The afternoon sun hung heavy over the dusty lane that led to the old house at the edge of the fields. Naira walked alone, the cloth bag of clothes swinging against her hip. Her aunt had asked her to deliver them before evening. She wore a simple pale-blue salwar-kameez, the fabric thin from many washings, her long black hair tied in a loose braid that kept slipping over one shoulder. She was twenty-one, slim, quiet by nature, and she had no reason to think anyone would be waiting inside.

The wooden door stood half open. She stepped into the cool dimness of the main room and called out once.