The hunt for Vikram Rathod was intense.
Malhotra Corp had set up checkpoints at every major intersection in South Mumbai. They were scanning for the specific Prana signature of the Rathod bloodline.
From the shadows of a water tank, Vikram watched an enforcer patrol lead a group of young boys out of a tenement building. One of the boys was Sameer, Rohan's friend.
"Let them go!" Sameer yelled, struggling against the enforcer's grip.
The enforcer raised his rifle, the blue energy crackling at the barrel.
Vikram clenched his fists, his Prana rising, but Rohan held him back. "No, Vikram. Look."
Behind the patrol, two Chaya-Dutas stood in the alley. They didn't have rifles; their arms were wrapped in shifting, smoky shadows. They were waiting for Vikram to show himself.
"It's a trap," Rohan whispered. "They're using the kids as bait."
Vikram forced himself to breathe, slowing his heart rate to hide his electrical signature. The temperature around them remained stable, preventing the Chaya-Dutas from detecting the thermal drop.
With a heavy heart, Vikram watched as the soldiers threw the boys into the back of an armored truck and drove away.
"We'll get them back," Vikram vowed, his voice a low growl. "I promise."