"He's planning the completion for next Friday. The new moon. Three more women in six days. After that, the circle closes, and you'll never find them."
"Tell me your name," Aarav said. "Let me help you."
"My name is Shalini Jain. I'm twenty-seven years old. I work at a call centre in Gurgaon. I went to LifeCare for a health check-up two months ago. My results were perfect." A breath — shaky, controlled. "He's been calling me for three weeks. I'm at seven calls. When I reach nine, they'll come for me."
"Where are you now?"
"At my flat. In Sohna Road. But they watch me. I don't know how — cameras, maybe. Something in my phone. I can feel it. Every time I leave the house, there's a car. White Creta. Tinted windows."
"I can put you in protection —"
"No. The moment you move me, they'll know you know. And they'll accelerate. They'll take the last three women faster, complete the ritual, and vanish. The four women in the farmhouse — they'll be moved or worse."
She was right. It was the terrible calculus of hostage situations — any overt move could trigger the very outcome you're trying to prevent.
"Then what do you want me to do?" Aarav asked.
"Stop them on Friday. Not before. Let the plan run until the moment of completion, and then stop it. That's the only way you save everyone — the four women in the farmhouse, the three they haven't taken yet, and me."
"That's an enormous risk."
"I know. But I'm the one taking it."
The line went dead. Aarav sat in the dark, listening to the crickets and the distant sound of the city, and felt the weight of what she was asking. Let the killer reach the edge of completion. Let him believe his ritual is working. And then, at the last possible moment, bring it down.
It was either the bravest thing he'd ever heard or the most reckless. Either way, he had six days. Six days to build a case, a team, and a plan that would dismantle a thirty-year operation without getting nine women killed in the process.
He started the car and drove home. On the way, his phone buzzed. Not a call — a message from Simran.
"Aarav, I need to talk to you about something. When this case is over. It's important."
He knew what that meant. He'd known for months. The weekends in Lucknow, the flat tone, the careful distance. Simran was preparing to leave.
He typed: "I know. We'll talk."
Then he put the phone down and focused on the road. One crisis at a time. Save the women first. Save his marriage later.
Or whatever was left of it.
