The study room was a cavern of shadows, the only light coming from the amber liquid swirling in Arjun’s glass. He sat slumped in his high-backed leather chair, the bandage on his hand a stark white blur in the gloom. He took a long, burning swallow of the neat scotch, his throat constricting.

As the alcohol hit his bloodstream, the cold, vengeful Inspector began to dissolve. He leaned his head back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling fans rotating slowly. A broken, jagged smile touched his lips—a smile that held more pain than his scowl ever could.