Rovan Hale had submitted the report three times before Havel stopped calling him in.

The first report said unknown attackers hit a suspected gang convoy. The second added the illegal cargo angle. The third corrected the weapon details after Havel asked why the bullet marks did not match the first version.

Rovan had prepared better this time.

He had not used police weapons. He had not placed uniformed men at the shooting line. He had paid outside men through two layers and moved the constables only after the firing stopped. By the time official police arrived, the road already looked like the kind of mess gangs made for themselves.

Even then, Havel had stared at him for too long.

"You are moving too far, Rovan," Havel had said. "If I find your hand inside this, I will not protect you."

Rovan had tried to look offended.

"Sir, I followed the information that came in. By the time our men reached, the firing was already over."

Havel had not believed him. He had only failed to catch him.

Havel was not a clean officer, but he was careful. He did not like men who made noise while doing dirty work. Rovan had always been useful because he could do ugly things without asking too many questions. Now he looked like a risk.

That was what frightened Rovan most.

The unknown organization had already made him kill a gang leader. What would they ask next?

He sat at his desk, looking at a file without reading it.

If Adam had not sent the route, vehicles, and timing, Rovan might have failed. He had been bluffing under pressure before that. The detailed information had saved the operation, but it also proved that the voice on the phone could see deeper into the underworld than Rovan could.

They had not only threatened him. They had handed him the target, the road, the vehicles, and the best shape of the story afterward. It felt less like he was being used by one caller and more like he had become a tool in a plan already running ahead of him.

Noise rose from the front hall.

Rovan looked up.

The environmental activist’s sister was there again.

She stood near the complaint desk, holding a folder so tightly that the edges bent in her hand.

"Someone here knows something!" she shouted. "My brother did not disappear into air. You people keep sending me away because one of you is hiding the truth."

Several officers tried to calm her.

Rovan lowered his eyes before she could see him.

Her voice cut through him harder than Havel’s warning. Havel could hurt his career. The woman could destroy the wall hiding his past if someone placed even one real clue in her hand.

Rovan suddenly hated the unknown caller more than before.

The scene changed to Adam’s village.

Three local youths stood near the lane outside Adam’s house. They were not strangers to the village. They were the kind of men who wasted time near tea stalls, carried small knives during festivals, and acted important when someone from outside paid them.

One of them leaned against a tree while watching the house.

Adam’s father came out after noticing them.

His name was Dinesh.

He was a lean man with sun-dark skin, a faded shirt, and the tired shoulders of someone who had spent more years in fields than in rooms. He knew the boys, and that was why he did not look afraid at first.

"Is there some work?" Dinesh asked.

The tallest youth smiled. "No, Uncle. We only heard Adam might have come back."

Dinesh frowned. "Adam has not come. We have been trying to call him for many days, but his phone is not connecting. I am starting to worry. I may have to go to the city."

"He did not call at all?"

"No."

"No friend came, no letter, nothing like a money order?"

Dinesh’s eyes sharpened a little. "Why are you asking so much?"

The youth laughed quickly. "Nothing, Uncle. Someone in the market said he came. We thought we would meet him."

They asked two more small questions and left.

Dinesh watched them go for longer than usual.

He was a farmer, not a city man, but he knew when a question had too much weight behind it. After a while, he went back inside and looked at the old phone on the shelf. He tried Adam’s number again.

The call did not connect.

Outside the village, one of them called the number he had been given.

A short chain carried the message to John’s assistant.

John was in his car when the assistant received it. The car was entering the college road, and students were moving toward the gates.

"Young master," the assistant said, lowering the phone, "Adam is not in the village. His father says the phone has not connected for many days. Our side checked the number too."

John covered his mouth with one hand.

He was hiding a laugh.

"So he is here," John said.

"Most likely in the city," the assistant replied.

"Find him."

The assistant hesitated. "Young master, your father’s election is close. We cannot pull too much manpower into one student matter."

John looked at him.

The assistant stopped speaking.

"I said find him."

"Yes, young master."

The car stopped near the college entrance. John stepped out and watched the students pass through the gate.

Adam had not gone home. His phone was dead. No hospital record had appeared. No cheap friend had seen him. That meant he was not simply broken or lost.

He was hiding.

The question was why.

If Adam knew about the frame, why had he not come at John? Fear was one answer. Lack of strength was another. But John tried to place himself in Adam’s position.

Adam had no family power and no official backing. If he had still chosen not to run home, then he was buying something more valuable than safety.

What would he do if he knew a stronger enemy had moved against him?

The answer came while he walked through the gate.

He would buy time.

He would build a network.

Not a large one at first. A room, a few people, money, maybe one dirty official or one desperate friend. That was how a weak person began turning into a problem.

John’s smile widened.

"So that is it," he whispered. "You are preparing."

For the first time in a long while, John felt truly awake.

"Adam," he said softly