it begrudgingly.
Shivam turned the fabric in his hands, the black silk catching the light. It felt alien compared to the rough canvas and sweat-soaked cotton he was used to. "This is too much," he muttered.
"No, it's just enough," Sumit said with a grin. "The point is to stand out, not blend in. You're supposed to be a distraction, remember?"
Across the room, Suchitra sat on the arm of a chair, quietly observing. "He's right," she said softly. "If Kairav notices you, A threat, he won't be watching anything else."
The weight of those words landed heavier than the tuxedo. Shivam nodded once and set the jacket aside, though his fingers lingered on the fabric longer than he intended.
Sumit, however, wasn't done. He reached into another box and pulled out a gown wrapped in protective cloth. "And for our leading lady," he said, turning to Bhumika with a theatrical bow, "courtesy of my sister's very expensive taste."
Bhumika's eyes widened. "I can't wear that."
"Yes, you can. And you will," Sumit said, grinning. "If Shivam's going to turn heads, you may as well break a few necks while you're at it."
Bhumika hesitated, but eventually took the gown from him. The deep red fabric shimmered as it unfolded, elegant without being loud. She disappeared into the back room with it, leaving a sudden silence in her wake.
When she stepped out again, the room shifted. The chatter stilled. Shivam looked up, and for the first time in days, his mind blanked. She stood there with the gown fitting perfectly, the faintest nervousness in her expression, her hair falling loose around her shoulders.
He froze for a second too long. Their eyes met, just for a heartbeat, and something unspoken passed between them. Then he caught himself, cleared his throat, and looked back down at the folded map on the table. "You'll fit in fine," he said, voice steady but a shade lower than before.
Bhumika gave the smallest nod and turned to adjust the sleeve, just as focused on not letting the moment linger.
Around them, the rest of the team slipped back into motion. The gala group rehearsed their cover stories, Sumit correcting Shivam's posture with exaggerated fuss while Suchitra muttered quiet insights about guest protocols. Across the room, the rescue team worked with their tools. Naina checked the balance of her arrows, Aman ran his thumb along the length of his lathi, and Dikshant tapped his sticks together in rhythm. Anchal Rathod walked them through entry points again while Mansi fine-tuned the comm frequencies and Pawan checked the van's fuel gauge.
The warehouse had become two worlds in one space: silk and steel, gowns and bows, tuxedos and lathis.
As the last light of afternoon slanted through the cracked windows, Shivam looked around at both groups, his voice cutting across the noise. "Two fronts," he said. "One night. One chance."
The room quieted, the words sinking into every face present. Then, as if on cue, everyone went back to their tasks, sharper and more determined than before.