Yantra Protocol
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
35: The Poison Shield
Mythology Sex Story: 35: The Poison Shield - Bharath moves from Chennai to Calcutta to join Heritage City - one of India’s top football clubs - with dreams of becoming a professional footballer. But after rescuing a mysterious man from a robbery, he finds himself drawn into a hidden world of vivid dreams, powerful women, and ancient forces beyond his understanding. As his journey on the pitch grows more intense, so does the pull of something deeper - a path shaped by desire, danger, and a power that is only just beginning to reveal it
Caution: This Mythology Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Mind Control Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Sports Alternate History Paranormal Magic Sharing Group Sex Harem Polygamy/Polyamory Indian Male Indian Female Anal Sex Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Safe Sex Squirting Tit-Fucking Indian Erotica
8 September 2000
It wasn’t the alarm that woke him, and it wasn’t the distant rattle of a tram. It was the dead hush inside the apartment: for once, even Ballygunge’s corner of the city seemed to be holding its breath. The hush of the apartment, broken only by the soft rhythm of three different breaths pressed against him.
Anya was still in a heavy, dreamless slumber as her body was lit up by the morning light. She lay draped across his right side, cheek to his shoulder, her breathing even and soft, as though her body had finally given itself permission to rest. The storm inside her had gone quiet at last. She had fought it until the small hours, but the way the girls had wrapped her in warmth last night had finally pulled out of the funk that she had been in because of Rekha’s death.
Kim was curled into his left side, one hand still hooked lightly at his waist, as if she had anchored herself there in the night. Celina, predictably, had claimed the center ground half on top of him, all limbs and loyalty, her thigh slung across his hips like a living chain.
He lay there for a long while, smiling to himself at the tangle of hair, bare skin, and sheets. They had given him everything yesterday until even the most restless of them had dropped away into exhaustion. Not the quick collapse of hunger sated, but the deep sleep that comes only after.
He pressed a kiss into Kim’s crown; she stirred faintly, a soft hum escaping her throat. Then he brushed his lips to Anya’s temple; she made a small, contented sound, nothing like the jagged murmurs that had haunted her earlier nights. Finally, he tilted his head and whispered against the hollow below Celina’s ear.
Her mouth curled into a half-smile even in sleep. “Mine,” she mumbled.
He chuckled softly. “Yes, baby. Always.”
Untangling himself took care and patience, but they barely stirred, instinctively reaching for each other as he tucked the covers high around them. He stood for a moment, looking down at the bundle they made together, and felt the odd, humbling weight of it: three goddesses sprawled across his bed with him.
“Be right back, my deities,” he whispered, kissing the top of the quilt before padding barefoot into the hallway, the wood warm beneath his feet, sunlight just beginning to sneak in.
He paused by Priya’s door. It was slightly ajar. He lingered at her door for a moment before pushing it open, and found her cross-legged by the window with a stack of papers balanced on her lap, sunlight catching the edge of her profile. She looked up, startled, but before she could speak he crossed the room and wrapped her in a hug.
Priya stiffened as she always did when ambushed by affection, then, after a beat, allowed herself to soften into his chest, her arms curling around him.
“I missed you,” he murmured into her hair.
She let out a small breath and, after a pause that felt longer than it was, replied in her dry way, “Welcome home, idiot. I see that last night you forgot I was here as well. Are you rabbits or human beings?”
“You should be used to it by now,” shrugged Bharath. “You know you missed grumbling about us for the past few days.”
“Sure. I really missed getting a good night’s sleep.”
They stood like that for a moment longer before she pulled back, eyes flicking to the papers on her lap. “Since you’re back, you may as well know - I’ve been in touch with Khan and the PI team. The girls in Bankra ... they’re in danger. Rekha’s death has the whole Syndicate spooked and they’re cleaning house. Two girls have already gone missing.”
His brow tightened. “You’re sure?”
Priya held up the folded note scrawled in lipstick. “I found this last night when I went to check up on them. One of my girls slipped it through a vendor. They’re begging me not to come back. Which, of course, means I will. But the bigger problem isn’t just pulling them out. It’s what happens after. Even if we rescue them, where do they go? They can’t stay here. We’ll need new papers, safe houses, jobs, therapy - the works. We need something long-term, not just hiding them in borrowed flats.”
Bharath rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “You should call Amma. She could organize something. A fundraiser, maybe. She has the networks, and people listen when she speaks. We’d have money, structure and allies. You just need to figure out where we can keep them. Can’t we house them in one of your safehouses? You know the big list of places you had collated when you first ran?”
Priya tilted her head, a spark of reluctant admiration in her eyes. “Look at you, actually having a useful idea. Miracles do happen.”
He grinned. “So you’ll call her?”
“I’ll talk to her,” Priya said, lips twitching. “She’ll love the chance to bully half of Chennai’s high society into emptying their wallets.” Her face softened then, the sarcasm thinning. “It’s a good thought, Bharath. Thank you. I didn’t think about that.”
He reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “We’ll fix this, Priya. Together.”
She narrowed her eyes, reclaiming her usual bite. “Speaking of together, how is it you’ve managed a whole five minutes in this house without one of your goddesses draped over you? Did they finally grow bored of hanging out with a gorilla like you?”
Bharath laughed. “They’re asleep. I escaped while I could.”
“Well, since you’re miraculously unattached for once,” she said, arching a brow, “you can make yourself useful. I expect breakfast. It’s been far too long since you cooked for me. And don’t you dare pawn me off with cereal.”
He snapped a playful salute. “Yes, General. Poha with aloo bits coming right up.”
Her expression softened as he turned to go, and she called after him, quieter now. “I really did miss you, you know.”
He turned back, smile gentler this time, and crossed the room to hug her again. She leaned into it before muttering against his shoulder, “Don’t get sentimental on me. And go have a bath you dirty pig. You smell terrible.”
He chuckled, squeezing her once more before pulling away. “Tough luck. You’re stuck with me.”
She shook her head, hiding a smile as he headed toward the kitchen, and thought - not for the first time - how glad she was that he had come home.
Bharath moved quietly through the kitchen, careful not to wake anyone. He set the pan on the stove, measured the rice flakes by hand, chopped the potatoes into neat cubes, and added just enough turmeric to stain the oil golden. Cooking for them had become its own ritual - a way of showing them how much he loved them.
By the time the poha was ready, he had four bowls lined up at the counter, steam curling into the morning air. He tore a few sheets from the recycled stationery pad they all shared and scribbled quick notes, tucking each one under a spoon.
To Kim: Still dreaming of your smile. Back soon - save me some coffee this time, alright?{br}
To Celina: I owe you one position of your choice. Or three. Collect later.{br}
To Anya: You’re the fire I never want to put out. Let’s burn together today.{br}
To Priya: Thanks for holding our fortress, General. Breakfast is on me. Let’s really talk later.
He looked at the bowls once more, satisfied, then slipped outside. The air still held the stickiness of last night’s rain, but it was fresh, almost playful, like the city was stretching with him.
He started at an easy pace, then lengthened his stride until his lungs opened fully, his ribs expanding without the stab of pain he remembered. A few days ago he could barely breathe without wincing; now his body felt alive, eager.
At the halfway mark he slowed, pulled out his phone, and dialed the club line. It rang twice.
“Yeah?” Biswas’s voice, as blunt as ever.
“Coach, it’s Bharath. I’m back. Feeling strong. Thought I’d check if I can come in today for medicals.”
There was a pause as he waited expectantly for Biswas to speak again.
“Back already? It’s only been eleven days. The Doctor said you needed two weeks minimum to recover from that stabbing wound.”
“I know,” Bharath said, steady. “But I feel good sir. There is no pain and I am breathing clear. I ran five kilometers this morning without a hitch.”
Another silence, broken only by the sound of Biswas exhaling through his nose.
“Hmm. Alright. Not sure I agree with you running like that without a medical clearance but drop by after lunch. Don’t expect applause from us though. And if you collapse, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You better be ready son.”
Bharath smiled. “I never expect applause. But I’m ready to hear you yell again.”
Biswas gave a short grunt, half amusement, half disbelief. “We’ll see if your lungs agree. Until then, don’t start thinking you’re indestructible.”
“I won’t,” Bharath replied. “But I think you’ll be surprised.”
The line clicked off. Biswas hadn’t said it outright, but Bharath could hear it anyway, tucked beneath the gruffness: the old man was glad he was coming back.
The knock on Priya’s door came soft at first, then a little louder. “Priya?” Anya’s voice carried through the wood, uncertain but hopeful.
The door creaked open, and there she stood, arms folded like she was trying to look stern, though the twitch of her mouth betrayed her. She caught sight of the three of them, blankets wrapped around shoulders, hair sticking up.
“Well, well,” Priya said dryly. “Looks like the spoiled princesses have finally rolled out of their palace of pillows.”
They froze for one second, then shrieked in unison. “PRIYA!”
All three barreled into her at once, nearly knocking her off her feet. She laughed and stumbled back under the weight of kisses to her cheeks, Celina’s leg hook, Kim’s death grip hug.
“God, you’re suffocating me,” Priya wheezed, but she was smiling as she allowed herself to be dragged onto the couch.
Kim tucked herself close against her arm. “What are you even doing awake this early? You look like you’ve been up for ages!”
“Work,” Celina answered before Priya could, waggling her eyebrows. “Always work.”
“Work, work, work,” Anya echoed solemnly, earning a swat from Priya.
“I was checking in with the PI team,” Priya admitted, settling between them as if she’d never left. “Gathering intelligence. Whatever that means.”
Celina flopped across her lap like a smug cat. “It means you’re abandoning us for paperwork. Tragic.”
They collapsed into laughter, retelling the highlights of their trip like kids back from summer camp. Celina stood on the cushions to reenact the Great Mango Lassi Overdose at the dhaba, complete with fake gagging. Kim blushed as she admitted to ordering juice four times on the plane “because it was free,” and Anya cracked everyone up describing how Bharath pretended to faint in the hospital just to be hand-fed. Even Priya doubled over, wiping her eyes.
But slowly, the laughter ebbed. Anya had gone quiet, her head resting against Priya’s shoulder.
Priya noticed. She reached over and squeezed her arm. “You okay?”
Anya hesitated, then nodded faintly. “I’m getting there.” After a beat she added, “Was it ... bad? In the end? Did she suffer a lot?”
Priya’s face softened. “No. It just happened. And now it’s over. You get to move on. Trust me. You’re better off without her. She wasn’t herself at the end. Do you understand?”
Anya’s throat worked. She nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah. I do.”
The room shifted, the air heavier now, more real.
Celina sighed, breaking the silence. “I guess it’s back to research about the Yantra for me. My glamorous fate.”
Kim groaned into her blanket. “College starts Monday. I’m already behind and I haven’t even unpacked. I don’t even feel like studying anymore!”
Anya straightened slightly, her voice quieter. “And I have an event at the Oberoi today. It’s going to be my first one without Rekha breathing down my neck.” She turned to Priya, almost pleading. “You’re still my assistant, right?”
“Unfortunately,” Priya teased, brushing a strand of hair from Anya’s face.
Kim, more serious now, asked softly, “And your girls? The ones you left behind?”
Priya’s smile faded. She pulled a folded scrap of paper from her pocket, its lipstick stain still smudged across the corner. The playful warmth in the room evaporated.
“They’re not safe,” she said, her voice low. “They want to clear the house soon, and when they do ... I don’t know what happens to them. We can’t wait much longer.”
Anya’s fingers tightened around her hand. “Then we won’t. We’ll do something.”
Kim nodded fiercely. “Whatever it takes.”
Celina cracked her knuckles, leaning forward. “Let’s start planning. Tell us what we can do.”
Priya exhaled, glancing from one face to another. “Bharath thinks we should reach out to Amma. She could organize a fund, set up shelters, give the girls somewhere safe to go. Honestly ... he’s right. We need more than rescues. We need long-term care. Papers, homes, futures.”
Kim’s eyes lit. “Amma could do it. She’d know exactly how to handle people, how to get them to open their wallets. We can always be there for them on the ground to help them adjust. What about where to keep them?”
“That’s what I’m looking at. The PI team asked for suggestions on where to host the girls after we rescue them. I think I have a place in mind,” said Priya confidently.
Celina grinned. “Finally, a scheme I can get behind. Real structure, not just guerilla tactics.”
Anya, though, looked away, her face shadowed. “It’s the right thing to do. But hearing it ... it makes me realize how much of this was my mother’s doing. Rekha made those places run. She polished the cages, gave them fake smiles. And I...” She faltered. “I hated her for it. I still hate her for it. But I miss her too. She was still my mother.”
The three of them leaned in instinctively, wrapping her in quiet comfort. Priya pulled her close, rubbing her back. “You’re allowed to feel both. You don’t have to forgive her, but you can grieve her. That’s not the same thing.”
Anya pressed her forehead into Priya’s shoulder, her voice muffled. “I don’t know if I can do tomorrow. That ballroom without her ... it feels like walking in naked. She was poison, but she was also a shield.”
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Priya whispered. “We’ll find a way.”
Kim kissed her cheek. Celina squeezed her hand.
For a long moment, they just sat there, the four of them tangled together in blankets and fears and promises.
And then Priya, clearing her throat, tried to rally them. “Alright. Plan of the day. Kim - finish your prep before Monday. Celina - get your research notes sorted. Anya - we’ll go over your event wardrobe and talking points, and I’ll be with you as much as I can. And me? I’ll start reaching out, see how fast we can get Amma moving. We’ve got work to do.”
Anya sniffled, but her smile was small and real. “Thank you. All of you.”
Priya squeezed her hand once more. “That’s what family’s for.”
Heritage City FC Training Grounds, Calcutta
The mist still clung to the grass when Bharath pushed through the gates, a light duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The security guard at the entrance, half-asleep with a chipped cup of chai in his hand, did a double take.
“Arrey ... Silver Spoon sir? Back already?”
Bharath grinned. “Back already? It’s been eleven days!”
The guard shook his head, chuckling. “Some of us don’t get eleven hours off.”
Bharath laughed, gave him a mock salute, and stepped onto the familiar turf. The rising sun was casting long stripes of gold across the pitch, the kind of morning that made the whole place feel like it belonged to him.
Inside the locker room, the cassette deck on the shelf was humming with old Kishore Kumar. Boots squeaked, laces were pulled tight. Madhavan looked up mid-shin guard and froze.
“Dei, dei ... look who crawled back from his spa vacation!” He sprang to his feet, grinning. “Silver Spoon returns!”
Arvind came over and thumped him on the back. “Eleven days off, eh? Must be nice. Biswas gives me eleven minutes off and then screams at me like I deserted the army.”
Even Ghosh, usually the quiet one, piped up from his corner. “Better run light today, Spoon. Coach says he’s got a ‘special welcome’ planned for you.”
The room broke into laughter.
Bharath raised his hands in surrender. “Special welcome? You make it sound like I’m about to be flogged.”
“You will be,” Rafael said, pulling on his jersey. “We’ve been carrying your share of sprints. Time to pay us back.”
Madhavan wagged a finger at him. “Enjoyed your holiday? Biswas said two weeks off minimum. And you - Silver Spoon - you come swanning in after eleven days like you’re some kind of miracle child.”
Bharath shook his head, chuckling. “Miracle child? I’ll show you miracle passes in five minutes.”
There were groans, but all good-natured. One by one, the boys came over - fist bumps, quick hugs, shoulder slaps. Beneath the teasing there was something steadier, almost unspoken: relief. Respect.
They weren’t just glad to see him back. They were looking at him differently, like they could sense something had shifted.
The team doctor adjusted his spectacles for the third time and stared at Bharath’s chart like it had personally offended him. He pressed the stethoscope to Bharath’s chest again, listening longer than usual, then checked his pulse, then his reflexes.
“This makes no sense,” he muttered. “Eleven days ago you had bruised ribs, fluid in your lungs, soft tissue swelling all along your side. And now...” He jabbed the chart with his pen. “Now your heart rate is better than before the injury. Blood pressure is perfect. Lungs are clear. Reflexes sharper. What have you been doing?”
Bharath kept a straight face. “Meditation. And a lot of ayurvedic massages.”
The doctor lowered his glasses and gave him a flat look. “Meditation.”
“And massages,” Bharath added earnestly. “Very spiritual. Very holistic.”
The doctor snorted. “You expect me to believe you sat cross-legged and got oiled up for ten days and came back fitter than half my roster?”
Bharath shrugged. “Worked, didn’t it?”
The old man shook his head, scribbling reluctantly. “You’re cleared. But listen carefully - if Biswas lets you play, you monitor yourself. First twinge, first shortness of breath, you’re back here. No heroics.”
“Yes, doctor.”
Bharath took the signed medical slip, slipped it into his pocket, and pushed open the door. At the end of the hallway stood Coach Biswas, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“Well?” the coach barked.
Bharath held up the slip. “I have a clean bill of health sir.”
Biswas squinted at him. “After eleven days? That’s not possible.”
The doctor emerged behind him, grumbling. “Not possible, but true. It’s a medical miracle.”
For the first time, Biswas’s eyes flickered with something almost like shock. He gave a grunt that could have been approval or irritation. “You’re alive, then.”
“Better than ever,” Bharath said, grinning.
Biswas stared at him for another long second, then shook his head. “We’ll see.”
Coach Biswas’s whistle split the morning air.
“Two teams! Yellows, Greens. Let’s see who still remembers how to run.”
Bharath pulled on a yellow bib, rolled his shoulders, and jogged to midfield. Sweat was already gathering under the rising sun, but his body felt loose, alive. The ball was set at the center circle.
“Game on!” Biswas barked.
Rafael tapped it to Arvind, quick one-two. Bharath was already moving, drifting into space before the pass had even left Arvind’s boot. A sharp whistle from his lips - low, confident. The ball came to him, and the pitch lit up.
He didn’t think. He didn’t need to. His body knew. A feint with the shoulder, one step angled just so, and the defender lunged the wrong way. Bharath burst down the flank, his stride eating up the grass. Another man closed in - too slow. He slipped through with the ease of water through fingers.
Two defenders beaten, keeper charging - Bharath barely looked. He flicked his heel, sending the ball spinning backward. Ghosh appeared on cue and smashed it into the top corner.
The field erupted.
“Bhaaaaaai!” Ghosh whooped, sprinting back to thump his chest. “You’re possessed today!”
Bharath just grinned, jogging back.
The game restarted, faster now. Passes zipped, tackles came hard. At midfield, a sloppy touch from Arvind - but Bharath was already there, cutting the angle, chesting the ball down before the mistake had even registered. He volleyed an outside-boot flick forty yards forward, landing it at Rafael’s stride so cleanly it looked rehearsed.
Rafael blinked mid-run. “Where the hell did you learn that?” he yelled, but Bharath was already gone, sprinting into the next pocket of space, as if he was two steps ahead of the entire field.
Again and again it happened.
Intercepting a pass he shouldn’t have seen.
Turning into space that hadn’t opened yet.
Threading through-balls into gaps that looked impossible until the instant they weren’t.
It was like he was playing inside the game itself, not just on top of it - as though the field was a page and he could read every line before it was written.
His teammates noticed. “Silver Spoon’s cheating!” Madhavan hollered, half in awe. “He’s got x-ray vision!”
Even Biswas, arms crossed on the touchline, narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t recovery. This wasn’t even the same player who’d limped off the field eleven days ago. This was something else.
When the final whistle blew, the boys stumbled off, dripping with sweat and grinning through their exhaustion. Slaps on backs, curses, laughter. Bharath walked slower, soaking in the sunlight, his body buzzing as though every cell had been freshly rewired.
Biswas was waiting. “You’re starting the friendly in two days.”
Bharath nodded, unbothered. “I figured.”
The coach studied him, face unreadable. “Something’s different. What the hell have you been doing at home?”
Bharath met his gaze, calm. “Healing.”
Biswas shook his head slowly, muttering under his breath. “Whatever it is ... don’t stop.”
As the team drifted toward the showers, Bharath stood under the banyan tree, toweling off, looking back at the pitch. Same grass. Same game. But he knew it now with certainty: he wasn’t just playing to prove himself anymore.
PI War Room
The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead as the teak table groaned under the weight of maps, folders, and half-drunk cups of tea. Celina sat between Priya and Satyu, her expression distant but determined. Priya put Celina at the center of the room when she introduced her. She tapped the rim of her glass once before speaking.
“This is Celina,” Priya said, voice steady. “We rescued her from the Syndicate last month. She was sold at an auction and wound up with Bansal. She’s agreed to speak to you all so we can understand how they move people and who they trade with.”
Celina folded her hands in her lap and met the team’s eyes. “I’ll tell you everything I remember,” she said. “It’s still raw and I do not want to relive those moments, but I want them stopped. Please ask me and I will do my best to answer you.”
Khan set down his pen. “Start from the beginning,” he said. “Do you remember the first place they took you from.”
Celina’s fingers drummed the rim of her glass once before she spoke. “Rekha brought me in from Mumbai on the pretence of sponsoring me as a model. But she was grooming me after the Syndicate took me as payment for unpaid bets my uncle made. They have put him in a coma now.”
Everyone looked at Celina with pity. Celina steeled herself recalling the details of that night.
“Rekha took a personal interest in me joining the network of women they sell. I think she expedited the process with me due to some personal issue she had with me. Luckily I wasn’t in the system too long. The night of the auction, I was dressed in cheap clothes that highlighted my assets. There were two other girls with me in the room, both younger; one wore emerald green, the other gold. They were crying the whole time. Rekha tried to give me some pills or drugs that would make me more compliant. But I pretended to take it. That seems to be the way they keep the girls under control at all times. Maybe the girls at Bankra road will be the same.”
The room went still.
Priya sat upright, pen hovering above her notepad, but her face had gone pale. Khan sighed softly and scribbled something on a form.
Celina continued, her hands now gripping the table’s edge. “I heard one of the stylists say I was ‘top-tier stock.’ That I’d go first. They thought I was drugged, so they didn’t bother whispering.”
The pen stilled in Satyu’s hand. His jaw had gone tight, and when he finally spoke his voice was low enough that only Priya caught it. “They said the same about the girl they used on me.” He didn’t elaborate, but the look in his eyes was enough: fury, and shame that still hadn’t dulled. “Where were you taken from?” asked Satyu, his voice gentler than usual.
She turned to him. “From Rekha’s guesthouse in Ballygunge. But I was first driven in Rekha’s car to another hotel. I don’t remember it, but that was where we got dressed. It was where I saw the other girls as well. Then later we went to a more fancy hotel. The small white one with the art deco balconies. We left in a silver van with blackout windows. I couldn’t really see outside because Rekha was with me the whole time. She made sure that I didn’t have time to look outside, but we didn’t drive long. Maybe twenty minutes?”
Priya’s pen scratched faster. “That lines up with the distance from the guesthouse to Sundar. The boutique hotel near Hazra. In our investigations it was known for hosting discreet events.”
Celina nodded. “Yes. That was it. There were guards and fancy corridors. We were there for sometime and then I was on display. I couldn’t see very clearly but there were a few men and people who were standing behind them - like their PAs or assistants. The auction was stared and then Bansal bought me.”
Everyone looked at each other - Bansal was already in PI custody.
Celina exhaled slowly. “He took me somewhere else afterward. A cheaper place that looked much seedier. I remember the room looked tacky. I tried to seduce Bansal and make him talk to treat me well, but he didn’t buy it. Still I managed to make him drop his guard and then ... I ... tried to fight back. I hurt him. Badly. But I didn’t escape. I don’t remember what happened after that, but Priya and Bharath rescued me from the safehouse I was in.”
Priya nodded grimly. “The safehouse she was rescued from is already compromised. That’s the one that was in the news with the beggar riots. We staged the riot to sneak her out.”
“How did you find where she was?” asked Satyu incredulously.
“You can thank Bharath for that. He went undercover and traced her location. Anya was also able to help us zero in on the location,” said Priya reminiscing about that night.
She flipped open a folder and pointed at a marked map. “Bankra Road was my house. I know how the rotation worked. When girls weren’t needed immediately, they were sent to the quieter houses. When demand peaked - during events, festivals, or special guests - they were transferred. I was one of the accountants before ... before I became a girl.”
Satyu’s head turned sharply. She rarely spoke of that.
“I remember how the codes worked,” she said. “Which girls were considered premium. Which locations were considered auction-safe. Rekha kept everything analog but color-coded. I think I can recreate the flowchart.”
“This is brilliant,” Satyu murmured, leaning close. His voice was reverent, but when he turned back to the board his throat worked as though the taste of bile had risen with the memories.
“Do it,” said the PI team lead. “We’ll cross-reference with the Bansal file. If we crack the auction logistics, we crack half the pipeline.”
Priya nodded and began sketching on the whiteboard, her body taut with focus. Satyu leaned closer, peering at her scrawl. “This is brilliant,” he murmured, eyes admiring the elegant logic hidden beneath years of trauma.
She didn’t look at him, but the corner of her lips twitched.
Celina watched the two of them for a beat - Priya’s sharp intensity, Satyu’s earnest curiosity. The glances they thought were subtle weren’t. She leaned sideways and whispered, voice full of mischief, “You two really should get a room.”
Priya’s pen slipped with a tsk. “Oh shut up,” she groaned, blushing all the way to her ears.
Satyu, to his credit, coughed and stared fiercely at his notes.
Khan didn’t look up, but muttered under his breath, “We’ll expense the room.”
Laughter broke the tension briefly.