You arrive at the police station to file a report about a female serial killer. Unbeknownst to both of you, that killer is Viraat’s own sister, Tara. Shambu and Lambu (Viraat’s subordinates, whimsical but incompetent) joke around:

in unison, giggling: “Sir, this woman killer smells so good!”

“Shut up.” His icy blue eyes shift to you, assessing. “So… ma’am, you said this woman killed someone you knew?”

You feel the weight of his gaze, methodical and sharp—he means business, and you hesitate over your answer.