The Chairman summoned her again.
This time, there were no masks. No modulators. He wanted to see her face.
Aarohi walked into his study wearing a simple white salwar kameez. Her hair was loose. Her face was bare. She looked like a medical student. She looked like a bride.
She looked like neither of those things.
The Chairman sat in his wheelchair, a blanket across his lap, an oxygen tube in his nose. He was dying. Everyone could see it now.
"Architect," he said. "You have served me well."
"I have served myself well. There is a difference."
He smiled. "There is. You remind me of myself, when I was young."
"I am nothing like you."
"No. You are better." He leaned forward. "I am promoting you. You will take Karan's place as The Scholar's protégé. You will have access to the Council's intelligence network. You will sit at my table."
Aarohi's heart pounded.
"And in return?"
"You will continue to deliver the Raichand fortune. You will continue to serve the Council. And when I die, you will help choose my successor."
She nodded slowly.
"I accept."
The Chairman smiled. "I knew you would."
She walked out of the mansion and into the night. Kabir was waiting in the car.
"Well?"
"I am in." She climbed into the passenger seat. "I have access to everything. Their intelligence. Their networks. Their plans."
Kabir started the engine.
"Then let us start destroying them."
He drove into the night, and Aarohi sat beside him, the ring on her finger catching the moonlight, her future uncertain, her power growing.
The Architect had entered the Council.
The war was just beginning.