Night had settled over the Ranawat palace. Outside the tall arched windows of the private study, the gardens lay silver and still under a thin, watchful moon. Inside, only one desk lamp burned, casting a pool of warm light across polished wood and leaving the rest of the room in shadow.

Veer sat behind the heavy mahogany desk, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled once at the wrists. A slim black folder lay open in front of him, its contents already committed to memory. Aadarsh stood near the tall bookshelves, arms crossed over his chest.