HQ — War Room | 8:11 AM
Kiaan stepped into the headquarters war room, tossing his bag onto the chair without a word. His shirt was slightly crumpled, dark circles beneath his eyes—the price of a night spent watching shadows that didn't move. The seminar had ended, the cadets had gone, the night had passed—but the silence still didn't sit right with him.
"Nothing happened," he said, finally breaking the silence.
"But that boy, Mason… his eyes had seen something. I'm sure of it."
Tara swiveled in her chair, her screen already displaying Mason Clarke's profile.
"Background clean. No known family records flagged. Grew up in rural Kent, enlisted two years ago. Strong scores in weapons handling and endurance but flagged for mild anxiety."
Kiaan nodded. "Track his phone pings. Last 72 hours. I want every detail—cafes, halls, bathrooms, storage rooms. And Tara… run a deep social cross-reference. Check if he's connected online to any of the previous victims."
"On it." Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
Kiaan turned to Rehaan, who was flipping through a stack of internal schedule documents.
"Rehaan. Why was that seminar done earlier than planned? Who approved it?"
Rehaan sighed. "Trying to find out. But whoever scheduled it used a rotating admin key—one that only high-rank personnel have."
Dev walked in, waving a printed sheet. "Got the list. Attendance for the seminar yesterday—manually signed. That's old-school. Someone avoided digital traces."
Kiaan's brows narrowed. "Manual? Who does that anymore?"
Dev handed the list over. "Handwriting's different on three names. As if someone signed for someone else."
Kiaan's jaw tightened.
He turned sharply to Zid, who stood by the glass board, arms crossed.
"Zid. Tell me something—can anyone get into a military base without a uniform?"
Zid shook his head. "Not unless they're military police, government intelligence, or seminar presenters. Civilians are denied outright."
Kiaan tapped the table once.
"That's not the right answer, Zid."
Zid's eyes snapped to his.
Kiaan stood up, walking slowly around the table as he spoke, voice low and sharp like a blade being drawn.
"You're forgetting the grey zone. The ones who wore the uniform once… and were stripped of it. Or those who left voluntarily. Ex-officers. Suspended commandants. Rogue trainers. The system still recognizes them—some of their IDs still work."
"So you're saying..." Rehaan started.
"I'm saying the person we're looking for might not be a stranger to the base."
He paused. "He might be someone the cadets still salute in the hallways."
Zid's mouth parted slightly. "If that's true… then he's not hiding. He's blending in."
"Exactly." Kiaan pointed to the screen where Mason's face glowed.
"And I think Mason saw that ghost in uniform. Someone he used to trust… or someone he was warned about."
---
HQ — Surveillance Hub | 9:02 AM
Tara's eyes widened as the tracker pinged.
"Got something."
Kiaan walked over. "Where?"
"Mason's phone disconnected for exactly 36 minutes during the seminar. Then pinged again… inside a restricted storage hangar."
Rehaan turned, alarmed. "That's an off-limits zone. Only instructors and logistics officers are allowed in there."
Kiaan's eyes flared with something sharper than anger.
"Someone lured him there… and scared him into silence."
He turned to Dev and Zid.
"We're not dealing with just a killer anymore. This is someone playing inside military walls—who knows how this system breathes, where its cracks are."
He grabbed his jacket. "And if this ghost wears a uniform—he might already be planning his next seminar."