The humidity in New Delhi was a living thing. It draped over the capital like a wet wool blanket, thick with the smell of exhaust fumes and the promise of a storm that refused to break. Inside the New Delhi Railway Station, the air was even heavier. Thousands of bodies moved in a rhythmic, sweaty pulse, a sea of travelers, porters, and street vendors.

Captain Arjun sat on a stone bench on Platform 4, his olive-green duffel bag tucked securely between his heavy combat boots. He was a man built for the shadows of the mountains, not the neon glare of the city. His short-cropped hair and the disciplined way he scanned the exits marked him as military—specifically, a combat medic from the Para Special Forces.