Aradhna stood outside the heavy wooden door of the Police Commissioner’s private chamber, her heart hammering against her ribs. The corridor of the headquarters was silent at this hour, past midnight, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. She had come because the message was clear: if she wanted protection for her upcoming rallies and the FIRs against her rivals handled favourably, she would appear alone, late, and without her usual security detail. Her silk saree clung to her body from the humidity, the deep red fabric edged with gold. She adjusted the pallu over her shoulder one last time and knocked.

The door opened. Commissioner Rathore stood there, tall, broad-shouldered, his uniform crisp even at this hour. Behind him, three senior officers waited—SP Malhotra, DSP Verma, and Inspector Khan. The room was large, the walls lined with dark wood paneling, a heavy interrogation table in the center under a single hanging lamp. No windows. The lock clicked shut behind her the moment she stepped inside.