The policeman smiled.
It was the kind of smile meant to reassure people.
It did the opposite.
“Hands where I can see them,” he said.
Vihaan stepped in front of Zoya.
“You’re not police.”
The man’s smile widened.
“And you’re not a good liar.”
Naina raised her gun.
The policeman did not flinch. He simply lifted his own weapon and pointed it at the space between Vihaan and Zoya.
“I wouldn’t,” he said.
Rain drummed against the station roof. Somewhere beyond the platform, a train announced a delay in a flat, mechanical voice.
Zoya’s heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The policeman’s eyes moved to her.
“Someone who has been waiting a very long time to meet you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”
He gestured toward the exit with his gun.
“Walk.”
Naina’s finger tightened on the trigger.
“Try something,” she said, “and I’ll shoot.”
The policeman looked almost bored.
“You could. But then Kabir’s men would be here in less than a minute, and all four of you would be dead before the sound faded.”
Zoya looked at Naina.
Naina’s jaw tightened, but she lowered the gun slightly.
Not completely.
“We’re going,” the policeman said. “Quietly.”
Vihaan’s hand found Zoya’s wrist.
Not gripping.
Just there.
A silent question.
Do you trust me?
Zoya did not know.
But she nodded anyway.
They walked.
The policeman stayed two steps behind them, close enough that Zoya could hear his breath. Outside the station, rain hit her face like needles. A white police van waited near the entrance, its blue light spinning silently.
No siren.
No driver visible.
The back doors were already open.
Zoya stopped.
“I’m not getting in.”
“You are.”
“Then shoot me here,” she said, though her voice shook. “Because I’m not getting into that van.”
The policeman studied her.
Then, unexpectedly, he lowered his weapon.
“Good,” he said.
Zoya blinked. “What?”
“You’re thinking.”
He stepped closer, stopping just outside arm’s reach.
“Kabir wants you afraid,” he said. “Afraid people run. Afraid people get into cars. Afraid people obey.”
Zoya’s throat tightened.
“Then what do you want?”
“The same thing your mother wanted.”
“And what was that?”
The policeman’s expression changed.
For a moment, the confidence slipped.
“She wanted you to live.”
Before Zoya could respond, headlights swept across the station entrance.
A black car turned into the road.
Then another.
Vihaan swore under his breath.
“Kabir’s men.”
The policeman’s calm vanished.
“Get in,” he said. “Now.”
Naina was already moving.
She grabbed Zoya’s arm and pulled her toward the van.
Vihaan followed.
The policeman climbed in last and shut the doors.
Darkness swallowed them.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then the van lurched forward.
Zoya pressed herself against the metal wall, the grey bag clutched to her chest. Vihaan sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. Naina sat across from them, gun resting on her knee.
The policeman sat near the doors, watching them all.
“Where are you taking us?” Zoya asked.
“Somewhere safe.”
“That’s what Vihaan said.”
“And he was right.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It shouldn’t.”
Zoya stared at him.
“Who are you?”
The policeman reached into his uniform and pulled out a badge.
He tossed it onto the floor between them.
Vihaan picked it up.
His face changed.
“This isn’t a police badge.”
“No.”
“It’s a private security ID.”
“Also no.”
Zoya leaned closer.
The badge had no name.
Only a symbol: a black circle with a white line cutting through it.
And beneath it, a number.
07.
Zoya’s breath caught.
She had seen that symbol before.
Not recently.
Years ago.
In a dream she had always assumed was a nightmare.
A white room. A hospital bed. A woman in a mask leaning over her.
And on the wall, a black circle with a white line through it.
“What is this?” she whispered.
The policeman looked at her carefully.
“You remember it.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Zoya’s hands began to shake.
“What is 07?”
The policeman leaned back against the van wall.
“It’s not a what,” he said. “It’s a who.”
The van turned sharply.
Zoya grabbed the metal rail as the vehicle tilted.
Outside, rain streaked past the tiny reinforced window.
Naina’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re from the Circle,” she said.
The policeman did not deny it.
Vihaan looked between them. “What Circle?”
“The people Kabir works with,” Naina said. “The people who use his businesses to move girls, money, and evidence.”
“They’re not his partners,” the policeman said quietly. “They’re his creditors.”
Zoya frowned.
“Creditors?”
“Kabir borrowed more than money,” the policeman said. “He borrowed protection. Influence. Silence. And now he cannot pay it back.”
Vihaan’s face tightened.
“So they want Zoya because she’s evidence.”
“They want Zoya because she is the only living person who can identify the people behind the Circle.”
The van went quiet.
Zoya looked down at the badge on the floor.
07.
“Then why did you help us?” she asked.
The policeman was silent.
“Answer me.”
“Because I was 07 once.”
Naina’s head lifted.
“What does that mean?”
The policeman’s eyes stayed on Zoya.
“It means the Circle does not only take girls,” he said. “Sometimes it makes them.”
Zoya felt cold spread through her chest.
“Makes them into what?”
“Witnesses,” he said. “Servants. Messengers. Weapons.”
The van hit a pothole.
Zoya’s bag slipped from her lap.
Vihaan caught it before it hit the floor.
Inside, the old mobile phone lit up.
Another message.
Zoya stared at the screen.
You are not safe with him.
The policeman saw it.
His expression hardened.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Zoya,” Vihaan said carefully.
“He’s been texting me,” she said. “Kabir has been texting me.”
“No,” the policeman said. “Kabir has not.”
Zoya looked at him.
“Then who?”
The policeman’s jaw tightened.
“The Circle.”
Naina’s gun rose again.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“You suspected and you still brought us into his van?” Naina snapped.
“I brought you into the only vehicle Kabir’s men would not stop.”
The van slowed.
Zoya looked out the tiny window.
They were no longer in the city.
The road had narrowed. Trees pressed close on both sides, their branches scraping against the van like fingers.
Ahead, beyond the rain, stood a large iron gate.
Beyond it, a white building rose out of the darkness.
Zoya’s stomach dropped.
She knew that building.
Not from photographs.
Not from stories.
From the memory she had spent her life trying to forget.
A white room.
A hospital bed.
A woman in a mask.
The black circle on the wall.
“This is where I was,” she whispered.
Vihaan turned to her. “What?”
Zoya could not look away from the building.
“When I was a child,” she said. “After the fire. I was here.”
Naina’s face went pale.
“No.”
“Yes.” Zoya’s voice shook. “I remember the smell. The lights. The circle.”
The policeman opened the van doors.
Rain rushed in.
“Then you remember more than we thought,” he said.
Zoya turned to him.
“What did they do to me?”
The policeman did not answer.
Instead, he stepped out into the rain and held the door open.
“Come inside,” he said. “And don’t speak to anyone.”
Zoya did not move.
“Why?”
The policeman’s eyes flickered toward the white building.
“Because the people inside think you died twenty years ago.”
Zoya’s skin prickled.
“They think I’m dead?”
“They think the girl known as Subject 07 died during treatment.”
Zoya’s mouth went dry.
“Subject 07?”
The policeman looked at her.
“Yes.”
“That’s me?”
He hesitated.
And that hesitation told her more than any answer could.
“No,” he said finally.
Zoya felt the world tilt.
“Then who is Subject 07?”
The policeman looked past her, toward the white building.
“The girl who was in the car with Naina,” he said. “The girl Kabir believed died in the fire.”
Zoya’s breath caught.
“But you said—”
“I said the Circle thinks Subject 07 died.” His voice lowered. “They were wrong.”
Naina stepped forward.
“Then who is she?”
The policeman looked at Zoya.
And this time, when he spoke, his voice was almost gentle.
“She is the reason Meher spent her life running.”
Zoya’s chest tightened.
“What does that mean?”
The policeman reached into his uniform again.
This time, he pulled out a folded photograph.
He held it out.
Zoya took it with shaking hands.
It was old.
Damaged by water.
But she could still see two little girls standing in front of a white wall.
They looked almost identical.
Same dark eyes.
Same small frown.
Same birthmark beneath the left ear.
Zoya touched her own ear.
The birthmark was still there.
“Who are they?” she whispered.
The policeman’s voice was quiet.
“The girl on the left is you.”
Zoya stared at the photograph.
“Then who is the girl on the right?”
The policeman looked at the building.
“That,” he said, “is Subject 07.”
Zoya’s heart stopped.
“And she is still alive.”
The rain suddenly seemed distant.
The white building loomed ahead.
And somewhere inside it, behind locked doors and years of buried secrets, the girl with Zoya’s face was waiting.
Vihaan stepped closer to Zoya.
“Zoya,” he said carefully, “there’s something else.”
She looked at him.
His face was pale.
“What?”
Vihaan looked at the photograph in her hand.
Then at her.
“The girl in that picture,” he said, “is not your twin.”
Zoya’s stomach dropped.
“Then who is she?”
Vihaan’s voice was barely above the rain.
“She’s the reason Kabir never stopped looking for you.”
Naina raised her gun toward the building.
“And she’s the reason your mother is still alive.”
The iron gate began to open.
Slowly.
With a long, metallic groan.
Headlights appeared behind the van.
Three black cars.
Kabir’s men.
The policeman cursed under his breath.
“Inside,” he ordered. “Now.”
Zoya ran.
Not because she wanted to.
Because the white building had opened its doors.
And something inside it was waiting for her.