Back in his army quarters, Siddharth laid on his back with his arms behind his head. The wound on his head throbbed, but it was the least of his concerns. He stared blankly at the fan that creaked softly. To others, it looked like he was resting, but storms raged in his mind. A near empty bottle of mineral water stood defiantly on the table, accompanied by a single cup of masala tea, long forgotten and cold. The only sound in the room was the faint rattle of the ceiling fan and the cooing of the pigeons that sat on the window sill.

The minute his eyes closed, the events of his mission replayed like a broken record. The screams, the smoke, the unbearable silence after. The guilt of what he couldn't save clung to him like a shadow that refused to fade. His eyes lingered on the uniform hanging from a nail in the corner of the room. The medals that once filled him with pride seemed to mock him now.

The silence of the quarters pressed in on him, until the shrill ring of his phone cut through the stillness. Siddharth didn't move. He didn't have to look at the screen to know who it was. The twenty-four hours Colonel Aditya Mishra had given him had slipped away. The phone kept ringing, demanding an answer he wasn't ready to give. But the peace didn't last long. It was broken by a steady knock on the door. Siddharth sighed, rolling over before pushing himself to his feet. He paused for a moment before straightening himself, years of training kicking in. When he opened the door, a young soldier stood there, stiff and uneasy, and simply said, "Colonel Mishra wants to see you, sir."

Siddharth gave a short nod, then turned back inside. He washed his face, donned his uniform, and drew in a slow breath. It was time to meet his fate. Colonel Mishra's office carried his vibe, calm, shrewd, and calculated, just like the man himself.
Rows of cabinets lined the walls, each one holding classified files tucked away with military precision. At the center stood a large desk and a chair that was as imposing as the man who sat in it.

Siddharth braced himself before stepping inside and ducked just in time, moving with practiced ease. The thin file whizzed past his head and hit the floor with a sharp thud.
He didn't need to look up to know Mishra's blood pressure had hit the ceiling.
There wasn't a single soul in the Indian Army who could make Colonel Aditya Mishra lose his cool and still get away with it except Major Siddharth Iyer.

As Siddharth expected, Mishra roared out his nickname for Siddharth. "You punk!!!" his ears burned red with anger. "One failed mission and you send your resignation to my table?" he demanded but Siddharth held the neutral expression on his face and didn't react. Aditya closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down and gulped the glass of water in front of him. Siddharth waited like always, like the calm before the storm.

Mishra didn't rise from his chair. He was afraid he would collapse from anger. "You think ignoring my calls makes the decision go away?" he asked quietly. Completely different from the angry man he was a moment before. "And, what's with the resignation tantrum? Are you a child to throw tantrums like this?"

Siddharth met his gaze, unflinching. "I wasn't ignoring, sir," he said. "Just... thinking. I resigned because I feel that I'm not qualified to wear this uniform anymore."

Mishra's jaw tightened and his nose twitched. He gritted his teeth, "Are you trying to kill me from anger? I'll decide whether you're qualified or not." He stared sharply at the man before him. Most soldiers would be gulping with fear. But Siddharth met his gaze, steady and unmoving. The nerve of this punk! Mishra thought. But this character of Siddharth was what Mishra always admired. He saw himself in Siddharth.

Aditya realised that Siddharth needed his guidance and stood up from his seat. He took a deep breath and decided Siddharth's fate. "Go get that file." He pointed at the file he had thrown at Siddharth before. The one that carried the latter's resignation. Siddharth immediately obeyed and retrieved the file and handed it over to Mishra with military discipline.

Mishra took the file and calmly tore it to pieces and dumped it in the trashcan beside his desk. He stared into Siddharth's eyes and ordered calmly. "Major Siddharth, I will assign you one more mission and after completion, if you still wish to resign, I will not stop you." Truth be told, if Siddharth still dared to hand in his resignation after that, Mishra might just beat some sense into him. Though Siddharth didn't need to know that... yet.

Siddharth was stunned for a split second but he immediately masked it and stood straighter and lifted his hand in a salute. "Yes sir." He said, his voice low and steady. Mishra breathed a sigh of relief and put on his cap. "Follow me," he grunted, striding toward the door. Siddharth stiffly followed his Colonel like a son obeying his father after being scolded for scoring low in a test.

Mishra walked toward his quarters and turned around when he noticed Siddharth quietly trailing behind. He realized that Siddharth was still in uniform. "Go change into formals and wait for me near my car," he ordered and shut the door in Siddharth's face.

Though Siddharth didn't understand Mishra's intention, he obeyed without question. Disobeying Mishra and ending up with five hundred pushups wasn't exactly appealing.

Within minutes, the duo had changed into civilian clothes. When Mishra arrived at his private car, Siddharth was already waiting. Mishra tossed him the keys and motioned for him to drive. Siddharth complied without a word. He didn't know where Mishra was taking him, but the absence of the official car told him enough, Wherever they were headed, it was something important and classified.

On the way, much to Siddharth's confusion, they changed cars twice, each switch done discreetly. By the time they reached the airport, his instincts were already on alert. Mishra was on the phone, speaking in a coded language Siddharth couldn't fully follow. These weren't army codes — they were something else.

"Sir, where are we headed?" he finally asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.

"Delhi," Mishra replied curtly. Then, as if remembering something, he turned to Siddharth. "Do you have your phone on you?"

Siddharth nodded and handed it over. Without a word, Mishra switched it off, removed the SIM card with practiced ease, and snapped it in half. He then pulled out another burner phone and passed it to Siddharth.

It was then that Siddharth noticed Mishra had been using a burner all along.

"Siddharth," Mishra said quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument, "from this moment, you will not return to Kashmir until instructed otherwise. We'll discuss the rest once we reach the destination."

In a few hours, they reached Delhi. After landing, they took a taxi and drove through the maze of the city until they stopped at a crowded street. The place buzzed with life. Vendors shouting, engines revving, people moving with the kind of hurried rhythm only Delhi knew. Nobody had time to notice what anyone else was doing.

Mishra led Siddharth into an old shopping complex that looked older than Mishra himself. The duo stopped before a printing press. The tin board above the entrance hung by thin, rusted wires, swaying dangerously with every passing breeze.

As soon as they stepped inside, Siddharth's eyes scanned the surroundings with military precision. The place was worn down, the air thick with the smell of paper, ink, and mold. Two teenage boys scurried about, trimming pages and binding books. Behind the desk sat a bald man in his forties, his belly pressing against the limits of his shirt. A pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose. To the common eye, he looked like just another weary shopkeeper, but Siddharth's instincts told a different story. There was something rogue about him, like a hawk pretending to be a pigeon.

There was a reason they called Siddharth Falcon.

Mishra approached the man with a steady gaze. "Has the chief editor come in today? I've brought the novelist he was asking for." His tone was casual, but it carried a weight that didn't belong in small talk.

The man looked up from his ledger, eyes glinting with recognition. "Took you long enough. Sir's been waiting," he said with a scowl. His beady eyes flicked over Siddharth, then back to Mishra. "This the birdman you were talking about? Doesn't look like much of a writer to me."

Mishra's lips twitched. "Looks like you still haven't renewed your specs prescription," he shot back. "Why don't we let your boss decide whether my boy's learned to write?"

Sanjay Bhatia, huffed in irritation, clearly outmatched. Without another word, he pulled aside a wooden partition and led them to the back wall. He tapped twice on a dusty bookshelf. The wood creaked and shifted, revealing a narrow spiral staircase descending into the shadows below.

Siddharth was stunned at the setup but quickly followed them in. He didn't like the way Sanjay talked to his Colonel but kept his mouth shut regardless. The Chief Editor's office sat beneath the façade of the printing press. It was a simple worn down room, with steel filing cabinets, a world map littered with colored pins, and a small wooden desk. Behind it sat Raghav Malhotra in an old wire chair.

He was around fifty, with silver-streaked hair combed neatly to the side and a calm, unreadable expression. His posture was relaxed, but there was weight in the way he carried his silence. A spymaster who no longer walked the shadows, but controlled them. He looked up from a file as the door shut.

A faint smile curved his lips when he saw Mishra and he rose from his chair and extended his hand. "Mishra... You're finally here. Sinha sir informed me of your arrival." His eyes scanned Siddharth, "This must be Falcon."

Mishra shook his hand and introduced each other. "You're right. This is Major Siddharth Iyer." He turned to Siddharth, "And Siddharth, this is Colonel Raghav Malhotra, Director of Field operations co-ordination and you've already met Sanjay Bhatia. He's the Deputy director and will be your direct supervisor until the completion of your mission. You're in one of the R&AW bases in Delhi."

Siddharth shook both their hands, his expression composed. Sanjay, somehow, looked far more subdued in front of Raghav, as if the snake had quietly retracted its fangs.

Raghav ushered them to take a seat as he himself sat in his seat. He directly addressed Siddharth next. "Major Siddharth, I understand that Mishra may have already briefed you?" Mishra immediately cut in before Siddharth could reply. "I have only told him that he has a mission to complete before he wants to decide whether he wants to join R&AW. Sinha sir has only told me to bring him here," he clarified.

Raghav nodded in understanding. "Okay, no issues. Let me brief you about the mission. Brigadier Arvind Sinha is the Joint Secretary of R&AW. You may already know a little about R&AW. We don't care much about ranks here. R&AW isn't like the Army. In the Army, you protected your country in the open. But you will not have uniforms and titles here. Our job is to gather information, identify threats, and neutralize them quietly without anyone even knowing. You will not get any medals here for completing your mission, and if you die out there in the field, you'll not be claimed as one of us. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Siddharth met Raghav's gaze, his voice steady. "I don't work for medals, sir. Protecting my country isn't a choice, it's my responsibility. It's the only priority I have."

Raghav nodded, satisfied with his answer. He turned to Mishra when he heard him speak.
"So, when will his training begin?" Mishra asked.

Raghav sat back in his seat and sighed. "We will not be training him. He will be trained on duty," Raghav replied, as if even he couldn't believe himself.

Mishra's eyes widened. "Your words make no sense, Raghav. I have no doubts about my boy's abilities, but this battlefield is new to him. I can't send him in blindfolded."

Raghav sighed at Mishra's outburst. "I understand your concerns, but there's something Sinha sir hasn't told you yet. Falcon wasn't recruited by Sinha sir," he said calmly, his eyes lingering on Siddharth again.

Mishra's brows furrowed at the new information. "What do you mean? If it's not Sinha sir, then who else? It was clearly him who approached me to recruit Siddharth," Mishra snapped, confused by the sudden turn of events. This was not what he had signed up for. If Mishra sensed Siddharth was in any danger, he wouldn't hesitate to drag him out of R&AW's base himself. His junior's safety was his utmost priority.

But the next words out of Raghav's mouth stilled the whole room.

"It's Ghost," Raghav said quietly, as if the name itself might summon the phantom. The room seemed to have chilled, dropping a few degrees. Even Sanjay drew in a sharp breath but didn't dare utter a word. Mishra opened his mouth, unable to reel in from the shock.

"Are you sure?" Mishra asked Raghav, wanting to confirm again. Just a few hours ago, Siddharth had tried to resign from the Army, claiming he wasn't qualified. And now, with Ghost wanting to recruit him, Mishra felt a surge of pride in his chest. Because Ghost didn't select anyone randomly. Even soldiers from the Special Forces had been rejected by him.

If Ghost himself had chosen Siddharth, it meant he had seen something in the young Major that others had failed to notice.

Though Mishra was conflicted, because Ghost only undertook the most complex missions, he still felt a sense of relief. Siddharth would be safer under Ghost than anywhere else. There had never been a single casualty in Ghost's team. The phantom didn't just protect his country well; he protected his people too.

"Yes, I'm sure. When Ghost selects someone, there's nothing left for us to teach," Raghav said, looking straight at Mishra. "Looks like Falcon is a rare breed. His training will be done by Ghost himself."

He turned to Siddharth. "Falcon, for your next mission you leave for Bangalore in-" He checked his wristwatch. "-two hours. Until the mission is complete, you will live as Siddharth Iyer, Digital Marketing Manager at Zaventra Marketing Pvt Ltd. We will issue you the fake documents to secure your identity. You need not worry about verification. The company is owned by Bharghav Shetty. He's ex-Army. He was Mishra's commanding officer."

Raghav pointed at Mishra as he finished. Mishra's eyebrows rose when he heard his senior's name. A nostalgic smile appeared on his face.
"Shetty sir retired after he was wounded in Kargil. I still remember those old days," he said, pointing at Siddharth with his eyes and teasing, "This punk blames me for being too hard on him. He should have seen Shetty sir in his prime." Both Raghav and Mishra laughed.

"I met him briefly when I was posted in Chennai. That man can glare people into submission," Raghav recalled, laughing. "I've only told him that a major will be embedded in his company to complete a classified mission. He doesn't know about R&AW and will not ask you anything about your identity. You will treat each other as strangers. Now let me brief you about the mission." He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a thick file.

He slipped on his glasses that hung around his neck on a chain and glanced briefly at the file before handing it to Siddharth. "Ghost picked up intel about a potential terror plot targeting the Ganesh Chaturthi procession in Bangalore. The information points to someone inside Zaventra, but the exact target isn't confirmed yet. Your objective is to embed yourself in the company under your cover identity and monitor all activity until Ghost contacts you with further instructions. The mission is classified at the highest level. Only Ghost has full access to the details."

Raghav paused, watching Siddharth's face for any reaction before continuing.
"Your job is to observe quietly, report to Ghost when contacted, and avoid confrontation unless absolutely necessary. You'll be operating under our Bangalore field unit. All communication will route through Ghost."

Siddharth listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable as Raghav laid out the details. When Raghav finished, he took the file with both hands and opened it briefly, scanning the first few pages. His sharp eyes moved over the photographs and documents, absorbing every line. Then he closed it gently and looked up.

This was how Siddharth always worked. He never spoke more than necessary, never showed emotion. The man was more machine than human, precise and detached. But he always finished his job with quiet efficiency. Emotions didn't matter to him, results did. And he always delivered.

"I understand, sir," he said, his voice steady. "The objective is clear. I'll complete the mission."

There was no hesitation, no questions about risk or reward. For Siddharth, orders were not up for debate. Mishra glanced at him, the faintest trace of pride softening his features. Raghav, too, seemed satisfied.

Siddharth's fingers tightened around the file, but his curiosity finally slipped through his otherwise composed exterior. "Sir," he said quietly, looking between Raghav and Mishra, "who exactly is Ghost?"

Raghav exchanged a glance with Mishra, and the glance carried more meaning than words. Mishra leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "You've heard stories, haven't you? The kind that sound too good to be true."

Siddharth shook his head. "No, sir. Only the name." Ghost wasn't a new name to Siddharth but the stories were too ambiguous to be true. So, Siddharth had thought that it was just a rumour.

Raghav gave a faint, almost knowing smile. "That's because Ghost isn't a person you hear about. Ghost is the reason you never hear about certain things. The operations that never make it to paper. The missions that never fail." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "No one knows who he is, or even if it's just one person. But every time Ghost gets involved, the problem disappears... quietly. The only thing you'll find are bodies with Thrishul symbol burned on their foreheads."

Raghav leaned back, his eyes distant as if recalling something from long ago. "There was an operation about six years ago," he began slowly. "Our informants inside Kabul went dark overnight. We thought the entire network was compromised. Three officers were captured by a local cell, and before we could even plan an extraction, Ghost went in. Alone."

Mishra glanced at Raghav, his brows lifting slightly. "I remember that one," he said. "By the time our backup reached the site, every hostage was rescued. The entire cell was dead with a Thrishul symbol burned on their foreheads."

Raghav nodded. "That's Ghost. No witnesses. Just results. Even in R&AW, not many can claim to have seen what he's capable of."

Mishra chuckled under his breath. "Whoever he is, he's not just a man. He's a force to be reckoned with."

Raghav nodded. "He's not part of R&AW's official chain of command. He reports directly to people far above us. If he chose you, then you've caught the attention of someone most of us have never even met."

Siddharth absorbed their words silently. He had seen legends in uniform, but this was something else. A shadow among shadows.

Raghav's tone softened slightly, almost as if to break the gravity of the moment. "You'll meet him when he decides you're ready. No one meets Ghost by asking."

Siddharth gave a short nod, closing the file once more. "Understood, sir."

Outside, the hum of the printing press resumed. Machines clattered in the press above, printing books that no one would ever read. But in the basement below, R&AW was scripting a story that would never make the headlines. And at the heart of it stood the Falcon.

Eyes sharp. Wings folded. Waiting to strike.