CHAPTER 27: "THE CONFRONTATION"

  Singh moved fast. Within forty-eight hours, they had Rohit Verma under surveillance. They tracked his movements, checked his phone records, searched his rented room in Shahdara. They found nothing incriminating. No weapons. No bloodstained clothes. No evidence.

  "Either he's very careful, or he's not our guy," Singh said over the phone.

  "I saw the look in his eyes," Vikram insisted. "He wanted me to teach him. To mentor him."

  "Wanting isn't doing. We need proof."

  Vikram made a decision that went against every instinct for self-preservation. "Let me talk to him again. Wear a wire. See if I can get him to confess."

  "That's dangerous. If he is the killer, he's already proven he can kill multiple times without getting caught."

  "I'm not afraid of him. I'm afraid of what he's going to become." Singh was silent for a moment. "You see yourself in him."

  "Yes. And I want to stop him before he crosses the line I couldn't uncross."

  Three days later, Vikram contacted Rohit through the community center's WhatsApp group. He invited him for chai at a roadside stall near Yamuna Sports Complex. Public. Safe. Recorded.

  Rohit showed up twenty minutes late, eyes darting around nervously. He sat across from Vikram, ordered tea, said nothing.

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  "I've been thinking about what you said," Vikram began. "About

  wanting justice."

  Rohit looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "You'll help me?"

  "I want to help you. But first, I need to know—have you already started?"

  "Started what?"

  "The Echo Killer. The four bodies. Was that you?"

  Rohit's face went blank. For a long moment, he just stared at Vikram. Then, slowly, he smiled. It was a cold, empty smile.

  "You know, I thought you'd be proud."

  Vikram's blood ran cold. "Proud? Rohit, you've killed four people."

  "I studied your methods. I read every news article, every court document. You were precise. Efficient. You targeted the guilty. So did I."

  "I wasn't a hero. I was desperate."

  "You were a hero," Rohit said, his voice rising. "You stood up when no one else would. You showed that ordinary people can fight back. That's why I did it. For my father. For justice."

  "This isn't justice! It's murder!"

  "So was what you did. But you got parole. You got mercy. They called you a victim. Why is it different for me?"

  Vikram leaned forward, his voice urgent. "Because I had no choice. They were at my door, threatening my family. You have choices. You can walk away."

  "Walk away?" Rohit's laugh was bitter. "To what? A life where I know my father's killers are out there, unpunished? You of all people should understand."

  "I understand," Vikram said quietly. "That's why I know you need to

  stop. Before you destroy yourself."

  Rohit stood up abruptly. "I'm not going to stop. There are twelve names on my list. I've only crossed off four. Toofan is at the top. When I'm done, the Khanna legacy dies completely."

  "Rohit, listen to me—"

  "No. You listen. You inspired me. You showed me the path. Now I'm walking it. With or without your blessing."

  He turned and walked away, disappearing into the evening crowd.

  Vikram sat frozen, his tea cold in his hands. Singh's voice crackled in his earpiece. "Did you get that?"

  "Every word," Singh said. "We'll pick him up tonight."

  But when the police raided Rohit's apartment at midnight, it was empty. Cleaned out. No trace of him.

  Rohit Verma had vanished.

  And somewhere in Delhi, a killer inspired by Vikram's story was hunting.