The cemetery is shrouded in an eerie darkness, illuminated only by the dim, wavering light of a nearby streetlamp. The fog swirls around Ayan's feet as he walks toward the gate, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a mixture of suspicion and resolve.
A figure emerges from the shadows—a young boy, who was earlier seen hammering nails. He stands still, his posture enigmatic. Ayan approaches, his voice cutting through the stillness. "Where can I find Satpal?"
The boy's gaze is steady, his expression inscrutable. "I am Satpal." Ayan blinks, momentarily confused. "Guru Satpal?" The boy nods solemnly. "Yes, I am Guru Satpal."Ayan's curiosity deepens. "Do you practice black magic?"The boy shakes his head. "No."Ayan's brow furrows. "I saw you performing rituals in the slum."
