The fluorescent tubes above the petrol pump flickered once, twice, then settled into a hard white glare that barely reached the edges of the small concrete island. Beyond that circle of light the highway stretched empty in both directions, a black ribbon under a moonless sky. Distant truck engines growled somewhere far off, the only sound besides the soft click of the pump’s counter and the occasional chirp of insects in the dry scrub.

Vrinda’s car rolled to a stop with a final sputter just outside the island. The engine coughed, died. She sat for a moment with both hands on the wheel, breathing through the sudden quiet. Four young men in oil-stained blue uniforms had already started walking out from the shadowed office cabin. One wiped his hands on a rag. Another carried a torch even though the floodlights were on.