CHAPTER 33: "EXILE"

  Dehradun was a world away from Delhi. The air was cleaner, the pace slower. Priya's cousin's house was in a quiet neighborhood near the forest, surrounded by pine trees and relative peace.

  For the first week, they stayed indoors. Vikram walked the perimeter obsessively, checking locks, watching the street. Aanya worked remotely, coordinating with her clinic via video calls. Priya tried to maintain normalcy—cooking, reading, pretending this was a vacation.

  But they all knew the truth. This was exile.

  Singh kept them updated. The two men from the motorcycle were identified but not apprehended. They were foot soldiers for a mid-level operator named Shekhar "Slim" Rana, who ran protection rackets in East Delhi. Slim had connections to the old Khanna network.

  "We're building a case," Singh told Vikram over the phone. "But it takes time. Witnesses are scared. Evidence is thin."

  "How long do we have to hide?"

  "Until we can guarantee your safety. Or until they lose interest."

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "They won't lose interest. Arjun's book is still selling. Every interview he does, every news segment, it reminds them."

  "Then maybe it's time to go completely off the grid. New identities.

  Witness protection program."

  Vikram ended the call. He looked at Aanya, who was on her laptop, arguing with a colleague about a case. He looked at Priya, who was tending to the small garden, finding solace in ordinary tasks.

  They had already sacrificed so much. How much more could he ask them to give up?

  That evening, Vikram went for a walk on the forest trail behind the

  house. The mountains loomed in the distance, ancient and indifferent. He felt small. Powerless.

  He found a quiet spot overlooking the valley and sat on a boulder.

  His phone buzzed. A message from Arjun:

  I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should have been more careful with the names, the details. I put you in danger.

  Vikram stared at the message for a long time. Then he replied:

  You told the truth. That's never wrong. We'll survive this. We always do.

  But as he sat there, watching the sun set over the mountains, he wondered if that was true. How many times could one family survive before survival stopped being enough?

  A rustling sound behind him. Vikram tensed, turning. It was Aanya. She sat beside him on the boulder. "Beautiful view," she said.

  "Yes."

  They sat in silence for a while. Then Aanya spoke. "I don't blame you, Papa. For any of this."

  "You should. None of this would have happened if I'd—"

  "If you'd what? Let them kill us? You did what you had to do. And now we're doing what we have to do. We're surviving. Together."

  "I wanted better for you than this."

  "I know. But Papa, I'm okay. Scared, yes. But okay. And I'm still proud of what I'm doing. Helping people. Fighting for justice. I learned that from you."

  Vikram's throat tightened. "You learned to be better than me."

  "No. I learned to be like you. Stubborn. Protective. Willing to fight for what matters."

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. They watched the sun disappear behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.

  For that moment, at least, they had peace.