Neha had always known how to get what she wanted. At twenty-two, in the final year of their engineering college, she carried herself with the easy arrogance of someone who never had to ask twice. Kavya, her stepsister by a year and a half, was the quieter one—slender, dark-eyed, the kind of girl who kept her head down in the hostel corridors and smiled politely at the mess staff. They shared Room 214 on the third floor of the girls’ hostel, two narrow beds, one study table, a shared almirah, and a bathroom that never quite drained properly.

It was a Tuesday night when Neha found the folder.