Once assured of the privacy of his opulent room—a cocoon of silence amidst the clamor of the city—Manav settled into the supple leather of an armchair. Arya, still engrossed in her online schooling, her laughter a balm to his mounting unease, remained oblivious to the tension her father carried.
He withdrew the envelope, its contents unknown yet heavy with foreboding. As he laid out the photographs on the polished wood of the coffee table, his eyes flitted across unfamiliar faces—men and women who looked back at him through frozen stares, their intentions hidden within the confines of the glossy paper.
Their features revealed nothing to Manav, no flicker of recognition to hint at a connection. Yet, their very anonymity signaled a professionalism that unnerved him. They were specters at t
