The morning sun was already harsh when Asif knocked on the door again at 9 a.m. sharp. Meera—Meher Khan—had dressed in a simple grey salwar kameez, dupatta draped loosely over her head. She kept her face soft and tired, eyes slightly red as if from crying. No heavy makeup, just enough to look like a grieving woman who hadn’t slept well in years.

Asif stood outside, polite but watchful.

“Meher sister, are you ready? Faisal bhai is waiting to meet you.”

Meera nodded slowly, her voice low and hesitant.

“Yes, Asif bhai. I’m ready. My heart is just beating very fast.”

Asif gave a small sympathetic smile.

“No need to be nervous. Faisal bhai is a very understanding man. He will listen to you.”

They walked down to the same black Corolla. The young silent guard from yesterday was behind the wheel again. He didn’t speak, didn’t even look back. Meera sat in the rear, hands folded in her lap, staring out at the passing streets of Karachi—crowded bazaars, honking rickshaws, women in burqas crossing roads.

The drive took forty minutes. They left the posh Defence area and entered narrower lanes, then finally a quiet industrial zone on the outskirts. Warehouses, empty plots, a few stray dogs. The car stopped in front of a large metal gate painted green. Two armed men stood outside—AK-47s slung casually over their shoulders.

Asif got out, spoke briefly to them. The gate opened. The car rolled inside.

It was a small compound: one-storey building, high walls topped with barbed wire, a few parked bikes and a black SUV. In the centre was an open courtyard with plastic chairs under a tin roof.

Faisal Rehman waited there.

He was in his late forties, medium build, neatly trimmed beard, wearing a white kurta-pajama. His eyes were calm but piercing, like a man who had seen too many lies. He stood up when Meera approached.

Asif introduced her softly.

“Faisal bhai, this is Meher Khan. She has come from Dubai.”

Faisal nodded once, gestured to a chair.

“Sit, Meher. Would you like some tea?”

Meera sat carefully, keeping her hands in her lap.

“Yes… a little tea would be good. Thank you.”

A boy brought two cups of milky chai. Faisal sipped his slowly, watching her over the rim.

“I’ve heard your story. Your husband died in the 26/11 attacks… at the Taj?”

Meera lowered her eyes, her voice trembling just enough.

“Yes… his name was Rajesh. He was there for business. They were talking on the phone when the blast happened. After that… he was never found.”

She let a single tear roll down her cheek—practiced, but it looked real.

Faisal’s expression softened a little.

“Many people lost their loved ones that day. Why have you come here?”

Meera looked up, her eyes fierce now.

“I hate India. They couldn’t protect us. My life was destroyed. Now I want… revenge. Whatever I can do, I will do. I have money. I need training, or whatever you say.”

Faisal studied her for a long moment. Then he leaned back.

“Everyone has money. But this work comes from the heart. Are you really ready?”

Meera met his gaze without blinking.

“Yes. Completely ready. Whatever test you want, do it.”

Faisal smiled faintly—for the first time.

“Alright. The first test is simple. Tomorrow morning you will do a small task. Deliver an envelope to an address in Clifton. No questions, no answers. Just hand it over.”

Meera nodded.

“I will do it.”

Faisal stood up.

“Stay here tonight. Asif will show you a room. We meet again at 7 a.m. tomorrow.”

He turned to leave, then paused.

“Meher… if you are lying, this city will swallow you.”

Meera swallowed, her voice steady.

“I am not lying, Faisal bhai. This is my truth.”

Faisal walked away. The guards relaxed a little.

Asif led her to a small room inside the building—bed, fan, attached bathroom.

“Rest now. We will wake you in the morning.”

He left. The door locked from outside.

Meera sat on the bed. Her heart was racing now. She pulled out the tiny earpiece from her dupatta fold and slipped it into her ear.

A soft click. Vikram’s voice—low, calm.

“You okay?”

Meera whispered back, barely moving her lips.

“Yes. I met Faisal. Tomorrow’s test—deliver an envelope.”

Vikram replied.

“Be careful. It could be a trap. I’m tracking your location. Two streets away in a van. If anything feels wrong, say the word.”

Meera lay back, staring at the ceiling.

“I will. For now… everything seems fine.”

She closed her eyes.

The envelope tomorrow would be the first real step inside.

One wrong move, and it could all end here.

But she was ready.

Outside, the afternoon heat pressed down on the compound.

And somewhere far away, Daniel Travo’s yacht cut through calm waters—completely unaware that the woman who would end him was now resting in a LeT safe house, dreaming of his blood.