The victory was short-lived.
By morning, the city was in chaos. The power outages had hit the financial districts, and Malhotra's corporate shares were tumbling. But Devendra Malhotra's response was brutal.
Vikram lay on the floor of their new safehouse—a small, hidden room behind a temple in Lalbaug. His body was covered in burns from the electrical feedback, and Rhea was applying medicinal paste to his chest.
Rahul burst through the door, his face pale, his breath shallow.
"They... they got him," Rahul gasped, leaning against the doorframe.
Rohan sat up, his bandaged leg shaking. "Who? Who did they get?"
"Appa," Rahul said, looking at the floor. "Malhotra's enforcers raided the hospital transport where he was being held. They didn't take him to a cell. They've brought him to the Gateway plaza. They've set up a public platform."
Rohan stood up, ignoring the pain in his leg. "We have to go. Now."
"It's a trap, Rohan," Vikram said, his voice hoarse as he tried to stand. "Devendra knows the grid is down. He's trying to draw us out."
"I don't care!" Rohan shouted, tears streaming down his face. "He's my father! I'm not letting them kill him!"
Vikram grabbed Rohan's arm. "We go together. But we go with a plan."