The sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the Vardhan mansion’s living room, painting soft golden streaks across the cream-colored walls. The wide space smelled faintly of cardamom from the freshly brewed tea that sat steaming on a low, carved wooden table.

On the long couch, Devika sat with her usual grace. Draped in a muted green silk saree, she carried the air of someone who was born to balance poise with authority. Beside her, Sohba—Rudransh’s aunt, who never let go of her witty remarks—was leaning forward slightly, holding a photograph in her hand. She peered at it with the practiced scrutiny of someone who loved observing people. On the other side sat Nirmala, cradling a porcelain teacup. She was sipping slowly, but her eyes were sharper than the steam curling upward.