Harshvardhan sat with his elbows resting on the desk, eyes fixed on the forensics file Ravi had just dropped in front of him.
"DNA from the cigarette didn't match Raghav." Ravi said, arms folded, voice low and steady. "We ran it twice to be sure. And the cigarette brand-it's imported, expensive. Not something you'd find at a street stall. Whoever left it had taste-or wanted to seem like they did."
Ravi continued, voice more cautious now. "I also pulled call logs. The last outgoing call from the victim's number was to a friend. Rahul Sethi. Twenty minutes before his estimated time of death."
"But there's more",
He handed over another file.
It was slimmer than the others, but something about it made Harshvardhan's spine straighten.
This..." Ravi said quietly, "is Rhea's background. You said to dig."
The tab read: RHEA SRIVASTAV - BACKGROUND.Harshvardhan's fingers paused before turning it open.
"She didn't show up on our radar during the first sweep. No criminal records. No violent history. But..." Ravi opened the file and handed him a photo - a girl, perhaps seventeen, smiling too brightly for the hollowness in her eyes.
"Her sister?" Harshvardhan guessed.
There was an old photo clipped to the first page. Rhea as a teenager. Standing with a pale girl who looked like her, a softer version. Both girls smiling.
Her name was Mira sharma. Deceased, aged 24.
Harshvardhan flipped through the next page. Handwritten doctor's notes. A scanned obituary. Medical bills that stretched over a decade.
There was a pause. Heavy. Unspoken.
Harshvardhan's eyes remained on the report, but he wasn't reading anymore.
Cause of death: Stage IV Hodgkin's lymphoma.
The disease was mentioned again - once under the name of her mother, who had passed when Rhea was only thirteen. And now, Mira again.
The file said the cancer had gone undetected for too long. Symptoms had been brushed off - fatigue, weight loss, fever. By the time treatment began, it was already too late. Rhea had cared for her throughout. She'd even dropped out of work for nearly a year.
Their father's medical records were attached next.
"Admitted to Shivanta Psychiatric Care Facility," Ravi read aloud. "Diagnosed with complicated grief and depressive psychosis following the death of his younger daughter. He was hospitalized two months after her funeral. He's still under care, slowly recovering."
Harshvardhan closed the file gently. His eyes didn't leave the photo.
"She moved to her current house," Ravi said, flipping his notepad, "about four months after the sister's death."
He wondered again about her past. She'd moved into this house six months ago, barely four months after her sister's death. Grief had barely had time to cool-and yet here she was, composed, polished, enigmatic.
Harshvardhan leaned back in his chair. A long, deliberate breath.
So much death in one file. And yet, the woman he'd met didn't carry it on her face. Not openly. There had been warmth in her smile, restraint in her voice. Too polished, maybe. Too careful.
But the weight was there.
And suddenly, he could feel it - not just as a fact on a report, but something pressing between the lines. The kind of quiet devastation that builds not just grief, but motive.
Still no proof.
But the ground was beginning to crack.
---
"Some hunts are meant to capture the hunter."