The confession hung in the darkness.
"Yes," Inspector Rathore said again. "I was there."
Thunder rolled across the sky as if the storm itself demanded the rest of the story.
Aanya felt her chest tighten.
"You were there," she repeated slowly. "Then why weren't you in the report?"
The inspector exhaled.
"Because I wasn't a witness," he said quietly. "I was the victim's friend."
Silence.
"The boy who drowned," he continued, "his name was Karan Mehta. We were in college together. That night at Lake Pichola… we were celebrating."
Lake Pichola
"The five men in that photograph—your father included—they were senior students. Influential. Powerful. They controlled everything."
Aanya's mind raced.
"So what happened?"
Rathore's jaw tightened.
"There was an argument."
"About what?"
"A land deal," he replied. "Karan had discovered something illegal. Your father and the others were involved in a property agreement near the lake. Fake documents. Forced signatures."
Her stomach dropped.
"No…" she whispered.
"They tried to scare him," the inspector continued. "It wasn't supposed to go that far."
The rain battered the windows violently now.
"Karan slipped," Rathore said. "He hit his head. He fell into the water."
"And they didn't help him?" Aanya's voice cracked.
"They froze," Rathore replied. "By the time I reached him… he was gone."
The room felt suffocating.
"They made a pact," he said. "To call it an accident. To protect their futures."
Aanya's thoughts clashed violently.
Her father?
Illegal deals?
Lies?
"And you?" she asked sharply. "Why didn't you expose them?"
Rathore looked away.
"I tried," he said quietly. "But I was just a student. They had money. Influence. Lawyers."
He paused.
"And Karan's younger brother vanished the next day."
Aanya's heartbeat pounded in her ears.
"The brother…" she whispered.
"Yes," Rathore said. "He attended the funeral. He didn't cry. He didn't shout. He just watched."
Lightning flashed.
For a brief second, Rathore's face looked haunted.
"He said one thing to me," the inspector continued.
Aanya's voice was barely audible. "What?"
"This won't end here."
Silence swallowed the room.
"So you think the brother is behind the disappearances?" she asked.
"I think someone waited ten years," Rathore said carefully. "And started taking them one by one."
"But why wait so long?"
The inspector's eyes darkened.
"Because revenge tastes better when it's cold."
Suddenly—
Aanya remembered something.
"The file," she whispered.
"What file?"
"The one my father was holding before he left."
Rathore stiffened.
"What was in it?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But he looked scared."
The inspector's expression changed again.
"Then this isn't just revenge," he said slowly.
"It's unfinished business."
Before Aanya could respond—
A loud crash came from the backyard.
Both of them turned.
The storm roared violently outside.
Another crash.
Something had broken.
Rathore pulled out his flashlight.
"Stay behind me."
They moved toward the back door.
The glass window had shattered.
Rain poured inside.
And on the wet floor—
Drawn clearly in mud—
The same symbol.
But this time, beneath it—
A message.
Three words.
"You were wrong."
Aanya's breath stopped.
Rathore's face went pale.
Because those words—
Were written in Karan Mehta's handwriting.