The afternoon sun cast a bright, uncompromising glare through the tall French windows of the Rathore dining hall. By one o'clock, the fever that had burned through Shivanya's battered body overnight had finally broken, leaving behind a hollow, aching exhaustion. She dressed with the quiet, practiced efficiency of a prisoner who knew the exact price of tardiness, smoothing down the heavy folds of her attire before walking downstairs.

The long mahogany dining table was already occupied. Her brothers, Adrijay and Advay, sat alongside Meera, Ishanth, Kritagya, Anika, and Abhimaan, the clinking of silver against china punctuated by low murmurs of conversation.