Simani and Vikram joined him on his way out of the courthouse.

“What the hell were you doing on that stand, Ruban?” Simani demanded, limping alongside him. Vikram walked on her other side, all but carrying half her weight. “Are you trying to get Ashwin killed?”

“No, he’s not,” Vikram asserted, slightly out of breath. “He did what he had to do, Sim. And considering the cards he was dealt, he played them quite well. Certainly better than I could have, under those circumstances.”

Ruban slowed his pace so as not to tax Simani. “Define ‘well’,” he said wearily. “The longer this drags on, the more I doubt my own judgment. At this point, I’m not sure I’ve done anything ‘well’ in my life.”

Simani exhaled loudly. “Welcome to the club. I’ve spent the last three days reconsidering every life decision that led me to this point.”

“I’m sorry.” Ruban took her free hand into his, giving it a light squeeze. “It’s my fault you got dragged into this.”

“Yeah, if only you’d granted me the sweet release of death at that damned fair.” Simani rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have to watch a bunch of catty reporters denounce me on national TV. How shall I ever recover from this trauma?”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Ruban said grimly. “You’ve no idea how close—”

“Not this again!” An irate Simani cut him off. “And I still don’t understand what you were trying to achieve by instigating the judges against Ashwin. Don’t you think the media’s doing a good enough job of that already?”

Once more, Vikram came to his defence. “Ruban declaring his unconditional support for Ashwin wouldn’t have done either of them any favors. If anything, it’d have further damaged both their reputations. Added fuel to the conspiracy theories already running rampant in this country.”

A mild sense of gloom hung in the air as they crossed the lush, well-manicured lawn surrounding the courthouse.

“It’s a catch-22, isn’t it?” Simani muttered darkly. “He’s damned if you speak for him, and he’s damned if you don’t.”

“There’s nothing any of us can say that’d convince the judges of Ashwin’s innocence. After all, the judiciary is affected by public pressure as much as any other institution,” Vikram said. “Nothing short of cold, hard proof will suffice.”

“Isn’t that why I’ve been telling you to hand that damn video over to Casia Washi, already?” Simani glared at Ruban, then at her husband. “It’s a vital piece of evidence. And the sooner it gets in front of the judges, the better.”

“That’s true, but it can’t come from me,” Ruban said, the frustration palpable in his voice. “Or from anyone else known to be on Ashwin’s side, even peripherally. You know the kind of vile rumors the media’s been throwing around, the lurid sensationalism they’re engaging in. Anyone seen as being even slightly partial to Ashwin will have their character ripped to shreds, their credibility destroyed. The authenticity of the video, the intentions and affiliations of the person who filmed it – everything will be called into question. That kind of pressure would break seasoned Hunters. We can’t ask a civilian to go through that for us, Sim.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Well, in that case, the solution is obvious.” Taking a detour around one of the outbuildings, Vikram led them down a semi-abandoned corridor to avoid the crowd of reporters gathered at the gate. “Send the video to Viman Rai. Nobody in their right mind would accuse him of being sympathetic to Ashwin.”

Ruban glanced at Vikram, resisting the urge to remind him that only a few days ago, he’d considered the idea too risky.

Simani shook her head. “What’s to say he wasn’t the one who bribed that kid – what’s his name?”

“Siyal,” Ruban supplied. “Atbin Siyal.”

“Right. What’s to say Viman Rai wasn’t the one who bribed Siyal to attack me, in the first place? To make it look like it was Ashwin’s doing?” Simani pointed out. “He’s made no secret of his opposition to the Vaan alliance. He has every reason to want to discredit Ashwin. To make him – and every other Aeriel – out to be a threat.”

“But don’t you see?” Vikram’s voice grew animated. “That’s the point. If Viman Rai tries to conceal the evidence we send him, that’d prove his guilt beyond the shadow of a doubt, won’t it? If he’s innocent, there’s no way he’d forego the opportunity to break such a significant story.

“This is arguably the most important trial of this century. Given the chance to release a piece of evidence that could turn the tide of the entire case, no journalist would willingly pass it up. Regardless of his own political leanings.” Drawing in a deep breath, Vikram continued. “If Viman has any integrity, as Casia seems to believe, he won’t try to bury evidence just because it contradicts his worldview. If he chooses to do so, it could only be because he’s trying to save his own hide.”

As Vikram finished outlining his plan, they exited the premises of the courthouse through one of the rarely-used side gates.

“Viman’s bound to get suspicious if that video suddenly shows up in his mailbox, though.” Pausing momentarily, Simani buried her face into Vikram’s shoulder, clearly exhausted. “Or maybe I’m giving him too much credit. Maybe he’s stupider than he looks.”

Vikram chuckled, pulling Simani close. “That’d solve a lot of our problems, wouldn’t it? But no, I’d rather be safe than sorry. If the evidence must reach Viman Rai, it’ll reach him through Brij.”

“Who’s Brij?” Ruban and Simani asked in unison.

Vikram cocked his head, his inquisitive gaze on Ruban. “You don’t know who Brij is? Ashwin told me about him, so I assumed he’d have told you too.”

Ruban frowned but said nothing, allowing Vikram to continue.

“He’s Viman’s informant. They go way back. Viman used to be a crime reporter for some small local newspaper, back when he first started his career.”

“A crime reporter?” Simani repeated, her tone laced with curiosity.

“Yeah, and he was pretty good at it, too.” Wrapping an arm around Simani to steady her, Vikram began walking towards their car. Ruban followed them, his attention on Vik’s voice. “I’ve read some of his old pieces. Quite impressive for a twenty-something newbie. Anyway, Brij was a young pickpocket Viman befriended, and cultivated as a source.”

“That must’ve been decades ago,” Ruban said.

“It was, but they’re still very much in contact. And Brij still sends Viman information he thinks could be useful. That’s how Ashwin leaked the surveillance footage of your fight with Tauheen at SifCo. Remember that?”

“If only I could forget,” Ruban said through gritted teeth.

Vikram chuckled. “Well, we can take a page out of Ashwin’s book—”

“The one on how to leak sensitive information to the press without getting your hands dirty?” Ruban muttered.

“That’s the one, yes. That’ll keep our names out of it, at least for now. And Viman would be more receptive to information that comes from a trusted source.” Vikram yawned, belatedly pressing a hand to his mouth. “That way, we can also send him the DNA reports of the samples obtained from Simani’s shirt and your home intruder. It’s not as cut-and-dried as the video, but it’d be interesting to see what he makes of it.”