"Which market did they go to?"
"He said they were going to Laxmi Road. For school supplies."
Laxmi Road was in central Pune — crowded, chaotic, with hundreds of shops and thousands of people at any given time. A perfect place to disappear.
But Vikram wasn't stupid. He'd know the police would swarm Laxmi Road. He'd know CCTV would be checked. He'd have a plan that didn't involve staying in public.
Priya pulled over at a petrol pump and forced herself to think. Not with emotion — with the cold, systematic logic that Dev Sir had drilled into her before he became the other half of this nightmare.
Vikram had her daughter. He wanted to make her disappear. But disappearance required a holding location — a place where Ananya could be kept while Vikram executed the final stage of the plan. He'd had two years to prepare this. He'd have identified the location months ago.
She opened the map on her phone and pulled up Vikram's known associations in Pune. Academy classmate living in Hadapsar — too far. Family friends in Kothrud — too public. Then she remembered something.
During a casual conversation six months ago, Vikram had mentioned that his uncle owned a farmhouse on the outskirts of Pune, near the Sinhagad Fort road. He'd described it as "isolated, quiet, good for weekends." Priya had thought nothing of it.
She called the Pune land records office. "Property registration under the name Patil, Sinhagad Fort road area. Residential or agricultural."
It took seven agonizing minutes. Then: "One property. Registered to Deepak Patil. Agricultural land with one structure. Located 3.2 kilometres off the main Sinhagad road, accessible by a single dirt track."
Isolated. Quiet. Good for weekends. Good for disappearances.
Priya sent the coordinates to Rajan and the Pune police. Then she drove.
The Sinhagad road wound upward into the hills, the city falling away behind her. The landscape turned green and rugged — the Sahyadri foothills, ancient and indifferent. The dirt track was barely a track — more like a suggestion, a path worn into the earth by cattle and occasional vehicles.
The farmhouse appeared around a bend — a single-storey stone structure with a tin roof, surrounded by scrubby trees and a wire fence. A white Maruti van was parked outside.
The white van.
The same van from the first CCTV footage. The van that had carried Kavita Mane to her death. The van that had started all of this.
Priya parked her car two hundred metres away, behind a cluster of trees. She checked her weapon. Fourteen rounds. She had no backup — Rajan was at least thirty minutes away, the Pune police possibly longer on the dirt track.
She approached the farmhouse on foot, keeping to the tree line. The front door was closed. One window showed light — dim, artificial, coming from inside. No sounds.
She circled to the back. A second door, wooden, bolted from outside. She pressed her ear to it.
Ananya's voice, muffled but clear: "Maa is going to find me. You know that, right? She always finds people."
Vikram's voice, calm: "She didn't find Rhea."
Silence.
