I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head

They beg me to write them so they'll never die when I'm dead

-'Control' by Halsey

The car glides through Mumbai's electric pulse, neon lights slicing through the tinted windows in fractured glows. The city hums outside-chaotic, restless-while inside, everything is still. Heavy. Like a loaded gun waiting to go off.

I loosen my tie, exhaling slowly, but my grip tightens around the file in my hands.

I've always thrived on control. On rules.

They keep things in order.

They keep me in order.

But I feel it slipping every time I hear her name.

Ziva.

The girl who vanished like smoke, leaving nothing behind but questions. I chased every whisper, tore apart every lead, bled through every dead end. And now-finally-I have something real.

The file's rough edges dig into my fingers, worn from the number of times I've flipped through its contents. Every page, every word, analyzed and reanalyzed, searching for cracks. For the lie that always comes.

But this time, it's different.

This time, I have something solid.

A name.

A name I'm all too familiar with.

My jaw tightens as I watch the city blur past, neon lights fading into shadow as we slip into the deserted part of town. The streets here are different-quieter, darker, the kind of place people pretend doesn't exist.

The car slows as we approach an abandoned building, just one block away from Blackout. The air is thick with silence, the kind that carries weight, warning.

The tires crunch against gravel as we roll to a stop. My bodyguards move first, stepping out to scan the perimeter. I take the moment to check my Glock one last time, feeling the familiar weight before tucking it behind my back.

Then, I step out.

The night presses in around us as we make our way inside, boots echoing off crumbling walls. The building is nothing more than a skeleton now-hollowed out, forgotten-but it serves its purpose. It hides the entrance to the tunnels.

I've never bothered with these meetings before. Never saw the need. My identity was a secret, an advantage I never intended to give up until my goal was met.

But Ziva is a catastrophic element in my carefully crafted equation of rules.

She doesn't just disrupt the balance-I lose sight of it entirely. All my reasons, my logic, my control, they fly out the window the second I get a lead. And I chase it like a dog drawn to a bone, no matter how many times it leads me into the fire.

That's why I'm here now, moving through the underground tunnels beneath the city, heading straight for Blackout's basement.

Because I may be reckless when it comes to her.

But I'm not stupid.

The damp walls close in around us, the air thick with the scent of dust and something older, something forgotten. Footsteps echo behind me-my men, my shadows-but my mind is already ahead, locked onto the name in that file.

The underground lobby of The Blackout hums with tension. The silence here is different. Heavier. The kind that makes men sweat. That makes them hesitate.

Not me.

This is my world.

This is SINS-a kingdom built on whispers, carved from blood, and ruled by ghosts.

From the dim glow of overhead lights, I spot a figure lounging against the far wall, his posture easy, his focus pinned to the glowing screen of his phone. The signature black mask with golden design he wears does little to hide the sharp amusement in his stance.

D.

The moment he hears our footsteps, he looks up. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he pockets his phone and straightens to his full height. That shit-eating grin of his spreads wide as he takes in the sight of me.

"The Majesty himself has deigned to walk among us," he drawls, dipping into an exaggerated bow.

"Shut it," I bite out, my tone sharp.

D and I go way back-long before SINS was anything more than a whisper in the dark. We built this empire together, brick by bloody brick. If anyone has the right to mouth off, it's him. But right now, I'm not in the mood.

His grin doesn't falter. He knows. He enjoys pushing buttons.

I exhale through my nose. "Is everyone here?" I ask, emphasizing the word, making sure he catches the weight behind it.

He doesn't answer right away, just gives me a knowing smirk and a single nod.

Good.

He turns, pressing his palm against the biometric scanner. The door unlocks with a soft click. As soon as it swings open, the air shifts. The low hum of conversation inside dies instantly.

Six pairs of eyes cut toward us as we step inside. Four men. Two women. They all stand the moment I enter.

The air shifts, thickening with silent tension as I move through the corridor like a shadow, my bodyguards a quiet force at my back. The reinforced doors seal shut behind us with a finality that echoes through the space.

No one speaks.

They don't see a man.

They see a storm wrapped in skin.

A ghost who rarely shows his face. And when he does-someone doesn't leave the same. Or at all.

I let the silence stretch, let it sink into their bones, let them feel the weight of my presence coiling around them like a snake tightening its grip. The atmosphere grows sharp, suffocating.

Then, finally, I move. Each step deliberate, measured. My boots echo against the polished floor as I approach the head of the long, gleaming table.

And I drop the file.

The sound is deafening in the stillness.

A beat passes. Then another.

Someone shifts in their seat, the scrape of movement slicing through the silence like a blade against bone.

The weight of my presence is something they all feel, some wearing it like shackles, others-like D-letting it coil into something resembling amusement.

No one reaches for the file.

Only one man remains seated at the far end, the only one without a mask. His fingers tap against the table, a lazy rhythm meant to feign ease. But I see the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of unease in his eyes.

He doesn't know why he's here.

The uncertainty must be eating him alive. Good.

I lower myself into the chair at the head of the table, my fingers lacing together, exuding patience I don't truly have. I don't speak. Not yet. I let them drown in the silence.

Jason breaks first, his voice light, but I hear the sharp edge beneath it. "Well, this is a first. A meeting where I'm the only one not playing dress-up." His lips twitch, amusement forced. "What's the occasion?"

Ah, Jason. The man of the hour. The silent hacker within my organization who has done everything in his power to keep my kitten hidden from me.

The question is-why?

I hold his gaze. "I need you to find someone."

I slide the file across the table toward him. He reaches for it, his movements slow, measured. The moment he flips it open, I watch.

His muscles lock. His shoulders stiffen.

And then Vikram, seated beside him, leans in to scan the contents-and his reaction is just as telling. A subtle inhale, a shift in posture, tension bleeding into the space between them.

Interesting.

I let the weight of the moment settle before finally uttering the name that will change everything.

"Ziva."

The silence that follows is razor-sharp.

"I want you to find a person named Ziva," I say, my voice smooth, unreadable. "Everything you need is in that file."

Everything except the truth.

The truth that Jason has been the one hiding her all along.

I can't risk them knowing that I'm already onto him. Not yet.

It took years to get here. To get one solid, real clue. Instead of forcing their hand, I'll let them know I'm closing in. I'll wait for them to make a mistake.

And when the time is right, I'll rip my kitten from their grasp.

The air shifts, crackling with something unspoken. A silent battlefield of controlled expressions and buried truths. I've thrown the hook. And I can feel the pull. The weight in Vikram's posture. The flicker of calculation in Jason's eyes.

Ziva is close. Closer than I thought.

And one of them knows exactly where she is.

A slow, sharp thrill twists through my veins.

Jason swallows, then clears his throat. "For whom am I doing this task?" His voice is controlled, but I hear it-that barely-there tremor. "For you, boss? Or for someone else?"

Ah.

There it is.

The reaction I was waiting for.

At the mention of 'someone else,' something flickers in his eyes. Fear? Uncertainty? It's too quick to catch, but I know it's there.

Things aren't as simple as they seem.

But it doesn't matter.

And all that matters to me is Ziva.

I lean forward slightly, my voice dropping into something far less patient. "Don't make me find her."

The air thickens.

Jason hesitates for only a fraction of a second before nodding. He knows what's at stake.

I rise from my chair, each movement precise, controlled. Without another word, I turn and head for the exit, leaving them with nothing but the weight of my command, the inevitable unraveling of what comes next.

Because no matter what they do-

I will find her.

And when I do, no smokescreen, no lie, no force will keep her apart from me.