Chapter 3 — Clues Beneath the Surface

Siya

The sharp tang of antiseptic filled the air as Siya moved through the narrow hallway of her clinic. The fluorescent lights above flickered faintly, casting a harsh glow on the pale green walls. The muffled voices of nurses and the low hum of medical equipment buzzed around her. Yet Siya’s focus remained fixed on the chart in her hands, though her thoughts wandered far from the routine procedures of the day.

The aftermath of the Sapphire Lounge attack had cast a long, unrelenting shadow. The victims brought to the clinic told a story written in blood and ash. Seared flesh, fractured bones, and the brittle silence of those too stunned to speak painted a grim picture of the devastation. Yet, as Siya tended to injury after injury, a pattern had begun to emerge, one that whispered of deliberate intent. The burns were concentrated on the left side of most victims—evidence of strategically placed explosives. Someone had planned this with chilling precision. And yet, Rishit had said nothing. His silence pressed against her like a weight, heavy and suffocating, leaving her to piece together the fragments on her own.

“Dr. Mehta?” a nurse called hesitantly, interrupting her thoughts. Siya looked up to see the young woman standing at the doorway of the examination room, her expression uneasy. “The patient in Room 3… he’s asking to speak with you.”

Siya nodded, tucking the chart under her arm as she walked briskly down the hall. Her saree swished softly with each step, the deep blue fabric contrasting with the sterile surroundings. She paused briefly outside the door to gather her thoughts, then pushed it open.

Inside, a man in his late thirties sat on the examination table, his bandaged arm resting awkwardly in his lap. His face was pale, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cool air. His eyes darted nervously around the room, refusing to settle on Siya as she stepped inside.

“Mr. Kulkarni,” Siya greeted, her tone professional yet calm. She pulled up a stool and sat across from him, her gaze steady and reassuring. “How are you feeling?”

The man’s lips twitched into a weak semblance of a smile. “Better… thanks to you, Doctor.”

Siya returned the smile briefly, though her attention was already fixed on his demeanor. Kulkarni had been one of the survivors pulled from the rubble of the Sapphire Lounge. His injuries—burns across his forearms and a deep laceration on his left thigh—were consistent with what she’d seen in other victims. But there was something about him that set him apart. His restless movements, darting eyes, and trembling hands told her he carried a burden too heavy to bear.

“Do you remember anything from that night?” Siya asked gently, her voice edged with curiosity. “Anything that might help us understand what happened? Every detail matters.”

Kulkarni hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. His uninjured hand fidgeted with the edge of his hospital gown, pulling at a loose thread. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered, his words fragmented. “It all happened so fast. One moment I was having a drink, and the next… everything was on fire.”

Siya leaned forward slightly, her tone softening but sharpening in intent. “I can’t imagine how terrifying that must have been. But think carefully—did you notice anyone unusual? Someone who didn’t belong? Or anything that felt… off?”

His head jerked up, panic flashing in his eyes. “Why are you asking me this? I don’t—” He stopped abruptly, his mouth snapping shut as if he’d accidentally revealed too much. His trembling grew more pronounced, his fingers gripping the edge of the table like a lifeline.

Siya studied him closely, unease settling in the pit of her stomach. “Mr. Kulkarni,” she said, her voice low but deliberate, “you’re safe here. No one can hurt you. If there’s something you know—something you saw—it could prevent this from happening again.”

Kulkarni swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. His gaze flitted nervously to the door, as if expecting someone to burst in. After a tense pause, he leaned closer. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“There was a man,” he said, his words rushed and uneven. “I didn’t recognize him—he wasn’t one of the regulars. He kept to the shadows, watching everyone. And then, just before the explosion… he disappeared.”

Siya’s stomach tightened, the implications of his words cutting through the sterile calm of the room. “Did you notice anything else about him?” she asked softly, though her question carried an urgency she couldn’t entirely mask.

Kulkarni hesitated again, his face contorted with the effort to remember. “It was dark. All I saw was his silhouette. But… there’s one thing I do remember. He had a ring—a silver ring, shaped like a chess knight. It caught the light when he walked past me.”

The image struck Siya like a bolt of lightning. A chess knight—a symbol of strategy, precision, and control. Shaurya’s taunting message—*Checkmate*—flashed through her mind, its significance sharper now than ever. Could this man with the chess piece ring be one of Shaurya’s pawns? The thought sent a chill down her spine. She forced her face to remain calm, masking the storm churning inside her.

“Thank you, Mr. Kulkarni,” she said, her voice steady despite the implications racing through her mind. “You’ve been very helpful.”

He nodded, relief washing over his features as he leaned back against the examination table. Siya stood and stepped out into the hallway, her thoughts spinning. The faint hum of machinery seemed louder, more oppressive, as if the clinic itself was reacting to the weight of her revelation. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place, but the picture they formed was far from comforting.

---

Later that evening, Siya sat alone in her office, the room dimly lit by the desk lamp. Her medical notebook lay open before her, its pages filled with neat, precise handwriting and the occasional diagram. She flipped to a fresh page and began to write, her pen moving quickly across the paper.

*Kulkarni’s account—Silver ring shaped like a chess knight. Connection to Shaurya’s message? Evidence suggests insider involvement. Injuries indicate proximity to explosives—strategic placement. Certain individuals may have been warned ahead of time. Why?*

She paused, the pen hovering above the page. Her thoughts drifted to Rishit, his measured voice and piercing black eyes flashing through her memory. He had insisted that secrecy was for her protection, but his protectiveness felt stifling, a barrier that left her fumbling in the dark. Her jaw tightened as frustration bubbled to the surface. She wasn’t a liability, and she wasn’t a pawn.

Her pen moved again, sharper now.

*Shaurya’s strategy—deliberate clues? Psychological warfare? What’s the goal—control, chaos, or something deeper?*

Her phone buzzed, the vibration breaking her focus. She reached for it and froze as she read the message from an unknown number:

*Be careful who you trust.*

Siya’s fingers tightened around the phone, unease coiling in her chest. Her gaze flicked to the locked drawer where her notebook rested, and then to the window. The city’s lights glittered deceptively, masking the shadows beneath. The cryptic warning crackled in her mind, its source and intent maddeningly unclear. Was it a threat? A warning? Or something else entirely?

Her resolve hardened. If the world Rishit had pulled her into was a battlefield, she refused to remain on the sidelines. She would fight—not just for herself, but for the truth she was determined to uncover. And if this game Shaurya had set in motion was one of chess, she intended to be more than a pawn.

As the rain began to fall once more, tapping softly against the windowpane, Siya stood and reached for her coat. There was work to be done, and she wasn’t about to wait for permission to do it.