The Pandit's voice cracked slightly, strained by the sudden drop in temperature that seemed to have nothing to do with the weather outside. The smoke from the havan kund curled lazily toward the ceiling, carrying the scent of burning camphor and ghee, but it no longer felt holy. It felt like a countdown.

​Vasudha's fingers dug into the fabric of her saree so hard her knuckles turned white. Every repetition of the mantra felt like a hammer striking a nail into her coffin. She risked a glance at Khanna. He wasn't looking at her.., his eyes were fixed on the floor, but the weight of the laptop under his arms was a physical threat.