𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓

| 𝐈𝐈𝐈 |

𝟺:𝟶𝟼 𝙿.𝙼

𝟸𝟷 𝙵𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢

𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙳𝚎𝚕𝚑𝚒, 𝙸𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚊

As Kshitij finished sewing the final stitch on Rajiv Khanna’s chest, he stepped back and peeled off his gloves with a snap. He looked at the clock on the wall; the hands showed that evening was fast approaching. The soft orange glow from the setting sun filtered through the small, high windows, casting long shadows across the room.

The door creaked open, and Vaibhav stepped inside, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His face was a mask of thoughtfulness, but his sharp eyes flickered toward the body on the table, and then to Kshitij and Veronica.

“Any luck?” Vaibhav asked, his tone calm but expectant.

Kshitij sighed and nodded. “The wounds are precise, as we suspected. Whoever did this knew exactly how to kill him. No signs of a struggle or defensive wounds. He either didn’t see it coming or knew the attacker well enough to not expect it.”

Vaibhav crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “So it’s calculated. It had to be political. This wasn’t some random attack.”

Veronica leaned against the counter, the clipboard still in her hands. “Given his position, the list of people who might want him dead could be a mile long. Opposing parties, internal rivalries, even someone from his own camp. There’s no shortage of suspects.”

Ojas, who had been quiet up until now, piped in from the doorway. “And we’re just scratching the surface. You know how the political world works. Everyone’s got skeletons in their closets, and Khanna’s might’ve been buried deeper than most.”

Vaibhav glanced at Ojas and raised an eyebrow. “You’re being unusually chatty today.”

Ojas shrugged. “Maybe it’s the coffee you still owe me.”

Vaibhav chuckled despite the heavy air in the room. “Right, I did promise, didn’t I?”

Kshitij looked up from the table, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I wouldn’t mind a break either. You guys know there’s a staff cafeteria downstairs, right? It’s not fancy, but it’ll do.”

Veronica, already tossing her gloves into the waste bin, let out a sigh. “God, yes. I could use some caffeine and a change of scenery.”

“Let’s go, then,” Vaibhav said, gesturing toward the door. “Kshitij, you coming?”

Kshitij wiped his hands clean and grabbed his clipboard, hesitating for a moment. “I’ll join you guys in a minute. Just need to wrap up some notes here first.”

The others didn’t push, knowing Kshitij’s meticulous nature. As they filed out of the room, he was left in the stillness of the morgue. His pen scratched against the clipboard, noting down the details from the autopsy report. He felt a slight chill, the kind that creeps in after hours spent in the sterile, cold room.

It took Kshitij only a few more minutes to finish his notes. He carefully placed the clipboard back on the counter and followed the others to the hospital’s cafeteria.

The staff cafeteria was quiet this time of evening, with only a few doctors and nurses scattered around the room, chatting over paper cups of tea or coffee. Vaibhav, Ojas, and Veronica had already settled at a corner table, their drinks steaming in front of them.

Kshitij grabbed a cup of tea and joined them, sitting down heavily in the empty seat. “So,” he said, blowing on the tea to cool it, “let’s talk about Rajiv Khanna’s connections. I’m assuming his political enemies are the first suspects?”