Mumbai…
Outside Rajput family mansion…
The hour was just past four in the morning. Cold mist filled the air and peaceful soothing wind flowing slowly.
Atop the towering steel frame of the mobile tower overlooking the Rajput Family Estate, a slender figure in black lay sprawled on an iron bar, her body blending seamlessly into the shadows.
Agent Butterfly lowered her binoculars with a faint sigh, the chill of the early dawn clinging to her skin.
For hours, she had observed Vikram Das, who remained engrossed in reading an ancient manual without pause, without sleep.
She had tried countless times to focus the lenses on the manual, desperate to glean even a single word.
But the script was strange — flowing with a mystic calligraphy she could neither read nor understand.
Her fingers tightened around the binoculars as a wave of frustration washed over her.
