The Raizada mansion loomed in the darkness, its countless windows glowing with warm light. But in one room, on the top floor, the atmosphere was anything but warm.

Kabir stood by the window, a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring out at the night. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached. His mind replayed the scene in that classroom over and over—her tears, her words, the way she had spat on him, the way she had run.