The first slivers of sunlight sliced through Sera's apartment window, painting the room in muted gold. The city outside stirred lazily, unaware of the storms Sera carried in her mind. Across the kitchen, Nehra moved with her usual meticulous rhythm, flipping an omelet with surgical precision.
"Morning, detective," Nehra teased, her copper-streaked hair catching the light. "Remember tonight—thanksgiving dinner at Ashwin's. Colleagues, small talk, and apparently dessert that's worth pretending to like."
Sera tugged her blazer into place, smirking. "You make it sound like interrogation. Should I bring my gavel or just my appetite?"
"You'll need both," Nehra laughed, eyes glinting. Then, quieter, almost unconsciously:
"And don't let work eat you alive today... Arvind's waiting."
The name slithered through Sera's chest like ice. Arvind Roy. Late twenties, untouchable, untamed, and untiring. The first trial had failed—evidence insufficient, witnesses hesitant. His calm, controlled menace lingered in memory, and now every step toward the courtroom felt like walking a taut wire over a pit.
Sera sipped her coffee, letting its warmth mask the tension coiling in her stomach. She stole a glance at Nehra, whose easy smile made the room seem deceptively safe. Breakfast sizzled, morning light glimmered, and somewhere between toast crumbs and conversation, the day's battle had already begun.
The car hummed along the highway, city lights streaking past like liquid gold. Sera sat rigidly in the passenger seat, blazer crisp, mind rehearsing the nuances of the case, while Nehra's laughter filled the driver's side.
"Promise you'll behave tonight," Sera said, arching an eyebrow.
"Behave?" Nehra scoffed, hands dancing over the steering wheel. "You mean pretend I'm not the life of the party? Impossible."
By the time they arrived, Nehra's colleagues had already gathered, brimming with excitement at the prospect of meeting Sera—the roommate they'd only heard about in passing. Warm greetings, clinking glasses, and the subtle hum of luxury enveloped them. Sera melted briefly into the scene, though her instincts never quite loosened. Hours passed like spun sugar. Conversations meandered from work dramas to whispered confessions about relationships. Nehra, half-drunk and glowing with mirth, leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling.
"Single, huh, Sera? You really know how to make your life mysterious," she teased, earning laughter from the table.
Sera smiled tightly, hiding the tension that never left her. The laughter, the candles, the polished silverware—it all felt distant, like a mirage she could not touch.
Her phone buzzed sharply, cutting through the warmth like a scalpel. She frowned at the screen. Supervisor. Urgent.
"I... I have to go," she said, rising, her voice steady though her pulse jumped. Nehra blinked, tipsy, confusion and concern washing over her face.
"Wait... what? No, don't—" Nehra slurred, reaching out, but Sera's blazer swished as she moved toward the door, already mentally sprinting through her next steps.
One of Nehra's friends leaned forward instinctively, catching her gaze.
"I'll get her home safely," they promised. Nehra gave a faint, grateful nod, too intoxicated to protest, and slumped back into her chair with a giggle.
Outside, the city night waited—quiet, indifferent, yet heavy with the sense that Sera was stepping into a storm far larger than the one she'd imagined at breakfast.