CHAPTER 1
Blue and red lights of police cars tore through the darkness, flashing violently against the rain-soaked buildings.
The wail of an ambulance siren cut through the night, rising and falling like a warning no one could ignore.
“Move! Move!”
Police officers rushed past the barricades, boots splashing through puddles, voices overlapping in sharp commands. The alley, once silent, now pulsed with urgency.
A stretcher clattered onto the wet ground.
“Is he breathing?”
“No pulse!”
“Stand back!”
The body lay under the harsh glare of headlights, pale and unmoving, rain dripping steadily from his fingertips. His eyes were open—frozen in something that looked almost like fear.
Inspector Arjun Menon stepped out of his vehicle, the siren dying behind him with a low whine. For a moment, he didn’t move. His gaze swept over the chaos—the flashing lights, the frantic movement, the noise.
And then, he saw it.
The stillness.
Right in the middle of everything.
The victim.
Untouched by the panic surrounding him.
“Clear the area,” Arjun said, his voice calm but firm. “Now.”
The noise didn’t stop—but it shifted. Officers stepped back. The circle widened.
Arjun walked forward slowly, each step deliberate, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. No signs of struggle. No scattered evidence.
Too clean.
Too perfect.
“Sir…”
He turned slightly. A young constable stood near the wall, his face pale.
“There’s something you need to see.”
Arjun didn’t respond immediately. His gaze had already fixed on it.
Just above the body, scratched into the damp wall, was a symbol.
Not random. Not rushed.
Precise.
Deliberate.
His jaw tightened.
Because he knew this symbol.
He had seen it once before—
On a case that was never solved.
And that body had been placed the exact same way.
Same stillness.
Same silence beneath the noise.
Same mark.
A broken circle with three straight lines cutting through it.
Arjun exhaled slowly, the weight of it settling in.
“Seal the area,” he said quietly.
“This is just the beginning.”
After some time....
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time the body was covered.
But no one was leaving.
Not yet.
“No ID,” one officer said, flipping through a soaked wallet. “Nothing useful.”
Arjun didn’t respond.
He was crouched near the body, his eyes tracing every detail—the position of the hands, the angle of the head, the unnatural stillness.
It was too exact.
Like someone had placed him.
“Time of death?”
“Roughly between 2 and 3 AM, sir.”
Arjun nodded slowly.
Same window.
He stood up and turned toward the wall again. The symbol stared back at him, rainwater dripping through its carved lines.
“Get this photographed. High resolution. Every inch.”
“Already on it, sir.”
Arjun stepped back, his mind already moving ahead. Not reacting—predicting.
“Check missing persons from the last 48 hours,” he said. “Cross-reference by location.”
The constable blinked. “Location, sir?”
Arjun glanced once more at the body… then at the narrow alley… then beyond, toward the main road glowing faintly under streetlights.
“This isn’t random,” he said quietly.
“He chose this place.”
A pause.
“And if I’m right…”
He looked back at the symbol.
“…he’s already chosen the next one.”
𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎
The DGP’s office was in chaos.
Officers stood in tense silence, their whispers barely contained as they crowded near the large desk. Files were scattered. Phones kept ringing. No one dared to pick them up.
The nameplate on the table read: DGP Vivek Rajan .
“Yes… yes, sir. I understand.”
Vivek ended the call with a sharp thud, the sound echoing across the room.
He ran a hand across his face, frustration written all over it.
“I’m getting pressure from everywhere,” he said, his voice tight. “The Chief Minister just called. Elections are near—we can’t afford this kind of chaos.”
Arjun stepped forward cautiously.
“Sir, we’re trying our best—”
“Stop, Arjun!”
The room fell silent.
Vivek’s eyes locked onto him, anger barely contained.
“You said the same thing last time. And I trusted you.”
A pause. Heavy.
“Did you solve it?”
Arjun said nothing.
“No.” Vivek answered his own question.
Arjun lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Varun exhaled slowly, then spoke—quieter this time, but far more dangerous.
“The Chief Minister has given the order.”
Another pause.
“The case is being handed over to the CBI.”
𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎
Slow, steady footsteps echoed down the dim corridor leading to the mortuary.
The air was cold. Sterile. Heavy with silence.
Inside, Inspector Arjun stood with his team, scanning the postmortem reports while the doctor spoke in a low, clinical tone.
“Time of death aligns with the previous case… around 2 to 3 AM,” the doctor said, flipping a page.
Arjun nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.
Then—he felt it.
A presence.
He turned.
A man stood near the entrance. Tall. Well-built. Late twenties. Casual clothes. Calm… too calm for a place like this.
“How’s the case going?” the man asked casually.
Arjun’s expression hardened.
“Who are you to ask that?”
He turned sharply.
“Constable! I told you not to let media inside!”
“Sir, he—”
“No wonder you couldn’t solve the last one.”
The man cut in, his voice steady.
“You’re too full of yourself.”
Silence.
Arjun stepped forward, anger rising.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Sir…”
A constable rushed in, holding out a phone.
“The CM’s office.”
Arjun took it, his eyes still locked on the stranger.
“Throw him out,” he said coldly, pointing at the man before walking aside.
“Yes, sir.”
Arjun turned his back and answered the call.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Arjun, this is the Chief Minister’s office,” a voice said.
“I’m calling to inform you that the case has been reassigned to a CBI officer. He should already be there.”
Arjun’s grip tightened.
“He usually dresses casually,” the voice continued. “And I’d advise you not to get on his bad side. We had to cut short his wedding leave. He’s… not in the best mood.”
A pause.
Arjun slowly turned.
The man was now flipping through the postmortem files, listening to the doctor as if he owned the room.
As if sensing the gaze, he looked up.
And smirked.
Arjun ended the call.
He walked toward him, tension in every step.
“Are you…?”
“Yes.”
The man pulled out his ID.
“Siddharth Nair. CBI.”
Arjun exhaled. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know.”
Siddharth slipped the ID back, unfazed.
“It’s fine. For now.”
A beat.
“You’ll be working with me. I don’t like assistants… but I need someone who knows the ground.”
He looked directly at Arjun.
“Try not to slow me down.”
Arjun straightened.
“I won’t, sir.”
Siddharth gave a faint, unreadable smile… and turned back to the report.
“Good,” he said quietly.
𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎
“Tell me everything you know.”
Siddharth leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on Arjun. The hospital cafeteria buzzed faintly in the background, but their table felt isolated—like the noise couldn’t reach them.
Arjun took a breath.
“Beside the body… there was a symbol. Scratched into the wall.”
Siddharth didn’t interrupt.
“A broken circle,” Arjun continued, choosing his words carefully. “With three straight lines cutting through it.”
A pause.
“Same as the last one.”
Siddharth’s gaze sharpened.
“Last one?”
Arjun nodded.
“Two months ago. Similar case. Same symbol. Same… precision.”
He hesitated.
“We couldn’t solve it.”
Siddharth said nothing.
Arjun leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice.
“There wasn’t even a drop of blood. It was… too clean.”
Silence settled between them.
Siddharth’s fingers tapped lightly against the table, his mind already moving ahead—connecting, aligning, calculating.
Too clean.
Too precise.
Too familiar.
His expression changed—just slightly.
This wasn’t random.
This wasn’t sudden.
This was planned.
He looked up at Arjun.
“Show me everything from that case,” he said quietly.
A beat.
Because now he knew—
This wasn’t just murder.
This was a message.
And the pattern…
had started again.
___________________________________________
