"Of course I found it. It is such a terrible forgery. The density metrics are completely off the charts" Mihika said, taking pride in her work even while facing down a professional criminal. "Anyways. Who sent you? Was it Mehra?"
Before the thief could answer a sudden metallic thud echoed from the fire exit at the back of the gallery. It wasn't the sound of a stealthy intruder. It was the heavy, unmistakable sound of a combat boot violently kicking open a reinforced steel door.
The thief instantly pivoted toward the sound, his entire posture shifting from casual flirtation to lethal readiness in a fraction of a millisecond. He reached into his tailored jacket, his hand closing around the grip of a sleek suppressed firearm.
"Did you bring friends with you?" Mihika whispered, her heart dropping directly into her stomach as the sound of multiple heavy footsteps entered the building.
"Those aren't my friends," the thief muttered, his eyes scanning the darkness with absolute precision. "My friends have much better taste in footwear. Those are Singhania's cleaners."
"Singhania? You mean the Minister of....."
"Shh!"
In one swift blinding motion the thief closed the distance between them. Before Mihika could even swing her brass diya, his hand wrapped around her wrist with the force of a steel, completely neutralizing her weapon without causing a bruise. His other hand came up gently but firmly cupping her mouth.
He pulled her back into the deep shadow of a massive marble pillar. His chest pressing tightly against her back. He smelled faintly of rain, expensive cedarwood and a trace of tobacco.
"If you scream, we both will die" he whispered directly into her ear, his warm breath sending an involuntary, electric shiver running down her spine. "They aren't here to steal the idol Mihika. They are here to erase the fact that anyone ever looked inside it."
Through the gaps in the sandstone screen Mihika saw three men enter the main exhibition hall. They wore tactical vests, full-face balaclavas and carried compact submachine guns. These weren't art thieves. They were a professional hit squad.
One of the men gestured toward the open restoration lab door. "Check every corner of the lab" he ordered in a harsh, clipped Hindi accent that cut through the roar of the storm. "The girl's car is still outside. She is here. Find her, kill her and burn the room to the ground."
Mihika's breath hitched violently against the thief's palm. Her mind went completely blank. They were going to kill her. Over a piece of ancient gold and a piece of plastic. Why? She wasn't sure.
The thief leaned down, his lips almost brushing her earlobe. "I'm going to let go of your mouth now" he murmured, his tone eerily calm, as if they were discussing the weather over coffee. "When I do, you are going to drop that very heavy lamp and you are going to follow me. Do you understand?"
Mihika nodded frantically against his hand.
He slowly withdrew his palm. Mihika let the brass diya slip from her fingers, catching it with her left hand before it could hit the floor and make a sound, setting it down silently on the marble base of the pillar.
The thief looked down at her action, with a hint of genuine admiration flashing in his dark eyes. "Smart girl" he whispered.
With his left hand securely gripping her wrist, he pulled down his tactical mask revealing a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, a slight shadow of stubble and a dangerously handsome crooked smirk.
"I'm Dhruv, by the way" he whispered, winking at her in the dark as he raised his firearm. "Welcome to the underworld, sweetheart. Try to keep up."
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Quick Question:
Mihika just realized she's in serious trouble. Who do you think she should trust right now?
Her own instincts (Run and don't look back!)
The mysterious stranger (Dhruv - he’s clearly the only one who can help)
The authorities (She needs to call for backup, no matter the risk)
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