The second the door cracked open, Divyansh fisted my shirt and yanked me back. He wasn’t being "ominous"; he looked like a kid who’d just broken a window and was looking for a scapegoat.

  "Listen, we’re buddies, right?" he hissed, his voice frantic. "Do me a solid. If he asks why you look like you crawled out of a sewer, just tell him you refused to wash up because you wanted answers. And if he asks where I am? I’m in the bathroom. Best of luck, mate!"

  Before I could even process the fact that he was throwing me under the bus, he shoved me through the door and slammed it shut.

  I stood there, blinking. The room was dark, but the first thing that hit me wasn't the darkness—it was the smell. It was like a florist’s shop had exploded in here. Flowers were everywhere. Petals, stems, and blooms in every color, all sitting in a room with zero sunlight. It was completely stupid. Who grows a jungle in the dark?

  At the far end, a wall of monitors flickered with data and some weird, alien-looking script. I was just about to ask if anyone was home when a heavy thud from the ceiling made me jump nearly out of my skin.

  A shadow dropped from a vent, hitting the floor with a silent, practiced grace. It was the guy with the skull mask. He stood up and immediately wiped his forehead with his sleeve—which was hilarious, considering he was still wearing a plastic mask. Old habits die hard, I guess.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the door behind me practically flew off its hinges. Divyansh stumbled in, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

  "You’re already here?!" he shouted, pointing a finger at me as if I’d betrayed him. "I told you to wait! See, Mr. Khan? This is what I’m talking about. These new guys have zero patience. Sir, I’m sorry, I tried to keep him in check, but he just wouldn’t listen."

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  He snapped a salute that was so fake it hurt. I was completely flabbergasted. This dude really just walked in and lied to my face.

  Mr. Khan—the man in the mask—pinched the bridge of his nose. "Divyansh," he said, his voice a tired, gravelly rumble. "I’ve been raising you long enough to know when you’re full of it. I’ll let it go this time, mostly because our guest looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. Mr. Rajput, sit down."

  "How do you know my name?" I snapped, finally finding my voice. "Where am I? Who are you?"

  "See?" Divyansh chimed in from the corner, sounding bored now. "Questions, questions. Like a broken record."

  Khan raised a hand, and surprisingly, the kid actually shut up. Khan didn't sit in a big boss chair; he just perched on the edge of the desk next to a lonely, empty red flower pot.

  "You’ve got a lot of questions," Khan said. "And honestly, you’ve earned them. You’re in a mess you didn't ask for. But I’m not going to spend all night talking. I’ll answer three of your questions. In exchange, I get to ask one. Deal?"

  I nodded. It wasn't like I had a better offer. "Deal. What is this place?"

  "You're in a sub-facility," Khan said. "Part of an organization called the Wild Hunters. We call this specific unit the Tiger’s Den."

  "And what exactly do you do?"

  Divyansh let out a loud snort. My temper flared. I was tired, I was sore, and I was done being the butt of the joke.

  "You’re pretty immature, Vikash, so I’ll keep it simple," Khan continued, ignoring the kid. "We’re a secret organization. We hunt down the illegal groups the government can't—or won't—touch. We keep the peace before a crisis starts."

  I took a breath. This was the big one. "Are you an enemy or a friend?"

  Khan actually chuckled. It was a short, dry sound. "That," he said, and I could feel the mood in the room shift back to something serious, "depends entirely on the answer to the question I’m about to ask you."

  I gulped. The guy was just a silhouette against the glowing screens, but the weight of his gaze was real.

  He leaned forward, and he opened his mouth...