Faridabad is a mess of factories and narrow roads. Sunshine Nursing Home was at the end of a dirty lane. Small building. Three floors. No sign of guards outside.
Too easy.
"They're inside," Aryan whispered. "Waiting."
"Then we go in anyway."
They walked through the front door. Empty lobby. One old man at the reception, sleeping.
Second floor. Room 204.
Two men standing outside. Vikram's men. They recognized Aryan.
"Hey, you—"
Aryan hit one with a punch. Aarya kicked the other. Fighting. Chaos. Aryan grabbed one man's gun. Shot the other in the leg. Both down.
They burst into Room 204.
A bed. Machines beeping. And in the bed, a woman.
Thin. Pale. Tubes in her nose. Eyes closed.
Mother.
Aarya fell to her knees beside the bed.
"Amma. Amma, it's me. Aarya. I'm here. Wake up, please."
No response.
Aryan checked the machines. "She's in coma. Deep. But alive."
"We have to take her."
"Can't. Too many machines. Too fragile. We need an ambulance. We need doctors."
"Then call!"
Aryan called. Ambulance coming.
But footsteps outside. Many footsteps.
Vikram's voice. "Aarya, beta, come out. You can't win."
Aryan looked at her. "We're trapped."
"No. We're not."
Aarya opened the window. Second floor. Drop to the ground.
"You take her. I'll hold them off."
"Don't be stupid. You'll die."
"Then we both die. Or we both try."
She grabbed the file from Meera. Pushed it into his hands.
"Take this. Take my mother. If I don't make it, you expose them. Promise me."
"Aarya—"
"Promise!"
He nodded. Tears in his eyes.
He climbed out the window. Carefully. Pulling her mother's bed toward it. Machines unplugged. Alarms beeping.
The door burst open.
Vikram and his men.
Aarya stood in front of the window. Arms wide.
"Come on, uncle. Let's finish this."
Vikram smiled. Raised his gun.
Behind Aarya, Aryan lifted her mother. Dropped to the ground. A shout from below. "I have her!"
Aarya smiled at Vikram.
"You lose."
She jumped.