The city was quieter than usual that night. Streetlights flickered dim halos over the rain-slicked pavement, and the air smelled of wet earth, sharp and nostalgic. Mumbai’s chaos rarely slept, but tonight, even the honking traffic seemed subdued, replaced by the steady rhythm of drizzle.

From the glass doors of Randhawa Industries, a lone figure emerged. The sharp tap of leather shoes echoed against marble before being swallowed by the rain.