The knocking stopped.

He clicked download.

Ravi didn't move. The bell rang again. Then a knock. Three slow, deliberate raps.

It was 1:17 AM. The only light in his cramped Chennai studio apartment came from the monitor, casting long shadows across stacks of unpaid bills and a half-empty cup of cold filter coffee. Outside, the city slept. Inside, Ravi was hunting.

Then, a new post, timestamped 1:23 AM.

The door opened. A woman's hand appeared, accepting the bag. The man said something inaudible. The woman laughed—a soft, clear sound that echoed strangely in Ravi’s small apartment.

He looked at his apartment door. The chain lock was on. The bolt was thrown. His hands were shaking.