The next morning in Bangalore started with a splash of monsoon drizzle and an army of honking vehicles. Siddharth adjusted the cuff of his powder-blue shirt as he stood outside Zaventra’s towering glass façade. His reflection stared back at him: neat tie, polished shoes, posture too rigid for the corporate herd. The soldier in him refused to die, even when camouflaged in crisp formals. He had barely slept the night before, eyes burning holes into the case file from Raghav, trying to memorise every pixel of the grainy photograph attached to the intelligence report. Today, he needed to be alert.

The sleek corporate lobby was buzzing as usual. Interns huddling with coffees, senior execs walking fast with Bluetooth earpieces, and someone arguing over the freshness of a salad at the café counter. Siddharth stepped inside the elevator with calm indifference, ignoring the way a few junior employees gave him nervous glances.