The moon hung low over Subarnagarh, veiled by drifting clouds. Streetlights flickered as if unsure whether to stay lit. The city felt like it was holding its breath.
At exactly 11:47 p.m., Inspector Ratan stood by the window of his apartment, staring out into the night. The day's events replayed in his head: the janitor's body, the trail of ash, the broken CCTV. Nothing about it was normal.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number. Voice Call.
He answered.
"I told you to call at night," said a voice—quiet, calm, and unmistakably the Masked Detective's.
"I know. I had to be sure you were alone," Ratan replied.
"I am," she said. "And you were right—Mahadev Das didn't die by accident. He was silenced."
"I thought so. But why now?" Ratan asked. "Why him?"
There was a pause.
"Because he knew something," she said at last. "Something about the garden. Something... buried."
Ratan tensed. "The box?"
"Yes. He saw someone near it. But he didn't know what he saw—until it was too late."
Another silence fell, thicker this time.
Then, the Detective's voice dropped lower. "I decoded part of the cassette we found."
Ratan leaned closer to the phone. "And?"
"It's not just a confession. It's a message. A warning. And... a name."
"What name?" he demanded.
She didn't answer right away.
Then finally, she whispered, "Jayasree Mukherjee."
Ratan froze.
"No," he muttered. "She's just a teacher."
"She's not," the Detective said coldly. "She's the last heir of the Garden Cult. The black rose tattoo isn't decoration—it's legacy."
Ratan stepped away from the window, heart pounding. "Then... she's the one leading them now?"
"She's the only one left. The others were wiped out years ago," the Detective said. "But Jayasree survived. And now she's rebuilding."
"And Sanchayita?" Ratan asked. "Is she safe?"
"For now," said the Detective. "But tomorrow, everything changes."
Ratan exhaled slowly. "What do we do tonight?"
The line crackled.
"We prepare," she said. "Because tomorrow... we walk straight into her den."
And with that, the call ended.
Ratan stood in the dark, phone in hand, staring at the silent city.
Far away, in her apartment, the Masked Detective opened a black case. Inside was a map—of Taraniketan School—and a silver dagger etched with strange symbols.
She lit a candle.
Then circled a spot on the map.
The old underground storeroom.
And beneath it—
The roots of the garden.
---
To Be Continued...