I never thought the day would come when I’d have to handcuff my own brother.

Ravi stood there, calm, his eyes holding mine like he understood. Like he forgave me before I even did it. The station lights flickered above us, casting long shadows across the interrogation room. My hands didn’t shake—but my soul did.

'You don’t have to do this, Sunil,' he said softly.

'I do,' I replied. 'The law doesn’t make exceptions. Not even for family.'

Priya begged me to reconsider. Ma wept in silence. And yet, I followed procedure. Because if I didn’t, what kind of inspector would I be?

But then Sharda came to me—broken, tear-streaked, clutching a faded letter and a child’s photo. 'He didn’t kill that man,' she whispered. 'I did. To protect him. Just like I did years ago.'

Now I know: Ravi was set up. Jankidas was paid. And Kishan Chand? He’s been playing us from the start.

The question isn’t whether I believe my brother.

It’s what I’m going to do about it.