I couldn't go back to Nagaria. Yesterday, Martha came to my door, and I was shocked to see her. She was completely drenched, and I hadn't even noticed it was raining outside. She told me that Noah had been murdered last night. I was in disbelief—how could this have happened? Just the day before yesterday, both of them had seemed so happy. How could everything has changed so quickly? Martha looked devastated. I couldn't bear to see her like that. When she asked me to help with the investigation, I couldn't refuse.

Murder is a common occurrence here, I know that too. But the sudden death of an orphanage manager is certainly not an everyday matter. What could have happened? How did it happen? Well, these are questions for the police to ponder. I just wanted to stay with Martha and support her in whatever way I could. The investigation lasted for two days, during which I stayed at Martha's house. She barely ate and couldn't sleep properly. But how could someone fall in love so quickly? I understand that love is blind, but not so blind that you become completely oblivious. Come on, give your love some perspective, put some number glasses on it first!

then we got the little thing about them that police told us that you shouldn't go against them they are dangerous. but Martha refused and said that refused saying that she will go and meet the person and ask him the reason. now i am scared what if he also pulls the volume out of her throat. he will kill her if she doesn't listen to him. i refused because i needed to go to the orphanage again. the lady here has the Eid, so she is on leave. so, no one will be there to say no to me, or nobody will know i will go and check the records.

i walked into the orphrange, i saw the guard. Then I saw him shoving one hand into the left pocket of his brown khadi pants, a smile spreading across his lips. He put something to his ear and started speaking. While playing with the soil and stones beneath his feet or swinging his leg back and forth, he walked in the opposite direction of the building. I tiptoed, opened the door, and went inside.

It was eight at night. There were no lights on, except for a small one fixed on the roof wall. I turned on my flashlight and checked every room I passed, looking for the storage room. Finally, my eyes fell on bold letters on the upper wall of a room. They looked red under the flashlight. My fingers touched the handle to open the door, and it swiped open in one go. I took the key from the hole and put it back in my sweater. It hadn't been hard to steal Martha's cabin key from her. She was in charge of keeping them. I took the bunch of keys from her cabin.

I went inside and switched on the lights. My body froze the moment I stepped into the old storage room. Every file had fallen from their metal racks and lay scattered on the floor. Pages were strewn everywhere. I carefully stepped over some of the papers, making my way to the section where I needed to find the files.

Now that I'm here, I can't leave without knowing the name of that killer. Ever since 2012, I've waited for this moment. I will not leave until I have that name.

But it seemed someone had already been here before me and taken what they needed. My pace slowed as I approached the area where the files I needed were supposed to be. The entire section was empty, as if someone had taken the exact files I was looking for. But who would need those files from that incident? Only one incident happened in 2012, the one involving my sister. Anger began to rise within me as I realized the man responsible must have sent someone to retrieve the files to protect himself, ensuring I couldn't reach them.

In anger, I punched the metal section hard. I flinched when I saw the guard coming up, calling out as he came to check on the noise.

I was out of breath as I ran back home. I paused for a moment and then started walking again. All the way, one question kept running through my mind: who took the file and why? My feet began to ache, the pain reaching up to my stomach, making me feel hungry. Tears welled up in my eyes as memories of my sister flooded back. She used to make my favorite foods for me sometimes, even though it wasn't allowed in the orphanage. She would take the punishment just to see me happy after eating together. She was small, but wise beyond her years.

As I approached home and saw a crowd gathered outside, I looked at them with questioning eyes.

"Oh thank God, Lime, you're here." Mrs. Smith came up to me, and I started to panic when I saw the worried look on her face, especially since my front door was wide open. Before I could ask her anything, she blurted out, "The police came and said that Noah was killed by Martha."

Goosebumps ran down my whole body. The police had previously concluded that Tom was murdered, and they had told me not to confront those people. How could they suddenly blame Martha?

I was filled with anger and confusion. How could they change their stance so quickly? What evidence could they have found? Martha had always been strict but fair; it didn't make sense that she would do something so horrible. I clenched my fists, my mind racing.

I needed answers. There was no way I could just accept this without knowing more. Martha had always been the one in charge, the one who kept everything together. If she was being framed, or if there was some mistake, I had to find out. I turned to Mrs. Smith, my voice trembling. "Did the police say anything else? Do we know where Noah is now?" Police said he was dead but they couldn't find his body.

Mrs. Smith shook her head. "They took her to the station for further questioning. They said they have evidence, but they didn't say what it was."

I felt a surge of determination. "I'm going to the station," I said firmly. "I need to know what's going on."

Mrs. Willam came to me and gently patted my arm, looking at me with fearful eyes, as if she were telling me to stay away from Martha. What? What the hell is going on?

●○●○●

I was supposed to be at the police station right now, but instead, I was being taken to a place where they said Martha was. In a strange Thar with four strangers, I felt a nauseating, claustrophobic sensation in my stomach, thinking about whether I would ever be free of this situation. First, I didn't get justice for my sister, and now the thought of Martha being involved in someone's murder was making me feel sick. It's been half an hour since I've been sitting here.

One thing I was sure of was that these people weren't afraid of being caught because none of them had tried to hide their faces.

Soon, we were passing through the forest. There were no houses or animals around. The further we went, the more anxious I became. My eyes fell on the lock of the door—it was open. Did they open it because they were going to throw me into the middle of the jungle, among the animals, to be eaten? Or maybe it was to give me a chance.

The man beside me was focused on his phone. I quickly looked through the rearview mirror and saw that the other two men were busy talking to each other. I gathered my courage and, with my heart racing in tension, managed to slip off the entire way. I placed one hand on the gate while keeping my eyes on them, opened the gate in one swift motion, and jumped out of the car. Wet grass stuck to my clothes, and I let out a painful scream as my knees scraped against the ground. I ran with all my might, feeling their shouting and footsteps rapidly approaching from behind.

After some time, when we had covered quite a distance, with them behind me and me ahead, I noticed that they were no longer chasing me as closely. I ran a bit further and then leaned against a tree, sliding down to the ground. I rested my back against the tree, trying to catch my breath. I was utterly exhausted, and my entire body ached. As I breathed in deeply, it felt like the air was burning my nostrils from the inside, as if there were some toxic fumes in the atmosphere. Sweat covered my entire body, and despite the presence of trees, the heat in the jungle was intense, almost unbearable. The wet grass beneath my feet glistened, seeming to celebrate being drenched while I struggled with the oppressive heat, forcing me to remove my jacket. Somehow, I managed to stand up and tried to walk away, realizing that it was getting late and I needed to get away from this heat. I thought that if the trees had tongues, they would want to leave too.

Looking down, I noticed that the water on the grass wasn't from rain since only the grass was wet, while everything above was dry. The water wasn't clean either. I decided to trace where the water was coming from, hoping that it might lead to a place where I could find shelter.

Following the trail of water, I eventually found myself standing in front of a large factory. The factory looked newly built, perhaps two or three years old, but there weren't many people around, almost as if it were abandoned despite being new. Behind the factory, I saw a stream of red-colored water flowing through a drain. A shiver ran down my spine. I tried to convince myself that it couldn't be what I was thinking. No, it couldn't be.

I laughed a little at my ridiculous thoughts and started walking towards the entrance. I put my jacket back on and adjusted my hair. I zipped up my jacket all the way, lifted my chin, wiped the sweat from my face with the back of my hand, and cleared my throat to check that my voice wasn't shaky, ensuring no one would suspect that I had been running. My breathing still hadn't returned to normal, so I paused for a moment before entering the factory through a large open space with no door.

Inside, I noticed a large machine and tried to find someone nearby, but there was no one actually there. My gaze then fell on a table to my right, covered with a considerable amount of white powder spread over several documents. Perhaps it was used for some function in the factory. or to clean the papers to make it rough. I walked over, picked up some of the powder, and felt its texture between my fingers before rubbing it all over my pants.

Thinking that the powder might help dry my wet pants and give me some relief from the dampness, I rubbed it all over my pants and a bit on my shirt. Some of the powder fell onto my exposed knee through the tear in my pants, causing a burning sensation. My knee turned even redder, and the pain intensified with every passing moment, driving me closer to screaming. I grabbed the table for support, trying to rub the powder off my fingers to alleviate the pain. I searched for water but found none, so I spit on my knee, hoping that the salt in my saliva would lessen the burning caused by the powder. It felt like someone had pressed a hot clamp against my raw knee.

There, I saw two large broken windows with shutters that were opening and closing forcefully, as if some magical wind was passing through, although I couldn't feel it on my body. I tried to walk away, but the pain kept increasing, and suddenly, my head started aching as if I were about to faint. My body grew weak, and the heat intensified in my veins, making everything appear double. I saw myself losing grip of the table and falling. The last thing I remember before passing out was feeling dizzy and fainting.