The Leash and the Knife
They didn’t tell Anika where they were taking her.
They didn’t need to.
The room they brought her to was underground—no windows, no clocks, no sense of direction. Just concrete, steel, and a single table bolted to the floor. Across from her sat the woman with steel-gray hair.
She finally gave her name.
“Director Sen.”
Anika almost laughed. “Of course.”
Sen slid a tablet across the table. On the screen was a live feed.
Vikram Rao.
Alive.
Scarred.
Strapped to a hospital bed, one eye permanently clouded, his once-perfect composure fractured into something feral.
“You kept him alive,” Anika said flatly.
“We kept him useful,” Sen replied. “He knows every shadow route, every buried account, every name that hasn’t surfaced yet.”
Anika leaned back. “Then why do you need me?”
Sen tapped the screen.
Vikram smiled weakly. “Because I won’t talk to you,” he rasped. “But I’ll talk to her.”
Anika’s stomach tightened.
Sen continued, “You go in. You get what we need. He gives us the final ledger—the one your father never found.”
“And after?” Anika asked.
Sen’s silence was answer enough.
Anika looked back at Vikram on the screen. He was watching her now, his remaining eye bright with recognition—and triumph.
“You see?” he said hoarsely. “Even when you win… you belong to someone else.”
Something inside Anika went still.
“No,” she said softly. “I don’t.”
They brought her to him that night.
No guards in the room.
No cameras she could see.
Just Vikram, restrained, breathing shallowly, the illusion of control finally stripped away.
He smiled when he saw her.
“You chose the state over blood,” he whispered. “How noble.”
Anika pulled up a chair and sat.
“I didn’t choose them,” she said. “I chose myself.”
Vikram laughed, then coughed, pain wracking his body. “You think you’re free? You’re a blade they’ll use until you’re blunt.”
“Maybe,” Anika said. “But blades cut both ways.”
She leaned in close—so close he could smell her.
“My father left more than recordings,” she continued. “He left contingencies.”
Vikram’s smile faltered.
“You trained me to survive,” she said. “But you trained him to prepare.”
She stood and walked to the door.
“That ledger you’re protecting?” she added. “It’s already public. Leela released it six hours ago.”
Vikram’s breath hitched.
“No,” he whispered. “That’s impossible.”
Anika turned back one last time.
“The only thing they still need,” she said, “is your confession. And you’re going to give it—to everyone.”
She pressed a button on the wall.
The lights flared.
Cameras powered on—hidden, numerous, unmistakable.
Vikram screamed.
By morning, the world was drowning in his voice.
Confessions.
Names.
Orders.
Mass graves.
Wars funded and forgotten.
Director Sen watched the feeds in silence.
“Where is she?” someone asked.
Sen didn’t answer.
Because Anika Rao was already gone.
Leela found her at dawn, at a small cremation ground by the river.
Anika stood barefoot, ashes staining her hands.
“My mother,” Anika said quietly. “I never said goodbye.”
Leela stood beside her. “You just did.”
Anika looked out at the water. “They’ll come for me.”
“Yes,” Leela agreed.
“And they won’t stop.”
“No.”
Anika closed her eyes.
Then she said the words that terrified even Leela.
“Then this doesn’t end with him.”
In the distance, sirens rose again—not for Vikram Rao this time, but for an entire system collapsing under its own weight.
Anika walked away from the river.
No leash.
No masters.
Only one part left.
And it would decide whether the world remembered her as a criminal…
…or a reckoning.
