Vlada knelt beside the body, her investigative instincts kicking in as she examined the scene. "She's been dead a while. No defensive wounds on her hands, no obvious signs of struggle. Whoever did this wanted her to be found like this—almost as a message."
Ayan scanned the surrounding alley. "But who would Malhotra know that could provoke this memory? Who is she to him?"
Malhotra shook his head, clutching his temples. "I don't know! I don't know her! But I see her every night. I feel her fear, her last moments, and it's eating away at me…"
Nitya approached him, her voice calm but firm. "Taran, sometimes minds use familiar faces to hide a deeper truth. Think about what you feel when you see her. Does she remind you of anyone? A case, perhaps, from one of your books?"
A flicker of recognition crossed Malhotra's face, but he seemed reluctant to admit it. His eyes darted back to the girl, and then to Nitya, as if begging for a way out of the memory.
