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The Trinetra headquarters buzzed with a quiet intensity that morning. The meeting room was stark and clinical, a space designed for precision and focus. Frosted glass walls filtered sunlight into pale streaks, and a long oval table stood at the center, its surface scattered with files, a laptop, and a steaming cup of coffee that no one seemed interested in.

Zunair sat at the head of the table, her sharp eyes scanning her team. Her presence commanded attention-not through intimidation, but the quiet assurance of someone who had led missions since most of them could remember.

"Let's begin," she said, breaking the silence.

Rajveer was the first to speak. His laptop whirred softly as he brought up his findings. "I've gone through Mira's phone records. Nothing unusual in the days leading up to her death-no sudden activity, no flagged contacts. However..." He paused, his tone darkening. "The police wiped some of the earlier data. It's incomplete, and I'll need time to recover it. But one name did stand out-someone she called multiple times in the months before her death: Akhil."

"Who's Akhil?" Zunair asked, already jotting the name down.

"An old colleague from her job back in 2018. I'm digging deeper into their relationship," Rajveer replied, his fingers poised above the keyboard, ready for the next phase.

"Do that," Zunair said, her tone brisk. Her gaze shifted to Ishani and Sia. "What about the family?"

Ishani leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. "We spoke to Mira's father briefly. He insists it wasn't suicide. He believes she was murdered but doesn't have concrete evidence-just his instincts. According to him, Mira became increasingly withdrawn in the last year of her life. She moved out of their family home in 2019 and lived alone in a rented apartment until her death. But..." Ishani hesitated, glancing at Sia.

Sia picked up the thread. "He avoided certain questions, especially about Mira's mental state. There's more he's not telling us-whether it's out of guilt or fear, we don't know yet."

Zunair's fingers tapped rhythmically on the table as she processed this. "Dig deeper into their relationship. And find out why he came to Trinetra after all these years."

"On it," Ishani said firmly.

Viaan, who had been listening intently, finally spoke. "The physical evidence isn't adding up. The police ruled it as suicide, but the scene is... too perfect. There's no sign of struggle, but there's also no clear motive for her to kill herself. I've flagged inconsistencies in their reports, and I'll confirm more once we visit the crime scene."

Zunair nodded. "Good. You and I will head there next."

Aditi, silent until now, leaned back in her chair. "One more thing-the police officers who handled the case and read her diary? They're all dead. Every single one."

A sharp silence fell over the room.

"Suicide?" Viaan asked, his voice calm but his eyes narrowing.

Zunair nodded grimly. "That's the official explanation. But we know better."

Viaan exhaled, a deep tension settling over the room. "Then we're up against more than just a case."

---

The hum of the SUV's engine filled the space as Zunair and Viaan sped through the city streets. Zunair sat in the passenger seat, a file resting on her lap. The tension from the meeting lingered, unspoken but heavy.

"Does Mira's diary reveal anything significant yet?" Viaan asked, his hands steady on the wheel.

Zunair flipped through the file, her sharp eyes skimming the handwritten pages. "Plenty of paranoia. She wrote about being followed, about someone knowing her secrets. But she never names anyone. She keeps referring to 'them.'"

"Could it be a mental breakdown?"

"Possibly. But if it was, why are people dying after reading this?" Zunair closed the file and stared out the window, her mind working through the possibilities.

Viaan slowed the car as they approached Mira's old apartment complex. The building loomed ahead, its paint peeling and balconies cluttered with forgotten furniture.

"This place is a ghost of itself," Viaan muttered as he parked.

Zunair didn't reply. She stepped out of the car, the chill of the morning air biting against her skin.

---

Mira's Apartment

The smell of mildew greeted them as they stepped into the apartment. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light that managed to break through the taped-up windows. The air was thick, almost suffocating, carrying the stale scent of abandonment.

"Four years," Zunair said, her voice low. "And not a single thing touched."

Viaan's gaze swept over the living room. A faint outline of where a couch once stood was etched into the dust on the floor. The walls bore faint stains of water damage, their color dulled by time.

The study table was the first thing that caught Zunair's attention. She moved toward it, her gloved fingers brushing across its surface. Sticky notes clung to the wall above, each one curling at the edges.

"What's this?" Viaan asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Remnants of a troubled mind," Zunair replied, her eyes narrowing at one note in particular: "Don't trust him. They know."

Something metallic glinted beneath the desk, catching Zunair's eye. She crouched, brushing away a layer of dust to reveal a tarnished key.

Viaan leaned in, frowning. "That doesn't look like it belongs here."

"It doesn't," Zunair said, pocketing the key.

As they moved to the bedroom, the unease only deepened. The mattress sagged under years of disuse, and the faint scent of burnt incense lingered in the air. The windows were sealed shut, and on the bedside table lay a cracked mirror, reflecting their distorted faces back at odd angles.

Zunair's voice broke the silence. "This isn't just about Mira's death. Whatever happened here started long before she died. We're missing something."

Viaan nodded, his expression grim. "And whatever it is, it's still here."

Zunair stepped toward the closet, the door slightly ajar, its hinges creaking in protest. Inside, rows of clothes hung lifelessly, their colors faded with time. She was about to turn away when a sudden draft of cool air brushed past her, making the hairs on her neck stand on end.

"Did you feel that?" she whispered.

Viaan's brow furrowed. "Feel what?"

The closet's back panel looked ordinary at first glance, but as Zunair leaned closer, she noticed faint scratches near the edge-like something had been pried open before. She reached out and pressed against it. The panel shifted with a hollow thunk, revealing a narrow compartment behind it.

Inside was a small, dusty box. Zunair carefully pulled it out and placed it on the bed. Viaan stood beside her, his breath tight with anticipation.

The box creaked open to reveal a stack of photographs. They were old, some fraying at the edges, but the faces were unmistakable. Mira was in almost every frame, her smile radiant. But what caught Zunair's attention wasn't Mira-it was the man standing beside her in several of the photos.

He was always slightly turned away from the camera, his features partially obscured. In the last photo, however, his face was clearer-sharp, with a chilling smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Scribbled on the back of this particular photograph were the words:

"He's watching."

Zunair's breath hitched. "Who is this?"

Before Viaan could respond, Zunair's phone vibrated in her pocket. She hesitated, pulling it out to see a new message from an unknown number.

The text read:

"Put it back, or the next one to disappear will be you."

Her fingers tightened around the phone as she showed it to Viaan. His face darkened, the unease from earlier now solidified into dread.

Zunair's voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed her thoughts. "We're not putting anything back."

She glanced back at the photograph, the man's chilling smile now feeling more like a warning.

"And if they want to find us," she added, her voice steady, "they'll have to try harder."

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