The gala shifted after midnight.
The polite conversations faded. The champagne flowed faster. The music grew louder and more insistent. Couples took to the dance floor, spinning beneath the crystal chandeliers in a blur of silk and diamonds and expensive cologne.
Aarohi stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching. Kabir had been pulled away by a group of industrialists twenty minutes ago. She had watched him go, his hand lingering on her waist a moment longer than necessary, his eyes telling her to be careful.
She was always careful.
Karan Khurana appeared at her elbow like a ghost.
"You are not dancing, Mrs. Raichand."
"I am waiting for the right partner."
His smile was sharp. "And who would that be?"
She turned to face him. Up close, she could see the details she had missed at the Dixit dinner. The calluses on his fingers from years of weapons training. The way his eyes moved constantly, tracking exits, tracking threats, tracking her. The small bulge beneath his jacket that could only be a gun.
"My husband," she said. "But he is busy."
"Then dance with me."
It was not a question. He held out his hand. His palm was facing up, his fingers long and elegant. An invitation she could not refuse without raising suspicion.
She placed her hand in his. His grip was firm, almost painful.
"One dance," she said.
"One dance is all I need."
He led her to the floor. The music was slow, a old Hindi ballad about love and loss and the things people left behind. Karan pulled her closer than was proper. His hand settled on her lower back. His chest pressed against hers.
"You are very brave, Mrs. Raichand," he murmured against her ear. "Marrying a man like Kabir. Walking into a world you do not understand."
"What makes you think I do not understand it?"
His hand tightened on her back. "Because if you understood it, you would run."
She looked up at his face. His eyes were dark and hungry. He was testing her. Pushing her. Waiting for her to flinch.
"I do not run," she said. "I never have."
"No. You hide." He spun her, then pulled her back against his chest. "You hide behind your quiet smile and your medical journals. You hide behind your husband's name. But I see you, Aarohi Mehra. I see the fire behind your eyes."
Her heart pounded, but her face showed nothing.
"What do you want, Mr. Khurana?"
His lips brushed her ear. "I want to know who you really are."
The song ended. She stepped back before he could pull her close again. Her body was rigid, her hands clenched at her sides.
"Thank you for the dance," she said. "But I believe I have found my husband."
Kabir stood at the edge of the dance floor, his face carved from stone, his eyes fixed on Karan with an intensity that could melt steel. He had seen everything. His jaw was tight. His hands were fists.
Aarohi walked toward him. She did not look back at Karan. She did not need to. She could feel his eyes on her back like a brand.
Kabir took her hand. His grip was hard, possessive. He pulled her away from the dance floor, away from the crowd, away from the watching eyes.
"What did he say to you?" he demanded when they were alone in the corridor.
"He said he sees me. He said he wants to know who I really am."
Kabir's hand tightened on hers. "He knows something."
"Or he suspects something. Either way, he is dangerous."
"He is Council." Kabir released her hand and paced the corridor. "Vikram said Karan is The Scholar's protégé. He deals in information. Blackmail. Secrets." He stopped and looked at her. "If he suspects you are The Architect—"
"He does not suspect. He is fishing. There is a difference."
"Are you sure?"
Aarohi thought about Karan's eyes. The way they had searched her face. The way his hand had pressed against her back like he was trying to feel for armor beneath her gown.
"I am sure," she said. "But we need to move faster. Vikram's information is valuable, but it is not enough. We need to get inside the Council. We need to know their plans before they make their next move."
Kabir stepped closer. His hand came up to cup her face. His thumb traced her cheekbone.
"You are asking me to let you walk into a den of wolves."
"I am a wolf too, Kabir. I have been one for a long time."
He closed his eyes. His forehead pressed against hers.
"I know," he whispered. "That is what terrifies me."