Evening settled heavy over the palace. Not the kind that soothed. The kind that pressed. Rishikesh’s study was dimly lit, the amber glow of a single lamp carving sharp edges into the shadows. The rest of the room remained swallowed in darkness. Files lay open across his desk, pages marked, annotated, cross referenced. None of them offering comfort. Only fragments.

Prithvi stood near the window, the city lights beyond the glass blinking faintly in the distance. His phone was still in his hand. The call had ended ten seconds ago. He had not moved. He inhaled once, slow and deliberate. Then turned. And shook his head. Rishikesh leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He already knew. The silence had told him enough.