The Silent Bond

✨Chapter - 27✨

The moonlight spilled gently through the large windows, casting shadows on elegant furniture. In the middle of king-sized bed, Shivansh was sprawled comfortably, snoring lightly, his face finally at ease after what seemed like ages of tension.

Suddenly,

Phone ringing....

The shrill ringtone broke the serenity of the night.

Shivansh groaned, turning to his side, blindly reaching for the phone with one hand, eyes still closed.

Shivansh (half slipped) – "Who's dying at this hour?"

He squinted at the caller ID.
"Inspector Roy – Scotland Yard Division"

His brows furrowed instantly.

Shivansh (clears throat, answers):
"Hello, Officer Roy? It's 3 AM... What happened?"

Officer (urgent tone):
"Apologies for the hour, sir. But this is an emergency. We've got a suspicious fire breaking out at the outskirts of London. It's an abandoned godown, but..."

Shivansh (sits up straight, suddenly alert):
"But what?"

Officer Roy:
"But the explosion... it's not normal. We found remnants of chemical traces — stuff used in arms smuggling. Your clearance was tagged on this lead, so we called you first."

Shivansh's eyes widened.
His military and intelligence training kicked in. The peaceful night now felt like a lie.

Shivansh (tense, urgent):
"Text me the coordinates. I'm leaving now. Keep everything sealed. No one enters till I arrive."

Officer:
"Already done, sir. I think... this could be linked to the 'Shetty Trail'."

Shivansh's jaw clenched.

He didn't need coffee anymore.

He needed answers.

He threw the covers aside, grabbed his jacket and gun holster from the side table. His phone buzzed with the coordinates. His brain was already connecting dots.

Shivansh (muttering to himself): - "Yeh Devraj ka godown kaise jal gaya?"

As he rushed down the grand spiral staircase of the mansion, he didn't know one thing:

The game had changed.
This wasn't just about past revenge now —
It was about preventing a war.

And it had begun... in flames.

🎀🎀🎀

The room was a tomb of shadows, a secret chamber far from the city's pulsing heart. A single, naked bulb dangled overhead, swaying like a pendulum, its meager light carving monstrous shapes from the darkness. On a heavy wooden table, the chaotic remnants of a plan lay scattered: blueprints, grainy surveillance photos, and a half-empty glass of amber whiskey.

Devraj Shetty, his name now a whisper of dread, stood with his back to the room, a silhouette against the jagged lines of a broken window. Outside, rain fell like a cascade of shattered glass, each drop a tiny, piercing sound. He had aged, the years etching lines of ruthlessness into his face, but his danger had only deepened.

The heavy iron door groaned, its sound a violation of the silence. A goon, his face pale with fear and his chest heaving, slipped inside.

"Sir," the goon began, his voice a nervous tremor. "The warehouse on the outskirts... it caught fire."

Devraj didn't move, his gaze still fixed on the rain-swept world outside.

"How much was the loss?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.