“They’re not tracking the train, Zara. They’re tracking ME. The live location isn’t for the Jaffar Express. It’s for what’s INSIDE car number seven. Tell the army. Tell anyone. And if this message arrives after my dot disappears—run. Because they’ll come looking for whoever was watching.”

She grabbed her phone and called the railway helpline. A bored voice answered, “Jaffar Express is on schedule. Arriving Rohri Junction at 6:10 AM.”

“It’s not on the main line,” Zara said. “Check the spur track near the old Seraiki Mill.”

Zara’s blood turned cold. A soft knock came at her apartment door. Not a police knock. Not a neighbor’s.