The next evening, Jai arrived thirty minutes early.
He didn't want to risk traffic, fate, or the universe changing its mind.
The production office looked the same as yesterday — dim hallway lights, posters curling at the corners, the faint smell of coffee and printer ink. But to him, it felt larger now. Like the walls had expanded to make space for his future.
Kamal spotted him first.
"Good. You're early," he said approvingly. "Suraj sir likes punctual people."
Jai nodded. "I'll wait."
"No need. Come inside."
The screen test room had been rearranged. Professional lights were mounted on stands. A camera on a dolly faced a neutral gray backdrop. A makeup artist stood near a table lined with brushes and foundation palettes.
Suraj was already there, studying something on a tablet. Rajesh leaned against the wall, sipping tea.
Suraj looked up.
"Ready?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. First, look test."
The makeup artist approached Jai, studying his face like a sculptor examining raw stone.
"Don't smooth him too much," Suraj instructed. "Keep the roughness. Slight under-eye shadows. Make him look sleep-deprived but sharp."
The artist nodded.
Jai sat still as subtle changes were made — a darker tone under his eyes, faint contouring to sharpen his cheekbones, light stubble defined rather than cleaned.
When he stood again, even he felt different.
Not glamorous.
Not exaggerated.
Just… colder.
Suraj observed through the monitor.
"Black shirt," he said. "Buttoned to the top."
Kamal handed him the costume piece.
Jai changed quickly.
When he stepped back under the lights, Suraj adjusted his position slightly.
"Chin lower," Suraj instructed. "Eyes up."
Jai followed.
The monitor flickered.
For a brief second—
The room went quiet.
Rajesh lowered his tea slowly.
Suraj leaned closer to the screen.
The camera loved stillness.
And Jai, standing there, doing nothing, looked like a man calculating someone's downfall.
"Good," Suraj murmured. "Very good."
"Now screen test," Kamal said.
He handed Jai the final bound script.
Jai's fingers brushed the cover.
And the burn returned.
Subtle.
Controlled.
He inhaled slowly.
Not now, he thought.
But the power didn't ask permission.
The room dissolved around him.
Concrete floors.
Echoing footsteps.
The Glass House again — but different.
This wasn't during the torture scene.
This was earlier.
Vardhan stood alone at a long glass table, studying three photographs laid perfectly parallel.
One showed a politician shaking hands.
One showed a crime scene.
One showed a ledger entry.
Vardhan's fingers traced the alignment.
One millimeter off.
He adjusted it.
Perfect.
Jai felt something new this time.
Not just coldness.
Not just control.
Fear.
A deep, rooted fear beneath the ritual.
Images flickered.
A childhood memory forcing itself forward.
A hospital corridor.
A father shouting.
A mother's body under a white sheet — one arm missing from a violent accident.
Incomplete.
The word echoed.
Vardhan's breathing quickened.
His obsession with symmetry wasn't madness born from nothing.
It was trauma frozen into ritual.
Jai absorbed it all.
The metronome began ticking again.
He was being pulled deeper—
"Jai?"
The voice cut through.
The world snapped back.
He was still standing in front of the camera.
The script in his hand.
Suraj watching him carefully.
"You okay?"
"Yes, sir," Jai said, grounding himself.
"Good. Start when ready."
Jai didn't need to prepare.
He stepped onto the mark.
Placed the invisible metronome down.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
This time, the performance was quieter.
More internal.
He delivered the dinner dialogue with a softness that made it worse.
When he reached the line about "broken pieces," a flicker of genuine pain passed through his eyes — subtle, almost invisible, but real.
Suraj noticed.
Rajesh noticed.
This wasn't rehearsed emotion.
This was memory bleeding through fiction.
When Jai finished, the room stayed silent again.
Suraj finally smiled — a rare, satisfied smile.
"That's him," he said softly.
Rajesh didn't argue.
He couldn't.
After the test, Kamal handed Jai a copy of the final script.
"Keep it safe," he said.
"I will."
"And tomorrow, 4 p.m., workshop with the lead actress."
Jai nodded.
As he stepped out of the office again, night air hitting his face, he felt something new.
Not just excitement.
Not just fear.
Responsibility.
Because now he understood Vardhan more deeply than anyone else in that room.
He knew the trauma beneath the cruelty.
The fear beneath the control.
The broken child inside the monster.
And as he walked under the streetlights, palm faintly tingling again, one thought stayed with him—
This power wasn't just letting him act villains.
It was forcing him to confront what creates them.
And somewhere deep inside…
He wondered what it would show him next.