The private lounge smelled of expensive leather, stale cigar smoke, and the faint metallic tang of power that always hung in the corridors of the assembly complex. Outside, the floor test dragged on under the harsh fluorescent lights of the main chamber. Voices rose and fell in practiced outrage. Inside this sealed room, three opposition MLAs sat on the long black leather sofas arranged in a loose U, whiskey glasses half-empty on the low table, their faces already flushed with more than alcohol.

Aradhna entered without knocking. The door clicked shut behind her. She wore a simple black saree that clung to her hips and the curve of her breasts, the blouse cut lower than anything she would ever wear in public. Her hair was open, falling past her shoulders. She did not smile. She simply looked at each of them in turn.