The living room of the third-floor flat had been stripped of its dignity. With the doorknobs removed and the locks hollowed out, the space felt raw, exposed, and clinical. The moonlight bled through the uncurtained windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor where millions of rupees in recovered assets lay scattered like fallen leaves. The air was no longer thick with the scent of bleach; it was heavy with the copper tang of a fresh emotional wound.

This was the night of the reckoning. The brothers had spent weeks trying to "fix" the situation with quiet movements and pomegranate seeds. They had tried to outrun the silence. But tonight, the silence had grown teeth.