Cid Vs The Eye

Chapter 4: The Breaking Point

The silence in the surveillance van hung heavy with unspoken tension. Outside, Mumbai's evening traffic created a distant hum, but inside the cramped vehicle, four CID officers sat trapped in their own thoughts after another gruelling case.

Poorvi's voice cut through the oppressive quiet like a blade drawn in darkness.

Poorvi: "Sir, mere paer mein bahut dard ho raha hai. Aap drive kar sakte hain, please?"

Daya looked up from methodically checking his service weapon, his weathered hands moving with practiced efficiency. The fluorescent streetlight cast harsh shadows across his face as he nodded.

Daya: "Haan haan, kyun nahi. Tumhe pehle batana chahiye tha."

As they reorganized themselves around the vehicle, Poorvi's eyes found Mayank in her peripheral vision. Something in his posture, the way he positioned himself near Shreya, made her stomach clench with familiar dread. Her voice carried an edge of barely controlled urgency.

Poorvi: "Mayank, tum aage aa jao. Main peeche baith jaati hun."

Mayank's response came too quickly, his voice carrying an edge that made the confined space feel even smaller.

Mayank: "Main yahan theek hun."

The dismissal in his tone was unmistakable. Poorvi's fingers tightened on the door handle, her instincts screaming warnings she couldn't voice—not yet.

Poorvi: "Please. Mujhe wahan baithna hai."

Daya's commanding tone settled the matter with the authority of years in the field.

Daya: "Aa jao Mayank, wo keh rahi hai to."

The Drive...

The drive to headquarters passed in a silence so tense it felt combustible. Through the rearview mirror, Poorvi watched Mayank's reflection with hawk-like intensity, noting how his eyes kept drifting toward Shreya, how his body language shifted whenever she moved. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms as she fought the urge to voice her suspicions.

Shreya sat rigid beside her, staring out the window at the passing lights of the city—each flickering streetlamp illuminating the strain etched across her features. The young officer who had once laughed freely at crime scenes now seemed to carry the weight of unspoken secrets in her very posture.

The bureau's underground parking garage was a concrete cavern of shadows when they finally arrived. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in harsh, institutional white. As the team moved toward the entrance with the automatic rhythm of routine, Poorvi's fingers suddenly closed around Shreya's wrist like a vice.

Poorvi: "Sir, you go ahead. Shreya aur main washroom ho kar aate hain."

Abhijeet nodded without suspicion, already mentally transitioning to the paperwork awaiting them upstairs.

Abhijeet: "Theek hai."

The moment the men disappeared through the steel doors, Shreya turned toward the building with forced casualness, her voice artificially bright.

Shreya: "Chalo, chalte hain. Everyone is waiting—"

Poorvi's grip tightened like a tourniquet, and when she spoke, her voice carried the weight of months of suppressed fury and protective rage.

Poorvi: "Kab tak Shreya? Akhir kab tak?"

The question hung in the air like a physical blow. Shreya's carefully constructed composure crumbled instantly, as if those four words had shattered a dam she'd been desperately trying to hold together. Tears spilled down her cheeks in hot, rapid streams.