The roar of the speedboat’s engine finally died, leaving behind an echoing hush that felt heavier than the engine’s thunder. Abhimanyu had guided them into a narrow, winding creek, barely wide enough for the boat, where the mangroves grew so dense they formed an impenetrable wall of green. Overhead, the last sliver of the setting sun painted a fiery streak across the darkening sky, before succumbing to the encroaching night.

“This way,” Abhimanyu’s voice, now stripped of the engine’s noise, was low and urgent. He cut the engine completely, letting the boat drift silently towards a small, almost invisible opening in the thick foliage. Reyansh, quick as always, grabbed a rope and secured it to a gnarled root, pulling them into a tiny, hidden cove. An ancient, weather-beaten wooden hut, half-swallowed by the encroaching jungle, stood sentinel there. It was a relic from a forgotten era, a silent witness to countless tides.