( Flashback )
**Interrogation**
The room wasn't stark, but it might as well have been. Warm lights hummed above, the walls a pale cream that gave nothing away. Across the polished table sat Rhea, her hands folded neatly in her lap, posture controlled. Her eyes were dry now, gaze focused but distant. Not cold. Not detached. But too composed for someone who had found a mutilated corpse in her house.
Harshavardhan tapped his pen lightly against his notepad. He'd studied her from the moment she entered the room, noting the stillness in her movements, the precision of her words. Writers, he thought, often had good control over their expressions. She was no exception.
"Do you know why you're here, Miss Rhea sharma?" he asked, voice steady.
"I can guess," she replied softly.
"Then let's not waste time. Were you acquainted with the victim before the night of the murder?"
Rhea met his eyes. "No."
He leaned forward slightly. "Are you sure? Not even vaguely?"
"I told you. I didn't know him." Her tone was unchanging, as if she'd rehearsed the truth too many times.
"You were the first to enter the house."
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes. My editor Ruhi was parking the car. My agent kavya was taking out the food we had packed. It was supposed to be a late-night working session. We've done it before. Nothing strange about that."
He nodded slowly. "And yet... you found a dead body inside. That would throw anyone off."
She gave a small, almost invisible nod. "It did."
"You were the first to see the body?" he asked.
"Yes," Rhea replied evenly.
"And what happened inside?"
"I froze." Her voice didn't waver, but her hands tightened briefly on her lap. "He was lying in the hallway, facedown. There was... blood. More than I've ever seen in my life. I didn't register anything at first. Then kavya and ruhi walked in behind me. They screamed. That broke whatever spell I was under. Ruhi told me to call the police. I did."
"You didn't touch the body?"
"No," she said instantly, and then added, "I don't think I even went near it. I stayed by the door. I didn't want to get any closer."
Harshavardhan jotted something down. "Do you know the victim?"
"No," she said. "I've never seen him before."
He looked up sharply. "That's unusual, isn't it? For a stranger to end up dead in your house?"
Her smile was brief, unamused. "I would think so, yes."
"Any signs of a break-in?"
"I leave that to your team. I was advised not to enter again until forensics had gone through the place."
There was a long pause. He studied her, waiting for a flicker of nervousness, a catch in her breath. But she gave him nothing.
"You've imagined scenes like this before," he said finally, voice softer. "You write crime. Was this-familiar?"
Rhea's gaze didn't waver. "Familiar, yes. But imagined violence, even carefully written, doesn't prepare you for reality. The smell. The weight of silence. The way the body didn't move." She exhaled, almost thoughtfully. "It was far worse than I'd expected. But the shock fades fast. The brain adapts."
"Or compartmentalizes," Harshavardhan said.
"Isn't that your job too?" she asked, eyes meeting his. "To see horror and remain unaffected?"
He gave a faint smile but didn't answer. Instead, he flipped back through his notes. "Tell me, Ms. Sharma. Are your house keys easily accessible?"
"I carry them in my bag. And my house has a security system."
"Was it triggered?"
"No," she said, then added, "but the system only activates if manually set. I don't always use it when I'm stepping out briefly."
"Convenient."
She tilted her head slightly. "Unfortunate, I'd say."
The interview stretched on, a delicate dance of control and evasion. Harshavardhan pressed for inconsistencies. Rhea offered precision. And beneath it all, a current of something unreadable passed between them-a silent recognition that this was no ordinary witness, no ordinary case.
The corpse had a name now. But Harshavardhan hadn't shared it with her. Not yet.
And Rhea didn't ask.
"Why were you so calm during the questioning?" he asked suddenly.
She glanced down at the table. "Because panic would make me look guilty."
"So would calculated calm."
"Then I suppose I couldn't win either way."
He stood, not with anger, but a kind of slow certainty. "I don't think you're lying, Rhea. But I do think you're hiding something."
She didn't deny it. Just looked up, eyes steady.
"You don't seem like a woman caught off guard," he said.
"And you don't seem like a man who believes in coincidences."
As he reached the door, he paused. "You say you didn't know him. But sometimes, it's not about the victim. It's about the story that comes after."
Rhea didn't answer. She didn't have to.
Because the story was only beginning-and Harshvardhan could already feel the pages burning in his hands.
"Not every killer hides in the shadows—some wait in plain sight, smiling."