The courtroom was unusually quiet.
No whispers. No casual laughter. Even the ceiling fan seemed to rotate more slowly, as if it sensed the weight of what was about to be said.
Aarav stood when the judge took the bench.
"My Lord," he began, "before the prosecution proceeds, I submit that the accused has been in illegal custody since the very first day."
The prosecutor rose instantly. "Objection! This argument has already been settled."
Aarav did not turn. "Illegality does not settle itself, My Lord."
The judge raised a hand. "Proceed, Mr. Mehta."
Aarav walked to the center of the courtroom.
"On record," he said, "the accused was arrested on the 14th of June. However, the remand order authorizing his custody is dated the 12th of June."
He held up the photocopy.
"This means the accused was produced before the court two days before he was legally arrested."
The courtroom stirred.
The prosecutor scoffed. "A technical discrepancy."
Aarav's voice sharpened. "Custody without arrest is not a discrepancy. It is detention without law."
He turned to the judge. "My Lord, Article 22 exists for a reason."
The judge leaned forward.
Aarav continued, "Every day of custody based on an illegal remand is unconstitutional. Twelve years of it cannot be justified by silence."
The prosecutor slammed his file shut. "The defense is misusing paperwork to distract from the crime."
Aarav faced him. "Paperwork is where the crime begins."
The judge asked, "Why was this issue not raised earlier?"
Aarav answered calmly. "Because the order was buried. And when it resurfaced, it vanished."
A murmur spread across the courtroom.
The judge's eyes narrowed. "Are you alleging tampering of judicial records?"
"Yes, My Lord."
The word hung in the air.
The prosecutor spoke carefully now. "My Lord, this is a serious accusation without proof."
Aarav nodded. "That is why I have moved three applications."
He placed them on the table.
"An inquiry into the missing remand order.
Witness protection for those turning hostile.
And interim relief for illegal custody."
The judge studied the papers.
Raghav stood in the dock, hands trembling.
For the first time, the courtroom was speaking his language.
The judge finally said, "I will hear the prosecution tomorrow."
The prosecutor protested. "My Lord—"
"Tomorrow," the judge repeated.
The gavel struck.
Outside, the corridor buzzed.
Lawyers whispered. Journalists scribbled notes.
Ravi leaned toward Aarav. "Sir, this is getting attention."
Aarav replied quietly, "Good. Darkness survives on privacy."
That evening, Aarav received a message.
Unknown number.
You are turning procedure into rebellion.
Aarav typed back one word.
Law.
The reply came instantly.
Then understand this—law has limits.
Aarav smiled faintly.
"So does patience," he murmured.
Back in jail, Raghav lay awake.
For the first time in years, hope frightened him more than despair.
Because hope demanded an ending.
And endings always had a cost.