When Athira pushed him, the SIT stood paralyzed. To them, it looked like a sister's grief-driven vengeance finally snapping. As Sreenu's body was lost to the surf, ACP Vikram lowered his weapon, his face etched with a grim sort of pity for Athira. She was shaking, her eyes wet, playing the role of the broken survivor to perfection.
The silence was broken by Vishwa's phone. It was the hospital. The maid—the only living link to the night Druvi vanished—had flatlined.
"We need to go. Now," Vishwa commanded.
The hospital wing felt colder than the morgue. The SIT stood around the lifeless body of the eye-witness. She was gone, and with her, the truth of that night.
Ethan Stan scrambled into the security room. "The CCTV is a bust," he cursed, slamming his hand on the desk. "Whoever did this knew the blind spots. They moved like a shadow between the camera cycles. There's nothing but empty hallways."
The team stood in the middle of the ward, the weight of a failed three-year investigation crashing down on them. They had the serial killer, but they had lost the origin.