CHAPTER 143: CHAPTER 143 – WHISPERS BEFORE THE STORM

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets still gleamed with the sheen of water, reflecting the pale gold from the streetlamps like molten coins scattered carelessly along the road. In the distance, the hum of late-night traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog broke the silence. But here, in the narrow back alley behind the closed tea shop, the world seemed held in its breath.

Raghav leaned against the damp brick wall, arms crossed, his eyes sweeping the shadows like a predator. The weight of the evening hung heavy on him—too many loose ends, too many promises made in haste. His leather jacket, still damp, clung to his shoulders as if reminding him of the night’s chill.

"You’re late," a voice came from the darkness.

It was Meera. She stepped into the light, her black scarf pulled tight around her head, eyes sharp but tired. There was no makeup tonight, no effort to hide the strain in her face. She looked like someone who’d been running without pause—not from a pursuer, but from the thoughts chasing her own mind.

"Had to make sure I wasn’t being followed," Raghav replied, pushing himself off the wall. "You said it was urgent."

"It is." She glanced over her shoulder before speaking again. "The shipment’s arriving two days earlier than planned. They changed the route too. South dock, not the east one."

Raghav’s brow furrowed. "That’s... unexpected. Who signed off on that?"

Meera’s lips thinned. "Not us. Not anyone we know. Which means someone else is pulling strings from the inside."

The words hit harder than the chill in the air. For weeks, they had been moving carefully, weaving through alliances and rivalries like dancers avoiding each other’s blades. But an unknown hand changing the plan meant only one thing—someone was watching, and someone was ready to make their move.

Before Raghav could reply, footsteps echoed faintly from the far end of the alley. Both of them turned in unison, hands instinctively moving toward the weapons they carried. A tall figure emerged, dressed in a plain grey hoodie, hood pulled low.

"It’s me," came a deep voice.

Arjun.

Relief flickered briefly in Raghav’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by suspicion. "You shouldn’t be here. Not all three of us together."

"I know," Arjun said, pulling the hood back to reveal his face. His jaw was tense, his eyes restless. "But you need to hear this. I got word from Vikram’s old contact inside the customs office. There’s a list—names, dates, and drop points. And guess what? Ours are on it. All of ours."

Meera’s face paled. "How? That list was supposed to be impossible to trace."

"That’s what I thought too," Arjun said, his tone low and clipped. "But someone’s been leaking. I don’t know who. All I know is that if we show up at that dock the way we planned, we won’t be leaving."

The night seemed to tighten around them, the quiet suddenly heavier, as though the city itself had heard the warning.

Raghav took a slow breath, letting his mind run through the possibilities. Every move they’d made, every meeting, every whispered deal—it all came back to trust. And trust, in their world, was just another currency.

"Alright," he said finally, his voice steady. "We don’t panic. We change the plan. If someone’s expecting us at South Dock, then we give them exactly what they’re expecting."

Meera frowned. "That sounds like walking into a trap."

"It is," Raghav admitted. "But we walk in knowing it’s a trap—and we set ours before theirs springs."

Arjun’s gaze sharpened. "You have something in mind?"

"I might," Raghav said. "But it means splitting up. Meera, you find out who ordered the route change. I don’t care how. Money, threats, favors—whatever it takes. Arjun, you work your contact again. I want that list. Not a photo, not a name—every page in my hands."

"And you?" Meera asked.

"I’ll pay a visit to an old friend," Raghav said, his lips curling into a thin smile. "Someone who owes me more than he can ever repay."

The plan was reckless, and they all knew it. But reckless had always been part of the game.

—

Three hours later, the city was asleep, but Raghav wasn’t. He walked alone through the quiet lanes near the old industrial district, where abandoned warehouses loomed like sleeping giants. The moon was half-hidden behind drifting clouds, casting the street in silver and shadow.

His destination was a rusted metal door with faded numbers and a broken lock that was more for show than security. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

The air smelled of oil and dust, and somewhere in the shadows, a radio played an old Hindi song, soft and distant. At a table under a single hanging bulb sat a man in his fifties, hair going grey, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"Raghav," the man said without looking up. "I was wondering when you’d come."

"Still keeping your ears open, I see," Raghav replied.

The man finally looked at him, his eyes carrying the weight of a dozen debts. "You want information. You always do."

"I want to know who’s moving pieces behind my back," Raghav said, taking a seat opposite him. "And I want it now."

The man inhaled, exhaled, and let the smoke drift toward the bulb above. "There’s talk. Someone new in the game. Not from here. Not even from this country. They’ve been buying loyalty—fast. Faster than I’ve ever seen."

"Name?"

"None that sticks," the man said. "They’re a ghost. But..." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "They’re coming for you, Raghav. Not just your deals. You."

The words sat in the air like a warning bell. Raghav didn’t flinch, but inside, his mind was already calculating the next five moves.

"I need a meeting," Raghav said. "Find them. Tell them I’m ready to talk."

"You’re either very brave," the man muttered, "or very stupid."

"Maybe both," Raghav said, standing. "But it doesn’t matter. I don’t wait for storms to hit—I walk into them."

—

By the time Raghav stepped back into the street, the clouds had cleared, and the moon shone bright, casting his shadow long on the pavement. Somewhere across the city, Meera would be digging for answers, Arjun chasing the paper trail. And somewhere else entirely, a ghost was already moving, pulling strings that would test every ounce of cunning they had.

The game had shifted. The board was no longer the same. And as the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Raghav knew one thing for certain was only the whisper before the real storm.

If