Aradhna stood in the dimly lit room of the rented farmhouse, her heart pounding as she faced Rajesh, her own election agent. The air smelled of dust and cheap incense. Outside, the night before polling day stretched endless and black. She had come alone, as he demanded, after days of his refusals to handle the booths. His four closest workers—Vikram, Suresh, Manoj, and Ramesh—waited in the shadows, their eyes already undressing her.

“Madam, booth management ke bina election jeetna mushkil hai,” Rajesh said, his voice low and steady. (Madam, without booth management it is difficult to win the election.) “Aap ko decide karna hoga. Ya toh aap raat yahan guzaaro, ya phir main haath khade kar deta hoon.” (You have to decide. Either you spend the night here, or I wash my hands of it.)