I stand in the empty lecture hall, the echo of laughter still ringing in my ears. They called it an honor—inviting me to present my research. But it was a trial. Dr. Sen smiled as he questioned my methodology, his voice dripping with false concern. 'Are you sure your sample size wasn’t too small, Doctor?' The others chuckled. I felt the pressure in my chest, sharp and familiar.

Now, back in my office, I clutch the letter from the John Anderson Foundation. It arrived yesterday. They want me to join their global research council. But the transfer order came too—remote village clinic, effective immediately. Seema pleads with me to rest, to fight, to do anything but vanish.

Amulya stands at the door, holding a folder. 'They can’t erase you, sir. Not if the data survives.'

I look at him. 'And what good is truth if no one listens?'