The drive to the forensic lab was a suffocating silence, broken only by the rhythmic thud of the wipers slashing against the heavy rain. Aditya gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He didn't look at Rudra. He didn't want to see the trembling hands of the man who had once carried him out of a burning building.
Rudra sat slumped in the passenger seat, staring at his left hand. It was wrapped in a bandage he had hastily applied, but the blood had already seeped through, dark and ominous against the white gauze.
"Stop the car," Rudra said, his voice a dry rasp.
" We are five minutes away—"
"I said stop the damn car!"
Aditya slammed on the brakes. The sedan skidded on the wet asphalt, coming to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. The city lights of Delhi blurred in the distance.
Rudra ripped the bandage off.
Aditya turned to look. He had seen thousand of wounds—gunshots, stab wounds, decaying flesh—but the sight of Rudra's hand made his stomach churn. Rudra's pinky finger was gone. Not cut cleanly, but hacked off, the skin jagged and raw. It was an old wound, poorly stitched, a relic from a decade ago.
"The package," Rudra whispered, holding up his shaking hand. "It wasn't a new finger. It was my finger. The one I buried."
Aditya swallowed hard. He remembered the night vividly. The smoke, the screaming, the chaotic stampede of the riot. They had been young, reckless, and terrified.
"Rudra, we agreed never to speak of that night," Aditya said, his voice low. "We buried the body. We buried the evidence."
"We buried my sin," Rudra corrected, his eyes wild. "That boy... he didn't die in the stampede. I killed him. I pushed him, and he fell on the metal scrap. And when I saw his body... I panicked. I cut off my own finger and buried it with him."
Aditya frowned. "Why? Why mutilate yourself?"
"Because I was scared, Aditya! I wanted the body to be found later, unidentifiable. I wanted the police to think it was a gang war, a random mutilation. I wanted to confuse the forensics." Rudra laughed, a broken, jagged sound. "I was an idiot. I thought if I mixed my DNA with his corpse, it would just be... mess. Chaos. But I didn't know you then. I didn't know you'd become the best forensic analyst in the country."
Aditya felt a cold dread settle in his chest. "If the killer has your finger... he has DNA evidence linking you to the body. He can prove you were there."
"No," Rudra said, shaking his head slowly. "It proves I was buried with him. The tissue would be preserved in the chemical waste we dumped him in. It wouldn't look like I cut it off ten years ago. To a lab, it might look like... a trophy."
The implication hung heavy in the air. Someone was framing Rudra for a murder he had technically committed, but in a way that made it look like a serial killer's obsession.
"The Judge," Aditya said, connecting the dots rapidly. "Judge Sharma. He was the one who signed off on the riot closure report. He declared it a 'natural disaster' and closed the file."
Rudra's eyes widened. "And the note. 'The first act is judgement'. The Judge was judged."
"For what?" Aditya asked. "For hiding the truth?"
"For failing to see," a voice crackled from the backseat.
Both men froze.
Aditya looked in the rearview mirror. A figure sat in the shadows behind them. How had he gotten in? The doors were locked.
"Drive," the figure said. His voice was calm, educated, and terrifyingly gentle. "Drive to the observatory. You missed something."
Rudra went for his gun.
"I wouldn't," the man said. "I have a sniper on the overpass. Your wife just dropped your daughter at school. It would be a tragedy if the bus didn't make the turn."
Rudra's hand froze on the holster. His face went pale. "Who are you?"
"A messenger," the man replied, leaning forward just enough for the streetlights to catch his eyes. They were clouded, milky white. He was blind. "I am just the eyes of the one you seek. And he is very disappointed, Inspector Rudra. You looked at the stars, but you didn't see them."
Aditya kept his hands on the wheel, his mind racing. The blind man was navigating them? "What did we miss?"
"The Judge's stomach," the blind man whispered. "You didn't open it. You were too busy looking at his mouth."
Aditya remembered the copper scroll. He had been so focused on the script, he hadn't completed the full autopsy at the scene.
"Open it," the blind man commanded. "And you will find the map. But be warned... the map is not a place. It is a person."
"Who?" Aditya asked.
"Your father, Rudra," the blind man smiled, a ghastly expression. "The map leads to the man who created the monster that killed the Judge. It leads to your father."
Rudra lunged backward, grabbing the blind man by the collar. "Where is he? Where is my father?"
The blind man didn't flinch. He turned his sightless eyes toward Rudra.
"He is waiting for you at the Twelfth House. But he is not the victim anymore, son. He is the executioner."
Suddenly, the sharp crack of a bullet shattered the rear windshield. The glass sprayed over Aditya. The blind man used the chaos to open the door and roll out into the pouring rain, vanishing into the dark highway before either of them could react.
"Damn it!" Rudra shouted, firing a blind shot into the darkness.
Aditya grabbed Rudra's arm, pulling him back. "Stop! We have to go back to the body. Now!"
"Why?"
"Because," Aditya said, starting the engine with a roar, his heart pounding against his ribs. "If what he said is true, and there is something in the stomach... then we weren't the only ones who buried a secret ten years ago. The Judge swallowed something before he died."
Aditya floored the accelerator. The car screamed down the highway.
"And I think," Aditya continued, his voice shaking, "I think I know what it is. And if it gets out... you won't just lose your job, Rudra. You'll lose your soul."