The Parisian night was draped in elegance at 7:39 PM, the air crisp and smelling of rain. Inside the luxury hotel, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the grit of the mission. The French and Indian presidents shared a toast, their laughter lost in the clinking of champagne flutes and the swell of orchestral music.

Zayn, Azaar, and Junaid moved through the crowd like shadows in perfectly tailored black suits. They were the invisible wall between this celebration and a looming catastrophe.