Kabir Anand 1 The old ceiling fan in Detective Inspector Meenal Rathore’s apartment made a dry, rhythmic creak as it turned in the summer night heat. She sat at her desk in a sleeveless kurta, case files spread open, a mug of cold tea forgotten at her elbow. The city outside was quieter than usual, its usual honking and scooter rumbles dulled at this hour. Her phone buzzed sharply at exactly midnight, the screen flashing an unknown number. She answered out of habit, expecting a drunken domestic complaint or a false alarm. Instead, a low, carefully measured voice came through…
