The four walls of the guest house room felt like they were closing in. It was nearly 2:00 AM on Monday morning. The date on Neel's burner phone read August 31st had just passed. The murder was set for the night of September 1st. A little over thirty-six hours remained.
Thirty-six hours to stop a ghost from killing a king in the most secure location in the city.
The videos on the USB drive were everything. They were a confession, a motive, and a declaration of intent—a complete portrait of a killer's soul. But the proof was useless if it wasn't seen by the right person. Walking into a police station with this would get him arrested and the evidence buried under a mountain of bureaucracy so high it would never see the light of day, especially with a name like Abhijit Singh involved.
There was only one path forward. He had to show it to Alok. He had to force his old partner to see the monster he was refusing to look at.
He picked up the burner phone, his thumb hovering over Alok's number. Calling him again so soon, after being explicitly warned not to, was a monumental risk. It could sever their fragile, rekindled connection permanently. But there was no choice. The clock was ticking too fast.
He dialed. It rang once, twice, three times. Finally, Alok answered, his voice thick with sleep and instant fury.
"I told you not to call this number, Verma. Do you want me to lose my job?"
"He's going to kill again, Alok," Neel said, his voice stripped of all artifice, leaving only raw, urgent truth. "The body at the fort was just the beginning. It's a prelude."
"What are you talking about? What prelude?"
"I have proof," Neel said, his voice low and intense. "Not theories. Not deductions. Proof. I have his confession. I have his face. I have his motive. And I have his next target and the date."
There was a moment of charged silence on the line. Alok was a good cop; he could hear the difference between a frantic theory and cold, hard fact.
"What do you have, Neel?" Alok asked, his anger being replaced by a cautious, professional curiosity.
"I can't say over the phone. You have to see it for yourself. It changes everything," Neel insisted. "Thirty-six hours, Alok. That's the window we have before he creates his 'masterpiece' at the palace."
He heard a heavy sigh, the sound of a man being dragged into a storm he had desperately tried to avoid.
"Where?" Alok finally asked, his voice resigned.
Neel thought for a moment, needing a place that was isolated, secure, and neutral. "The old Mehrangarh pumping station. The one down by the lake at the foot of the fort. It's been abandoned for years. Be there at sunrise. 6:00 AM."
"And Neel," Alok warned, his voice a low threat, "this had better be real. Because if it's not, I'm walking away, and you're on your own for good."
"Just be there," Neel said, and ended the call.
He looked at the small USB drive on the table. It contained the diary of a devil. In a few hours, he would have to ask his old friend to open it and look inside.