The news of the politician's mysterious death spread through Meerut like a wildfire. Inspector Aryan spent the rest of the night in the police archives, digging through files that had been buried for twenty years.
"Sir, you need to see this," Sharma said, placing a burnt piece of paper on Aryan's desk. "We found this in the victim's pocket. It's a list of names. Your name is on it too, at the very bottom."
Aryan took the paper. His heart skipped a beat. The names were of the people involved in the Rudrapur Jail investigation—the same people who were present during the night of the fire. Most were either dead or missing.
"I need to go to the old city orphanage," Aryan said, grabbing his car keys. "The 'Shadow' mentioned it in a note. There is something hidden there that connects the fire to these murders."
The orphanage was a skeleton of wood and stone, half-burnt and covered in vines. As Aryan walked through the charred hallways, he heard a faint whistling sound coming from the basement. He followed it and found a rusted iron box hidden behind a loose brick.
Inside was a diary. But as he reached for it, a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder. Aryan spun around, gun drawn, but the room was empty. Only a deep, echoing laughter remained, and a message carved fresh on the wall:
'THE FIRE IS WATCHING YOU, ARYAN.'