The rain hammers the cracked courtyard of the police station as I wipe blood from my lip. They came at me with rods and curses, calling me a traitor to my roots. I’m not just an inspector—I’m a man from this soil, raised on the same dust they now spit at.

But I swore an oath. And when Ganpat Singh raped Anu and left her for dead, I arrested him. No matter who his father is.

Now, Thakur Shyamu Singh has issued a warning: drop the case, or lose everything. My superiors look away. My men hesitate. Even the judge trembles.

Tonight, I found a note tucked in my daughter’s schoolbag: She knows the truth. Bring her home.

Surya. His daughter. The one who handed me evidence in secret.

My radio crackles. A voice whispers: 'She’s at the old temple. Alone. They’re coming.'

I grab my revolver. No backup. No plan.

Do I walk into the storm alone?