The grandfather clock in the hallway struck twelve, the deep chimes vibrating through the heavy oak doors of Aryaanveer’s private study. Inside, the only light came from a single designer lamp on the desk and the amber glow of the city skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Aryaanveer sat behind his desk, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the intricate tattoos that wound down his forearms like shadows. He was reviewing the ledger of the port authorities, his mind a steel trap of numbers and threats.

A soft, rhythmic knock disturbed the silence.