Rao leaned back. He looked, for a moment, genuinely tired — not guilty, not panicked. Just tired. The specific fatigue of someone who had been carrying a justification for a long time and had found the weight of it manageable until now.
"What do you want?" he said.
"I want it to stop. Every active participant notified and released. Every family that lost someone told the truth. And every person in this hospital who knew — I want them to face what they did."
He stood up. "You should know that Kalyani is not a small operation. The people above me have resources that extend well beyond this hospital. Whatever you do with those files will be contested. Dangerous."
"I know."
"You're choosing this," he said. Not a question. An attempt to understand.
"My name was on Raju Waghmare's death certificate," she said. "He's alive because I read it before it was too late. One hundred and nine other people weren't that lucky and my profession's signature is on their paperwork too." She met his eyes. "I'm choosing this."
He left. Her phone rang at 7:42 AM. Unknown number.
"Dr. Vashisht. My name is Nalini Iyer. I'm a senior correspondent at The Wire. I received a message this morning from your email address about a story involving Kalyani Medical Centre. I need to talk to you today."
Priya exhaled. "Yes," she said. "Where can we meet?"
