Simani was awake, sitting propped on the headboard of her narrow bed, nestled comfortably against an assortment of pillows.

She was pale. Her already ectomorphic frame now appeared little more than skin and bones. Making her look as though she was drowning in her oversized hospital gown.

But she was sipping tea from a large ceramic cup adorned with tiny, multicolored birds. And she smiled up at the nurse as the other woman checked her IV drip and fussed over the bandages covering her left hip.

Ruban blinked rapidly, desperate to regain some control over the emotions roiling in his chest. For the first time in days, he could breathe freely once more. Against all logic, he’d spent the last few days secretly terrified that the press was right, after all. That he’d killed his partner – indirectly, if not by design.

Eventually finished with her assessment, the nurse left the room. Ruban closed the door behind her, as Vikram stepped closer to his wife and, gently, took one of her hands in his.

Beside Simani’s bed was a chair and a large wooden stool. On the latter stood the most gigantic bouquet of yellow roses Ruban had ever seen. And being one of the most popular Hunters in the country meant that he’d seen more than his fair share.

Stepping closer to the bed, he lifted the bouquet out of the stool and transferred it to the floor. He then settled himself comfortably on the newly-empty stool, leaving the chair for Vikram.

Simani said nothing, responding simply with a raised eyebrow and a slight curve of her lips.

In response, Ruban raised both his eyebrows. “Who’s the secret admirer?” He glanced at Vikram. “Or, at least, I’d hope it’s a secret.”

Simani chuckled. “I’ll tell you if you promise not to be jealous.”

“Well, it’s not Vik.” Ruban eyed the gigantic bouquet at his feet. “He’s too utilitarian for something so elaborate.”

“Guilty as charged.” Vikram’s lips quirked with amusement. “And who’s the least utilitarian…uh, person…you know?”

It was that slight stutter on the word ‘person’ that gave it away.

“Ugh. Ashwin.” Ruban rubbed his temple, letting out a long breath as he did so. “How’d he even get in? Actually, you know what?” He held up a hand. “Don’t answer that question.”

“Worried you might finally have to offer him an apology?” Vikram chuckled. “For being your usual pugnacious self when under stress?”

“Soon as hell freezes over.” Ruban scoffed. “Much more worryingly, I haven’t seen his feathery ass in days. And I have a feeling it’s not because he’s languishing in his sister’s court, awaiting our summons.”

“Not likely, no.” Simani murmured. “Although that’s probably what he should be doing, all things considered. The media’s worked itself up into quite the frenzy—”

“And if their reports are anything to go by,” Vikram added. “The public’s ready to crucify him on live TV, given the first opportunity.”

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“With the garbage they’re being fed through their screens,” Simani said. “Can you blame them?”

Vikram shook his head. “It’s not that simple. Whoever did this,” he glanced momentarily at Simani. “Knew exactly what they were aiming for. What kind of reaction it’d elicit. If they’d been successful. If you’d,” he paused, swallowed. “If you’d been killed by that energy-shell—”

“By Ashwin’s energy-shell,” Simani pointed out, grimly. “It’d create the perfect melee of fear, suspicion, and hatred against Vaan.”

“Any hopes for this alliance would be instantly incinerated,” Vikram agreed. “Aside from that, it’d also have called Ruban’s integrity into question. He’s spoken publicly in favor of the alliance with Vaan. And his rapport with the prince is not exactly a secret.”

As Vikram spoke about him like he wasn’t in the room, Ruban felt a burgeoning headache creep into his awareness. He ignored it, trying to pay attention to the facts without letting his emotions get in the way.

“As his partner, your death by Ashwin’s shell,” Vikram continued, folding himself into the chair without letting go of Simani’s hand. “It’d inevitably have led to questions about Ruban’s involvement. Would’ve made him look like a callous fool at best. Complicit at worst. In the eyes of the common citizen, it’d have lent credence to the worst conspiracy theories about Ashwin and Ruban.”

Simani sighed. “We need to figure out who started these damn rumors, to begin with. The media’s been pointing fingers at Ruban since day one, long before they could possibly have gotten all the details of the Hunt. Somebody tipped them off. Somebody very deliberately started these rumors to malign him. And I want to know who that is.”

“I did a little investigating,” Vikram said, digging into a pocket with his free hand. “Not that I’ve had much time for anything these last few days. But it was mind-boggling, the speed with which they turned on him.” He pulled out two folded sheets of paper and handed them to Ruban. “From what I can tell, the first mention of Sim’s injuries – and Ruban’s potential involvement – was in this social media post from WNN.” He pointed to the corresponding printout in Ruban’s hand. “It’s since been deleted. But of course, you can always find screenshots circulating on the internet. These things are never truly gone.”

Simani leaned forward to examine the printout.

“Look at the timestamp on that first post,” Vikram prompted.

“This is less than an hour after the Hunt,” Ruban said, frowning. “I don’t think we’d even reached the hospital by then.”

“You hadn’t,” Vikram said. “I checked the call log on my phone. You called me from the ambulance, remember? Well, that was exactly four minutes after WNN made this post.”

“So, somehow, the social media team at WNN knew all about my injuries before my own husband did?” Simani groaned. “Fantastic!”

“After that, the narrative was quickly picked up by Viman Rai’s CXN,” Vikram continued. “They were the first to broadcast the conspiracy theories on TV. And it was only a matter of time before all the other outlets followed suit. Casia Washi’s stayed out of it, from what I can tell, but none of her colleagues at WNN have been so scrupulous. They’re flinging accusations like confetti. Short of organizing a lynch mob to go after Ashwin, they’ve done everything in their power to milk this ‘scandal’ for eyeballs and a profit.”

“Despite whatever grudge Viman Rai might be harboring against me.” Ruban’s tone was ponderous. “The news was first leaked to WNN. There has to be a reason for that. My spat with Viman Rai couldn’t have been more public. Yet, somebody chose to forego him and go to WNN instead, with information that was clearly intended to damage my reputation. Why would they do that?”

“Perhaps because they didn’t want to draw attention to Viman Rai or CXN?” Simani said, frowning. “If the leak originated at CXN, they might very well want to conceal that fact. Especially after your public spat with Viman Rai. After all, he wouldn’t want to be accused of vindictiveness. Not to mention that even the suspicion of spying on the Hunter Corps could get him and his network into a mountain of legal trouble.”

“If avoiding any semblance of vindictiveness was Viman’s goal,” Vikram countered. “He’s doing a singularly poor job of it.”

Taking his hand back from Simani, he pulled out his phone from the breast pocket of his faded denim shirt. With a few taps, he pulled up the video-player app and held the phone out for the other two to see.