The silence inside Devandra’s private office that night was almost suffocating. Only the ticking of the wall clock broke through the stillness, steady and merciless. He sat forward in his chair, his posture tense, fingers drumming against the surface of the black marble desk. His cold gaze was fixed on the stack of documents Raga had just placed before him.

“This is everything I could gather,” Raga murmured, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “There’s a pattern that points to Lyra. But… it isn’t solid enough to bring her down.”

Devandra narrowed his eyes. He reached for one of the folders, scanning through the scattered notes, surveillance records, and blurred screenshots...