The city smelled like diesel, sweat, and a bit of fear—the usual perfume of this part of town.
Kavir walked beside Ratan, both dressed as they always were: one in a faded hoodie with wild, curtain-like hair obscuring half his face, the other in formal wear that seemed allergic to ironing. They weren't in a rush, but their eyes were alert. They were heading to a school—not for admissions, but for answers.
Ten more had gone missing.
This time, they were all students.
When they reached the school gates, they didn't enter immediately. Instead, they stopped at the tea stall across the road, its benches lined with gossiping parents and bored security guards.
The stall owner spotted them and immediately lit up like a man meeting his least favorite regular.
"Oi! You're that weird-looking guy!" he called out, pointing a spoon in Kavir's direction. "The one who hides his face with that overgrown broom on his head!"
Kavir's jaw twitched. His deadpan stare locked on the vendor, ready to fire a verbal bullet.
But before he could speak, Ratan calmly intervened.
"Two cups of tea, please," he said with a diplomatic smile.
The vendor muttered and turned away to make the tea. Kavir kept staring. "Next time," he mumbled.
Ratan sipped his tea and nodded toward the school gates. "Isn't it strange? All ten missing kids from this one place?"
"Statistically improbable," Kavir replied. "Unless the school's curriculum includes an elective in vanishing."
A bell rang. The gates creaked open.
Students flooded out in waves—laughing, running, dragging bags bigger than their futures. For a moment, it looked normal. Then the police jeep rolled up like a punchline no one asked for.
From the back seat emerged Anika.
Her eyes locked on Kavir and Ratan like lasers on cockroaches.
She walked straight up to them, boots clicking sharply on the pavement.
"Why is it," she asked, arms crossed, "that you two are always hovering around my crime scenes?"
Kavir met her gaze with a bored expression. "Miss Officer," he said calmly, "we're here for a completely different reason. Even if you hadn't poked the sleeping lion, we'd still be here."
She froze.
That slight twitch in her eye?
Yes, that hit a nerve.
Without a word, Anika turned and got back into her jeep. It drove off as if the tires shared her anger.
Ratan glanced sideways. "You enjoyed that."
Kavir shrugged. "Not entirely false, though. We are here to find a good new workspace."
They both leaned back, pretending to sip their now lukewarm tea as they scanned the school. Their true mission had little to do with the victims—at least directly.
"Best way to find a place with blind spots?" Kavir said.
"Teenage boys," Ratan finished.
"Exactly. Their brains don't function in classrooms, but they can calculate camera blind spots better than NASA engineers."
They continued their reconnaissance—mentally mapping entrances, exits, fence heights, CCTV placements—until a hand patted Kavir's shoulder.
He turned.
Chhavi.
Hair in a braid, sleeves rolled up, her school ID hanging like a warning.
"What are you two doing here?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes.
"We're tourists," Kavir replied instantly. "Your school's quite the destination these days. Might get its own Wikipedia page soon."
Chhavi frowned. "Seriously."
Kavir tilted his head. "Why isn't your school shut down? Guidelines were clear."
Chhavi sighed. "Our principal's insane. He didn't shut anything. Said, 'If a kid's gonna vanish, let him vanish after attending class.' But the police came today, fined the school, and now we're closed from tomorrow."
"Convenient," Ratan murmured.
Kavir's tone shifted. "The missing students—what were they like?"
Chhavi shrugged. "Nothing special. Weak in sports. Weak in studies. Honestly, no one really noticed when they were gone."
Ratan glanced up. "Anyone in school known for bullying? Fights? Anything outside the usual?"
She shook her head. "None that I know."
They looked at the road and spotted a taxi. Ratan stepped forward. "Want us to drop you home?"
Chhavi stepped back. "No thanks. I only came out because I saw you two. My dad told me to wait inside the school until he comes."
Ratan nodded. "Smart man."
As they turned to leave, Kavir tilted his head toward two very conspicuous men standing half-hidden behind a utility pole.
He raised his voice just slightly. "You two. If you came here in a car, kindly drop us off."
The men twitched. One looked ready to bolt. But then—resignation set in. They were detectives, not runners.
Ten minutes later, the same men dropped them off in front of Ratan's building.
The rest of the day passed without drama. Kavir sprawled across the sofa again. Ratan filed away some receipts. The home-theater remained off for once.
Nightfall.
The city wasn't sleeping—it was hiding.
They stepped outside, wearing neutral clothes and neutral expressions.
As they crossed a side road near the school, Kavir noticed a familiar car parked under a flickering streetlight.
Inside, two familiar faces.
The undercover detectives.
Sleeping.
Ratan pulled out a sticky note from his pocket, scribbled something, and stuck it gently on their windshield.
It read: "Do your work properly."
They continued walking.
The city was crawling with khaki.
Every few meters, a cop patrolled with torchlight and suspicion. One officer even barked at them, "This isn't the time for late-night lovers' walks. Go home!"
Ratan smiled. "We're just night owls."
Kavir muttered, "More like vultures."
They eventually found themselves in front of a glowing sign: "Open 24/7."
A small restaurant with dim lights and greasy booths.
They stepped in.
And there she was.
Anika.
Sitting in a corner booth, out of uniform but radiating tension. Her hair was tied loosely, jacket tossed aside, sleeves rolled up. A half-eaten thali sat in front of her.
Her eyes narrowed when she saw them.
"If you're here," she said, "and I haven't received any panic calls from those two idiots outside the school, then I assume they're enjoying their nap?"
She stabbed a roti like it owed her money.
Kavir sat across from her and smiled. "Okay, Miss Officer. Let's talk business."
She leaned forward.
"First things first," she said. "We're creating blind spots across the city. Tomorrow, I need a list of every major one we've missed. You're better at spotting these things than half my department."
"And in return?" Kavir asked.
"You'll get access to all the case data. Every detail. Every file. You work with me now."
Kavir considered this.
Ratan gave a subtle nod.
"Deal," Kavir said, extending a hand.
She shook it.
The waiter arrived.
"Three plates," she ordered without asking.
Kavir didn't complain.
It wasn't about food.
It was war planning.
And everyone knew—wars are best planned over dinner.