Sweat is not supposed to feel cold.
That was the first clear thought in Suvam's mind. It was a cold sweat on his forehead. It ran down his face and dripped onto the metal table between him and Detective Rowan. The room was gray. It smelled of cleaner and old coffee. The light hummed.
"Explain the photo, Suvam."
Rowan's voice was calm. He slid the glossy picture across the table again. It was from a security camera. The quality was poor and the light was yellow. But the details were clear. The time said 10:14 PM. That was when she died. And there they were. Krivya, with her back to the bridge railing. And him, Suvam. His face was clear. He was smiling. But it was not a happy smile. It was a smile of recognition. A knowing smile.
"I was not there," Suvam said. The words felt empty. "I asked if she was okay and then I went home."
"The photo says you were there," Rowan said. He leaned back in his chair. It creaked. His eyes were sharp. "You are with the victim when she is killed. You found her body. You say you hardly knew her, but people saw her defend you months ago. And now..." He tapped the photo. "You are smiling next to her as she dies."
A tremor started deep inside Suvam. But his hands were still. He felt numb. Something unnatural, he thought. He stared at his own face in the picture. Why am I smiling?
"I do not remember," he whispered. This time, it was true.
A flicker showed in Rowan's eyes. It was not belief. It was interest. "You do not remember being on the bridge with her that night?"
"No."
"Do you forget things often, Suvam?"
Yes. The answer was a landslide inside him. He forgot schoolwork. He forgot talks. He lost hours to daydreams. He forgot how to belong.
A sharp memory cut through the fog:
Krivya's voice, from the school hallway two days before. Her back was against a locker. Her eyes were urgent. "They think the truck accident was random," she whispered. "They think it was just a boy running. It was not. He was pushed."
Suvam had blinked. His mind was slow from no sleep. "What?"
"The accident you saw. The boy. Someone was there. I have found something." She pushed a folded paper into his hand. "Read it. Then destroy it."
He had taken it. He had put it in his pocket. He never looked at it. Where was it now?
"I want a lawyer," Suvam said. The words felt strange. He had never needed a lawyer. He needed to wake up.
Rowan looked at him for a long minute. Then he nodded. "You are free to go. For now. Do not leave the city. We will talk again."
Outside the police station, the world was too bright and too loud. The air felt thin and sharp. His asthma tightened his chest. He walked with no aim. He felt like a ghost.
His phone buzzed. The number was unknown.
You still do not remember what you did.
He stopped walking. His blood felt like ice. He typed back.
Who is this?
The river remembers what you tried to forget.
The river. The bridge. The photo.
Another memory came, soft like a dream: Krivya on the mountain in his sleep, her white hair like a flag. "Come with me." And the fall into the grave. An empty grave. Her grave.
His feet carried him home. His mother was not there. The house was silent and heavy. He went to his room. His desk was messy with his things. He emptied his pockets. He turned out his backpack. He dug through clothes on the floor.
In the pocket of an old jacket, he found it. A small, hard rectangle wrapped in paper. He opened it with shaking hands. It was a blurry printout from a library. A news article from two years ago.
FATAL HIT-AND-RUN UNSOLVED: FAMILY SEEKS JUSTICE
The photo showed a smiling man, about 40 years old. The name was Dinesh Rana, 38, killed while walking.
Below the article, in Krivya's handwriting, was a note:
"Dinesh Rana. Truck driver. Died 2 years ago. His truck was sold at police auction. Check registration: VT-7892."
VT-7892.
The numbers lit up his mind. The truck that hit the boy. He had seen it. His eyes had seen the license plate in the chaos. Now it fit. VT-7892. It fit.
The truck that killed the boy was the same truck from an unsolved murder two years ago. And Krivya knew.
His phone buzzed again on the desk.
They know you have it. Get rid of it.
He turned around fast. His heart beat hard. His room was empty. The window looked out on the quiet street. Fear filled him. They are watching.
He needed to talk to someone. Not his mother. Not the police. Rinos.
He called. The line rang four times. Then a recording. "Hey, it's Rinos. You know what to do." Beep.
"Rinos, it is me. Call me back. It is important." He hung up. He felt more alone than ever.
He had to do something. He opened his laptop. His fingers typed fast. He searched for "Dinesh Rana hit-and-run." The article Krivya had was the only one. It was short. He searched the truck plate. Nothing.
He found the police auction website. It was old and slow. He searched for an hour. He found the listing. Vehicle: 2010 Heavy-Duty Flatbed Truck (VT-7892). Sold to: Private Buyer. Buyer ID: Withheld.
Withheld.
He sat back. His mind raced. Krivya was looking into an old truck used in a new accident. She was killed. He was being framed. The connection was a tight wire, and he was holding the middle.
A soft knock came at his door. "Suvam?" It was his mother. Her voice was thin.
"Yes?"
She did not open the door. "A man called. A detective. He said you were helpful. He said to give you this." A white envelope slid under the door.
Suvam stared at it. He walked over and picked it up. It was not sealed. Inside was a simple business card.
Detective, Arjun Rowan
Central Division
A phone number was written on the back. Also three words:
"The middle-aged stranger."
The world seemed to tilt. The man from the hotel. The one with the story about his son. Rowan knew about him. Was he police too? Or was Rowan warning him?
His phone buzzed. Rinos.
He answered. Relief washed over him. "Rinos, thank you--"
"Suvam." Rinos's voice was a low, fast rush. It had no teasing tone. "Listen to me. Do not talk, just listen. Where are you?"
"Home. My room."
"Okay. Stay there. Do not use your phone. I am coming over."
"What is going on? Do you know about the truck? About Krivya?"
A pause. It was heavy. "I know you are in deep trouble. I saw her, Suvam. Krivya. The day before she died. She was at the old riverfront warehouse, near where that accident happened. She was with someone."
"Who?"
"I do not know. A man in a suit. He looked official. Not a teacher. I tried to tell you, but you were not listening." Rinos's voice cracked. "I should have made you listen. This is my fault."
"No, it is not, just--"
"I am five minutes away. Do not move." The call ended.
Suvam put the phone down. He held Rowan's card in one hand and Krivya's note in the other. The papers felt hot. Official. Riverfront warehouse.
The unknown text echoed in his mind: The river remembers.
He could not stay. He could not wait. He had to see. He had to know. He pushed the papers into his pocket. He grabbed his jacket. He climbed out his window and dropped into the backyard. He ran through the alley. His breath came in short gasps.
The riverfront warehouse was old and decaying. It was a giant shape of rusted metal against the evening sky. The air smelled of stale water, oil, and rot. The fence was cut open. Suvam slipped through.
Inside, the space was huge and full of shadows. Light came through broken windows. It showed dust and old machines. His footsteps echoed.
Then he saw it. Near the far wall was a cleared space. A desk made from a pallet. A dead lantern. And on the ground were papers. Many papers.
He knelt down. His hands shook as he picked them up. More about Dinesh Rana. A map with the accident site marked. A paper about a company called "Janakpur Freight & Logistics." And a list in Krivya's writing:
— Driver: Deceased (D. Rana)
*— Truck: VT-7892 (Auction -> Janakpur Freight)*
— Accident Witness 1: The Boy (Deceased)
— Accident Witness 2: Me.
— Accident Witness 3: HIM. (S.K.) He does not remember. Must make him remember.
S.K. Suvam KC.
She was investigating. She saw him as a key witness. A witness who remembered nothing.
A soft scraping sound came from behind him.
Suvam froze. The papers crumpled in his hand. He slowly turned.
Silhouetted against a dirty window was the middle-aged stranger from the hotel. He did not look weary now. His face was a cold mask.
"You should not have come here, boy," the man said. His voice had no warmth. It was the voice of a trap closing.
"You knew her," Suvam breathed. "You are not the father from the story. That was a lie."
"A useful story," the man said. He took a step forward. "To see what you knew. To see if you were a risk. You were just a numb, daydreaming kid. You saw nothing. We were sure. But she... she would not let it go. She connected the truck to my brother."
"Your brother?"
"Dinesh Rana." The man's eyes glinted in the gloom. "He was supposed to make a delivery. He saw something he should not have seen at one of Janakpur's drop-offs. So they made him a delivery himself. Under the wheels of his own truck. Made to look like a hit-and-run. Clean."
Suvam's mind was spinning. "And the boy...?"
"A loose end. The boy from your accident was Dinesh's son. My nephew. He started asking questions about his father's old truck. He found it. He was going to talk." The man's jaw tightened. "The company could not have that. Another accident was arranged."
The horror was so huge it finally broke the numbness inside Suvam. It was not emptiness that came in. It was a flood of feeling--disgust, terror, and a hot rage. The boy was not a random victim. He was murdered to silence him. And Suvam had stood there, watching.
"You killed Krivya," Suvam said. His voice shook with raw feeling.
"I cleaned up," the man said simply. He took another step. "She was getting close. She had talked to you. We had to ruin you, or silence you. The photo was a nice touch. A simple fake. Technology is wonderful."
He was close now. Suvam could see the cold resolve in his eyes. This was it. The man had told everything. Suvam would never leave this place.
"The police know," Suvam lied, stepping back. "Detective Rowan. He knows about you."
The man smiled a thin, cruel smile. "Rowan is a good detective. But Janakpur Freight has better friends. And now, he will have his main suspect--a disturbed, numb boy, full of guilt after killing the girl who knew his secret. A boy who came here to destroy evidence and sadly fell into the river."
Suvam's back hit the cold metal wall. There was nowhere to go. The river slapped against the posts below a broken part of the floor.
The man lunged.
Suvam did not think. He threw the papers into the air. They fluttered between them. In that second, he dodged to the side. His foot caught on a rusted pipe. He fell hard. The air left his lungs. Pain shot from his ankle.
The man recovered fast. He turned. His shape was dark against the falling papers.
A new voice, loud and raw, echoed in the warehouse.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"
Rinos. He stood at the entrance, outlined by the evening light. He held a tire iron high.
The stranger hesitated.
It was enough. Suvam got up, ignoring the fire in his ankle. He and Rinos looked at each other across the space. An old understanding passed between them: Run.
Suvam turned and ran. He did not run toward the entrance. He ran deeper into the shadows and machines, toward a small side door. He heard a curse. He heard the sound of a fight. He heard Rinos yelling, "Go, Suvam! NOW!"
He burst out the side door into the cool night. The river was a black space to his left. He ran along the wharf. His lungs burned. Each breath was a ragged sob. He did not stop until he was three blocks away. He hid in a shop doorway. His whole body shook.
He was alive. He knew the truth. And he had evidence in his pocket.
But as he looked back toward the warehouses, a new and deeper horror came to him. The smiling photo was fake. But the frame was real. The killer was real. And he had just left his best friend alone with him.
His phone buzzed once. A final message from the unknown number. A photo this time.
It was a dark, blurry picture. It showed the riverfront warehouse from outside. And on the ground near the cut fence, barely visible, was a familiar shape.
Rinos.
The message below read:
The river takes all witnesses. You are next. Remember that.