The courtroom was full.
Not because justice demanded it, but because attention did.
Cameras waited outside. Inside, the air felt heavier than usual, as if the walls themselves were listening.
Aarav stood with a single file in his hand.
The prosecutor watched him carefully.
"Call your next witness," the judge said.
Aarav shook his head. "I do not intend to call a witness, My Lord."
A murmur spread.
The prosecutor smiled. "Then the defense rests?"
"No," Aarav replied. "The defense reveals."
He placed the file on the desk.
"This case," Aarav said calmly, "has survived twelve years without a verdict because its most critical evidence was never presented."
The prosecutor stood. "Objection. There is no such evidence on record."
Aarav nodded. "That is precisely the problem."
He turned to the judge. "My Lord, I seek permission to submit an overlooked forensic report dated eleven years ago."
The judge frowned. "This report was never filed."
"Because it was never allowed to be filed," Aarav said.
Aarav opened the file.
"The report confirms that fingerprints recovered from the weapon do not match the accused."
Silence.
The prosecutor laughed sharply. "Convenient discovery."
Aarav looked at him. "The report bears the State Forensic Laboratory stamp."
The judge leaned forward. "How did you obtain this?"
"From the evidence room," Aarav replied. "Where it was mislabeled and never retrieved."
The prosecutor's voice rose. "This document cannot be admitted at this stage."
Aarav replied evenly, "Delay was engineered by the State. The State cannot benefit from its own obstruction."
The judge paused.
For the first time, he hesitated.
The court orderly was called.
The forensic officer was summoned.
Under oath, the officer admitted quietly, "Yes. The report was prepared. It was never forwarded to the court."
"On whose instruction?" Aarav asked.
The officer swallowed. "I… I do not recall."
Aarav didn't push further.
He didn't need to.
The judge removed his glasses.
"This court takes serious note," he said slowly, "of prolonged suppression of material evidence."
The prosecutor objected again, weaker now.
The judge ignored him.
Aarav addressed the court one final time.
"My client waited twelve years not because guilt was unclear, but because innocence was inconvenient."
The accused stood in the dock.
His hands trembled, but his eyes did not.
The judge passed a short order.
"Considering the circumstances," he said, "this court directs immediate bail to the accused."
The courtroom erupted.
The prosecutor sat down heavily.
The accused exhaled for the first time in twelve years.
But the judge continued.
"Additionally, this court orders an independent inquiry into the delay, suppression of evidence, and procedural misconduct."
Aarav closed his eyes briefly.
The first crack had appeared.
Outside, reporters shouted questions.
"Is this justice, Mr. Mehta?"
Aarav answered carefully. "This is accountability beginning."
The accused stepped into sunlight.
Free, but not finished.
That night, Aarav received a final message.
Unknown number.
Section Zero has many files.
Aarav typed back.
So do I.
He placed the old case file on his desk.
For the first time, it felt lighter.
Not closed.
But alive.