The warehouse groaned as fire spread through its rafters, flames licking up dry wood and metal sheets. Thick smoke rolled across the ceiling, making the air choke and burn.
Meera coughed, dragging an officer by the collar before realizing his eyes were glassy, lifeless. She let go, jaw tightening. Another soldier lost.
Raj crouched beside her, gun in hand, scanning the shadows with an unnerving calmness. His shirt was torn, a streak of soot across his face, yet he looked maddeningly composed.
"They'll torch the place," he said flatly, eyes on the flicker of fire consuming crates of confiscated weapons. "They're not here for evidence. Just me."
Meera shot him a glare, sweat stinging her eyes. "So you're admitting this is about you?"
His lips curled into a sharp smirk. "Everything is about me."
Before she could curse him, a grenade clattered across the floor. Her instincts screamed—she grabbed Raj by the arm, yanking him behind a heavy steel beam. The explosion ripped through the air, deafening, hurling splinters of wood and fire like shrapnel.
They landed tangled together, Raj's arm shielding her head as debris rained down. For one breathless second, she felt his chest against her back, steady and unyielding even as the building roared around them.
Meera shoved him off the moment the dust settled. "Don't touch me."
"Next time," Raj said smoothly, rising to his feet, "I'll let you explode."
Before she could fire back, more gunmen advanced through the fire, their rifles cutting arcs of gunfire. Sparks showered from ricochets.
Raj and Meera moved instinctively—back to back again. Her pistol barked, his knife flashed. A mercenary screamed as Raj drove the blade into his gut, twisting with brutal precision. Another fell with a bullet between the eyes courtesy of Meera.
But there were too many. They needed a way out.
"The loading dock!" Meera shouted, pointing through the haze. "If we cut through the storage corridor—"
Raj interrupted sharply. "Too obvious. They'll expect it. There's a service tunnel, left side, under the eastern crates. Hidden, unmarked."
Meera froze, glaring. "How the hell do you know that?"
His eyes glinted in the firelight. "Because I own this warehouse. Or at least, I used to."
Her blood ran cold. This entire raid—the warehouse, the contraband—it all connected back to him. "You bastard…"
"Save it for later. Unless you want to die proving your righteousness."
Before she could retort, another hail of bullets forced them down. Raj grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward the eastern crates.
She tried to resist. "I don't take orders from—"
"Then die here." His grip was iron, dragging her through the chaos.
They ducked behind toppled shelves, sprinting between bursts of gunfire. Smoke burned their lungs, and the roar of flames grew louder, swallowing the rafters.
Finally, Raj kicked aside a crate, revealing a hatch concealed beneath. He dropped to one knee, yanked it open with a grunt, revealing a dark tunnel sloping downward.
Meera hesitated. Her training told her never to step into an unknown path designed by the man she was supposed to bring down. But the flames behind her left no choice.
Raj slipped down first, landing with a soft thud. He looked up, eyes gleaming through the smoke. "Come, officer. Or stay. Either way, I'm leaving."
Grinding her teeth, Meera jumped down after him. The hatch slammed shut above, sealing them in darkness.
The tunnel was narrow, damp, lit only by faint emergency bulbs spaced far apart. Their footsteps echoed, and every drop of water sounded like a gunshot.
For the first time since the raid, there was silence. Just the two of them, breaths heavy, nerves raw.
Meera finally broke it, voice sharp. "You knew they'd come tonight, didn't you? That's why you sat there so calmly in chains."
Raj didn't deny it. His tone was cool, almost amused. "I didn't know when. But I knew someone would come. Power always attracts predators. The question is—who fed them my location?"
She clenched her fists. "Someone inside the Bureau."
"Or your family," Raj countered smoothly. "Politics is a dirtier game than business, Meera. Maybe you're just another pawn in their hands."
Her jaw tightened. "Don't drag my family into this."
Raj stopped walking, turning to face her in the dim glow. His eyes were sharp, predatory, but his voice dropped to a whisper that cut deeper than a shout.
"You still don't get it, do you? Tonight wasn't about me. It was about us. Whoever orchestrated this wants you gone as much as me."
The words hung in the stale air, heavy and dangerous.
Meera's throat went dry. She hated that he might be right. She hated more that, for a split second, the thought of being paired with Raj Rathore in anyone's plan made her pulse race.
She looked away, quickening her pace. "Keep walking, Rathore. Before I change my mind and shoot you myself."
Raj's low chuckle echoed off the tunnel walls. "I'd like to see you try."
And in that suffocating silence, the tension between them thickened—hatred and attraction, suspicion and reluctant need, all twisted together in the shadows of a burning empire.