The knock came on time.
2:03 a.m.
Ashray didn't move. Not this time. He lay in bed, eyes open, chest tight.
Another knock.
But something felt different.
He got up slowly. No lights. No sound. Just the echo of his bare feet against cold tiles.
He opened the door.
No one.
Just an envelope on the floor. Thick. Sealed. Unmarked.
He picked it up, heart racing, and shut the door behind him. The air felt heavier. Like the room knew something he didn't.
Inside the envelope was a single photograph.
Him.
Ira.
On the balcony, last Friday night. Her hand in his hair. His mouth on her collarbone. A moment that shouldn't exist outside of memory.
Someone had been watching.
He stared at it for a full minute before flipping it over.
Two words, handwritten.
"Beautiful sins."
He didn't sleep that night.
By morning, the photo was gone from his desk.
He searched the room. Nothing. Trash empty. Doors locked. No CCTV in the building. No sign of break-in.
At 9:17 a.m., Ira texted him:
"Did you miss me?"
He didn't reply.
At 11:04, she texted again:
"You okay?"
Still nothing.
At 11:32, a voice message came through.
He played it.
Just breathing.
And then, her voice: soft, trembling.
"They know."