Chapter 11: The Last Breath
The world didn't pause.
It never did. Not for the dead. Not for the lost. And certainly not for the ones who'd helped bury the secrets.
Ira stood in the hospital's atrium, watching the morning sun seep through the high glass windows. The bustling staff, the low hum of monitors, the endless shuffle of patients—it was all too ordinary, too... normal. As if nothing had changed.
As if her whole world hadn't just been torn apart.
Rajat Menon had disappeared. No one knew where he had gone after the alert from the server room triggered the lockdown. His office was empty. His lab was abandoned. His name erased from every hospital directory. The police had come, but they were already too late.
His protocols had been too clever. The black market deals, the legal loopholes, the clandestine funds—all hidden in plain sight.
And Aanya... where was she? Where had they moved her? The journal had told Ira everything she needed to know, but it had only led her to more questions.
She needed more time. More answers.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Ira was jolted from her thoughts. Ishita stepped out, her expression unreadable, and walked toward her.
"We did it," Ishita said softly. "The data's out. Media's already got their hands on it. The boards are filing their inquiries. It's over."
But Ira didn't feel the rush of relief she'd expected.
"Is it?" she asked. "You really think it's over?"
Ishita blinked. "What else do we need?"
Ira's eyes narrowed. "We need to stop the ones who helped him."
Ishita sighed. "You think Menon did this all on his own?"
"Who else?"
Ishita didn't answer. Instead, she handed Ira an envelope.
"Didn't think you'd want to hear this from a stranger."
Ira opened it, scanning the contents.
A transfer form. Official. Signed.
Aanya's signature.
"Where did you get this?" Ira whispered.
"It was filed in the hospital's system under the alias 'ZK7.' We thought it was one of Menon's smokescreens."
Ira's hands shook as she read the last line.
Transfer Approved – Medical Facility, Geneva, Switzerland.
"Switzerland?" Ira repeated. "She's still alive."
"She has to be," Ishita confirmed. "Otherwise, this would be useless. We have a location."
Ira's mind was a blur of thoughts. Her heart pounded, but this wasn't joy. It was something darker. More urgent.
"They didn't just move her, Ishita," Ira said, eyes wide. "They programmed her. Rewired her. They didn't just want her dead. They wanted her... silent."
The realization hit like a slap. They weren't just hiding Aanya. They were erasing her—turning her into something they could control. A weapon.
The last link to the Protocol.
"Where's the transfer happening?" Ira asked, her voice cold.
"The paperwork's clear," Ishita said. "It's scheduled for tonight. She's supposed to be 'relocated' by midnight."
Ira took a deep breath. "Then we don't have much time."
The helicopter was waiting on the hospital's rooftop, its blades cutting through the thin morning air. The wind bit at their faces as they strapped in, the familiar whir of the rotor blades deafening.
But Ira was focused on the quiet voice in her ear, the voice of the one person who had been by her side when everything else seemed lost.
"You know we're not walking out of this unscathed, right?" Ishita asked, her voice cutting through the comms.
"I know," Ira said. "But we have no choice."
Aanya was still alive.
And this time, she was going to find her.
They landed in Geneva as dusk began to fall. The city, nestled against the calm waters of the lake, seemed almost too peaceful—too perfect.
But Ira's mind was miles ahead. The facility where they'd hidden Aanya was somewhere in this city. Somewhere under layers of bureaucracy and power. Somewhere she couldn't reach until she'd torn it all down.
A hospital official met them at the helipad. A tall, pale man with an air of careful detachment.
"Dr. Mehta, Dr. Chauhan," he said in a thick accent. "We've been expecting you. I must warn you, the facility is on high alert."
Ira didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Where is she?"
He didn't flinch. "I'll show you."
They followed him through the sterile hallways of the high-security facility. White walls. Closed doors. The sound of distant alarms.
He stopped at the end of a narrow hallway and unlocked a door.
Inside, Aanya lay in a hospital bed, hooked up to a series of machines. She was pale, thin, but still breathing.
Her eyes fluttered open when she heard them enter.
"Aanya," Ira breathed, stepping closer. "I'm here."
Aanya's lips parted, but her words were a whisper.
"Don't trust them..."
Before Ira could respond, the alarms blared.
Red lights. A mechanical voice.
"Security breach detected. Containment procedures activated."
The doors slammed shut behind them.
Aanya's eyes widened in panic.
"Ira..." she gasped. "It's... too late."
The sound of boots marching in sync. Men in black suits appeared at the doorway, guns raised.
Ira moved in front of Aanya, her heart pounding.
"You can't take her again," Ira said, her voice steady. "She's coming back with us."
But the men didn't answer. Instead, one of them stepped forward, a familiar face emerging from the shadows.
Rajat Menon.
And this time, his smile was a death sentence.