A knock on the door. A junior officer hands him a letter. No return address. Inside, a single line:

The real Gabbar. The original.

That night, Vikram digs up a steel box from under Meera’s grave. Inside: a black leather glove, a rusted machete, and a mask woven from burlap with “Gabbar” stitched in red.

“You’re right,” Vikram says. “That’s why I’m not going to kill your idea.”

He looks at Tara’s photo. Then at the mask.