The conference room on the third floor of the state secretariat was thick with the smell of old paper, stale coffee and the faint metallic tang of the air-conditioning that never quite worked properly. Outside the heavy double doors the corridor still echoed with the hurried footsteps of junior staff who had been ordered out the moment the Chief Minister raised his hand and said the words “loyalty interval.” The doors were locked. The blinds were drawn. Only the senior ministers remained, seven of them including the Chief Minister himself, seated around the long polished conference table that could seat twenty.

Aradhna stood near the head of the table where the stenographer’s chair usually sat. She was twenty-eight, the personal assistant who had been kept back “for minutes.” Her simple cream saree was already slightly crumpled from the morning’s rush. She kept her eyes on the floor, fingers twisting the edge of her pallu.