As the heavy tension in the warehouse began to settle, Isarish ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, exhaling sharply. The air still carried the stench of blood, but there was no time for lingering emotions. He turned to the officers, his voice calm but firm.
"Grab the hostages. Get them to safety," he instructed. His eyes flicked to Rayhan, who was still visibly shaken. "Announce that the case is closed. We say that, in the fear of getting caught, they committed suicide. Keep the details locked down."
Rayhan hesitated, gripping his revolver tightly. "Are you sure about this, Isarish? Shouldn't we—"
"Trust me," Isarish cut in. "No one outside this room needs to know what really happened in here. If word spreads, we risk attracting more trouble. This isn't just a closed case—this is a warning."
Rayhan clenched his jaw but nodded. He had learned to trust Isarish's instincts.
As the officers moved to escort the hostages out, Isarish turned his gaze toward Alice. She was still in shock, her small body trembling. He crouched beside her, his expression softening.
"You're safe now," he said gently.
Alice didn't respond immediately. Her wide eyes were locked on the bloodstained floor. Finally, she whispered, "They… he killed his own father... and then himself. Why?"
Isarish paused, then spoke carefully. "Some people lose themselves to their beliefs. They let madness guide them, thinking it's the will of something greater." His voice dropped slightly. "But the real question isn't why he did it. The real question is who gave him that belief in the first place."
Alice slowly looked up at him, searching his face for answers.
Before she could say anything, Rayhan placed a hand on Isarish's shoulder. "I'll take care of her," he promised. "She's been through too much. I'll make sure she's safe."
A Few Days Later – Calcutta
The newspapers praised the efficiency of law enforcement, reporting that the criminals had taken their own lives in fear of being caught. The city read the news and moved on, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface.
At his office, Mr. Carlson sat behind an oak desk, the scent of cigars lingering in the air. As a highly authoritative figure in law enforcement, he had seen many cases solved under his watch, but few as quickly as this. He set down the file, exhaling slowly.
"I expected nothing less from Isarish," he murmured. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.
Meanwhile, in the heart of Calcutta, Isarish sat alone in a dimly lit café, unnoticed by the world. His presence in the city was a secret, even to those who thought they knew his every move.
A cup of untouched tea sat in front of him, long gone cold. The newspaper in his hands crinkled as his grip unconsciously tightened.
"The blessing of God said hello to you.
The words echoed in his mind, looping like a haunting melody.
He had been in many life-threatening situations before. Seen murder, deceit, and madness up close. But this—this was something else.
His heartbeat was steady, his face unreadable. But in his mind, there was only one thought.
"How?"
Why did the mere mention of it feel like an omen?
No one knew Isarish was already in Calcutta.
And for now, he intended to keep it that way.
Because this case wasn't truly over.
Not yet.