Author's Note
Okay, so.... I really wanted to pour my heart into this chapter. I wanted to make sure you guys got to see not just the action but the slight shift in Mihika and Dhruv's dynamic.
Hope you enjoy!
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The glass partition of the restoration lab didn't just shatter. It exploded into a million lethal shards.
A deafening burst of automatic gunfire ripped through the silence of the gallery, spraying a hail of crystalline fragments across the polished marble floor. The hit squad wasn't clearing corners or asking questions. They were painting the room with bullets.
Before Mihika could even register the sound, Dhruv's hand clamped securely around her waist. With an explosive burst of power, he hauled her backward just as a line of bullets was flying through a path across the very pillar they were hiding behind earlier.
"Down!" Dhruv commanded, his usual playful tone replaced by a sharp militaristic snap.
He didn't wait for her to comply to the command. He pushed her flat against the floor, using his own broad-shouldered frame as a complete physical shield. The sharp scent and freshly pulverized plaster filled the air, suffocating and clinical.
"They have submachine guns!" Mihika gasped, her cheek pressed against the cold, gritty marble. Her academic, neatly ordered brain was violently misfiring. People don't fire automatic weapons in art galleries. This is not an action movie set.
"Yes and their aim is terrible" Dhruv replied smoothly, entirely unfazed by the mortality of the moment. He raised his suppressed pistol over the edge of a shattered display base, took a fraction of a second to sight and pulled the trigger twice.
Two dull metallic puffs came out through the roar of the rain pounding against the glass dome above.
A choked groan followed, punctuated by the heavy, ungraceful thud of a body crashing directly into a display of ancient pottery.
"That's one" Dhruv muttered, shifting his weight effortlessly. He glanced down at Mihika, his eyes raking over her wide, terrified brown eyes. "Are you alright, genius? Do you still have all your fingers?"
"I.... yes... But my loafers. I left my loafers in the lab!"
Dhruv let out a short, incredulous laugh, even as another burst of gunfire chipped the marble above his head, showering them in a thick layer of white dust. "Sweetheart if we survive the next three minutes, I will buy you an entire shop of Shoes. For now your bare feet are just going to have to make do."
"They're flat leather loafers. Not Shoes." she hissed. Her natural stubbornness kicking in despite the situation she is in.
"Not the time, Mihika!"
Dhruv shifted his position. His eyes scanning the gloom of the gallery. The museum was a sprawling labyrinth of interconnected halls and they were currently trapped in the most exposed section of the wing. He checked his ammunition that he has right now. Four rounds left in the mag, one spare tucked into his tactical waistband. It was a pathetic margin for error, but error was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"Listen to me" he said. His voice dropping to a low, intense rasp that cut through the noise of the storm. "When I say move, we run toward the West Wing archives. Don't look back, don't trip, and for the love of God, don't try to save any artifacts on the way out."
Mihika's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Why are they here Dhruv? This isn't just a robbery. You don't bring an automatic assault team to steal a terracotta bust."
Dhruv's jaw tightened. He wasn't going to tell her that the bust contained a micro-encryption key that could shift the power balance of three different intelligence agencies. "Let's just say my reputation precedes me and I've made some very aggressive friends over the years. They want what's in my pocket and they aren't interested in a polite negotiation."
"Your pocket?" she whispered, her eyes widening. "You have the artifact?"
"I secured it. Now, stop analyzing and start breathing. I need you to be focused."
He peeked over the display again. The remaining three mercenaries were advancing in a tactical formation, sweeping the room with tactical flashlights. The beams of white light danced across the priceless canvases and statuary, looking profane against the backdrop of centuries old art.
"They're closing the distance" Dhruv whispered. "On my count of three, we make for the heavy velvet curtains behind the main display. We'll use the shadows to escape toward the corridor."
"Dhruv, they have radios. They'll just flank us."
"That's exactly what I want them to think."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, metallic sphere - a flash bang prototype he'd been testing. It was compact, dangerous and perfectly suited for the task.
"What is that?" Mihika asked. Her voice trembling.
"A little something to even the odds. Cover your eyes and ears. Tight."
She obeyed, curling into a ball as Dhruv pulled the pin and tossed the device with a practiced flick of his wrist. It skittered across the floor, coming to a rest just a few feet from the lead mercenary.
FLASH.
The gallery was instantly swallowed by a blinding, artificial white light. Even with her eyes closed and her hands pressed firmly against her ears, the shockwave made the floor vibrate beneath her. A chorus of shouts and groans erupted from the men in the center of the hall, followed by the clatter of dropped weapons.
"Now!" Dhruv shouted.
He grabbed her hand, his grip unyielding and warm. Yanked her to her feet. The world was a blur of adrenaline and panic. Mihika barely felt the cold floor beneath her bare feet as they sprinted. The air in the gallery felt electrified, heavy with the metallic tang of the flash bang and the suffocating humidity of the storm.
They dove behind a series of heavy, floor-to-ceiling tapestries just as the mercenaries began firing blindly into the darkness. Bullets tore through the thick fabric, shredding centuries of threadwork into fine, floating dust.
"Keep going!" Dhruv urged, steering her through the maze of support pillars.
Mihika could hear the heavy thud of boots pursuing them now. The attackers were regaining their senses, and their anger was palpable. She stumbled over a fallen piece of frame, but Dhruv caught her before she could hit the ground, his arm locking firmly around her waist to pull her back into a run.
"You're doing great" he panted, his voice a steady anchor amidst the chaos. "Just keep your eyes on my back."
They reached the transition point between the main gallery and the long, shadowed corridor leading toward the auxiliary exit. As they rounded the corner Dhruv shoved her into a small narrow storage closet tucked behind a suit of medieval armor.
"Stay here" he ordered, his eyes burning with an intensity she'd never seen before. "I'm going to draw them toward the stairs. When you hear me clear the area take the service elevator and hit the basement level. There is an exit that leads directly into the drainage tunnel. Run straight until you see the light of the main road. Do not. I repeat. Do not stop for anyone."
"Dhruv, no!" Mihika grabbed his sleeve, her fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. "You're going to get yourself killed!"
He leaned in keeping his face inches from hers. The dim light of the corridor cast deep shadows across his sharp features, making him look less like the charming, enigmatic man she'd known for the last few months and more like the dangerous operative he kept hidden from the world.
"Mihika" he said, his voice softening just enough to make her heart stutter. "Look at me. I don't die. It's bad for my complexion."
He gave a quick wink to her and then he turned and sprinted toward the main staircase.
Mihika leaned against the cold wood of the closet door. Her breath hitching in her chest. She heard the thunderous pop-pop-pop of his pistol which was followed by the shouting of the men chasing him. She closed her eyes, praying to gods she hadn't spoken to in years and listened as the gunfire moved further and further away.
She took a shaky breath and stepped out of the closet. She didn't head for the elevator. She knew where the floor plan of the building went. The service elevator was a trap, an easy target for anyone who knew the layout. Instead, she turned toward the museum's administrative wing. If she could reach the rooftop access, she might have a chance.
She began to run. Her feet silent on the carpeted hallway. Her mind racing with a single desperate plan to go back and find him. The hallways seemed to stretch. The silence of the museum amplifying every sound. The distant thunder, the rain and her own frantic gasps. She navigated by memory. Her hands trailing along the wall until she reached the heavy oak door leading to the roof access stairs.
Locked.
She cursed under her breath and searched her memory for the location of the maintenance keycard. She remembered seeing it on the desk in the security office just yesterday. She turned back doubling her pace. She had to get to him. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. She wasn't just running for her life. She was running because the thought of running without Dhruv even though he is irritating, arrogant and dangerous was suddenly unacceptable. As she wanted to understand on what is going on and it seems like he is the only person with answers.
The security office was a scene of chaos. Papers were scattered like confetti across the floor. Mihika ignored the destruction. Her eyes scanning the desk. Beneath a discarded coffee cup lay the plastic badge. She took it up, her fingers trembling and rushed back toward the stairwell.
As she slid the card through the reader the red light blinked to green with a satisfying click. She threw her weight against the door pushing into the stairwell. The air here was cooler, damp with the smell of the storm. She was taking the stairs two at a time.
She froze in the midway. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the landing above her. It is not Dhruv. These were heavier, rhythmic and professional.
Duck. (her instinct said)
She flattened herself against the concrete wall clutching the stair railing. Two men appeared holding their flashlights.
"She's not in the basement" one whispered, his voice cold and clipped. "Check the roof. The boss wants her alive for the interrogation."
Mihika's blood turned to ice. They were hunting her. She looked up at the stairs, then back down. There was no way out except through them. She took a breath letting her academic mind usually so focused on the static history of the past shift into the dangerous reality of the present. She grabbed a heavy fire extinguisher from its wall mount.
As the men rounded the corner, she didn't wait for them to see her. She swung it heavy canister and it hit through the first man's helmet with a sickening clang, sending him backward into his partner. The second man shouted stumbling but Mihika was already past them vaulting over the railing and sprinting up the remaining flight toward the roof access.
Her lungs burned, a sharp searing pain in her chest but she didn't slow down. She burst through the door, the force of the monsoon wind hitting her.
She scanned the roof searching for a sign of him. Nothing but the rain and the howl of the wind.
"Dhruv!" she screamed her voice lost in the thunder.
"Mihika!"
The voice came from behind a massive ventilation unit. She spun around, her heart leaping. Dhruv was there, crouched behind the steel casing, his face bloodied, his tactical vest shredded. He was reloading his pistol, his movements precise and calm.
"I told you to go to the basement!" he barked, though there was a flicker of relief in his eyes that he couldn't quite mask.
"The basement is a trap!" she yelled, running toward him. "They know the floor plan!"
Dhruv looked at her and a strange grin tugged at his mouth. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
What was your favorite part of this chapter? Personally, I think Mihika correcting Dhruv about her loafers while they're under fire is my absolute peak moment. 🤌 Let me know your thoughts in the comments!
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