Shyra's car sputtered to a halt on the dusty outskirts of Delhi, smoke billowing from under the hood like a bad omen. It was late afternoon, the sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the cracked road. She cursed under her breath, her designer heels sinking into the gravel as she popped the hood. She knew nothing about engines, but the acrid smell told her it was serious. Waving down a passing truck, she hitched a ride to the nearest auto shop—a grimy garage called "Raju's Auto Works," tucked away in an industrial alley.