The cold hit me before I even stepped off the plane. Not city-cold—I knew that. This was sharper. Calculating. It didn't just freeze fingers; it clawed into your lungs, your thoughts, your memory. I hugged my coat tighter and thought, Welcome back to hell, Amish.
No time for goodbyes. No time to blink. Orders had arrived unannounced: infiltrate a sensitive defence unit, identify a traitor, report silently. Phones off. Signals off. Any trace of me gone before it began.
The file—half a sheet, barely legible—didn't even carry names. Just fragments: codes, patterns, whispers intercepted by intel. Enough for me. Always enough.
I've never been just a CBI Inspector. I watch. I wait. I dissect every twitch, every hesitation. And now, without Vinnie, the silence screamed.
The camp was a frozen painting. Soldiers moved like clockwork, loyal and trained, unaware of the storm inside them. Three of them. I didn't know their names yet—but I knew. My instincts never fail.
Hours passed. Lunch lines. Bootlaces. Salutes. Flickers of hesitation, microexpressions, the way eyes darted for no reason—I catalogued it all. Lie or truth? I wanted both.
Nights were worse. Vinnie's absence weighed heavier than the snow. I imagined her at the Delhi desk, stubborn as ever, pretending she didn't miss me. Her smile haunted me—how she adjusted my collar after interrogations, how she made the world quiet for a moment. I scribbled letters I'd never send, pen tracing words that would vanish into my coat pocket.
On the sixth day, I caught it. A flicker too small for anyone else:
One soldier didn't flinch at his superior's shout. Another clenched his jaw at "border." The third… didn't blink. Not once.
I smiled coldly. Jackpot.
I didn't wait. Quick scans of boots, coats, trash. Hidden among duffels: burnt radio chips, foreign rations, weapons too clean for this war-scarred zone. Evidence spoke louder than words.
Command cabin. Photos in hand. "These men are compromised," I said. My voice cut the room, sharp as steel.
The general hesitated. Records spotless. Men flawless. I slammed the thermal scans and intercepted messages onto the table. His nod came two seconds too late. Within hours, three suspects fled—but I already had trackers hidden.
Base camp, thirteen miles out. Forgotten cavern, frozen white. Snow bike. Handgun. Adrenaline. Fury.
The terrain was a nightmare. Visibility near zero. Wind screamed like lost souls. But I moved like shadow—supplies gone, traps laid, bullets finding knees, chests, hiding behind wreckage. One noticed me. Firefight broke. Pain lanced through shoulder, then thigh, but I didn't stop. Three down, one captured, fifth vanished into the snow.
I collapsed, bleeding, teeth clenched. My last thought—Vinnie. Come back in one piece, I imagined her saying. I will.
Back in Delhi, I knew she was waiting. Her hands trembled as she crossed off another day. My sweatshirt on her shoulders. Eyes searching faces, reports, files—tracing me in absentia. Silent. Patient. Faithful.
I woke in a military hospital. Wounds stitched. Spirit restless. I didn't ask for painkillers. I asked for a phone. "Just one call," I said. "My wife's waiting."
And then I saw it—a shadow flickering beyond the frosted windowpane. Not snow. Not a branch. Something—or someone—watching. I tensed. My gut screamed the same words I'd heard in the mountains before every fight: This isn't over.
I didn't know yet who it was. But I knew one thing: my next move could change everything.