The nurse hadn’t been happy about taking him off the IV drip. But Abhijat would be damned if he missed this opportunity to interview a drug-addled and possibly-concussed Fasih. If there was ever a time when they might get some truth out of him, this was it.

Ruqaiya rapped her knuckles respectfully against the door, but didn’t wait for a response before stepping through into the room. Abhijat followed her in, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Fasih, sitting with his back against the headboard, smiled brightly at them as they came to stand beside his bed. “Please, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, setting aside the magazine he had been reading. Cutting off Ruqaiya’s perfunctory protest, he quipped, “Besides, you’re both very tall. Staring up at you is singularly uncomfortable.”

Despite herself, Ruqaiya snickered and perched near the foot of the bed, signaling for Abhijat to take the bedside chair.

With some difficulty, he settled himself into the chair under Fasih’s curious gaze, trying not to put too much weight on his injured foot. Once he was as comfortable as it was possible to be on a narrow plastic chair, he looked up to see Fasih watching him with wide, guileless eyes. It was unnerving.

“I understand I have you to thank for the fact that I’m not a charred splotch in that stuffy old office. Really, my friend, thank you. I’d have hated for my last moments on earth to be spent on paperwork,” he shuddered.

“I…uh,” Abhijat spared a glance at Ruqaiya, unsure how to respond to that sentiment. Fasih looked genuinely thankful, not to mention a tad awestruck. For some reason, that made him uncomfortable. “I’m glad I could be of service, sir.”

“I am very grateful to you for saving my life, Mr. Shian. But no amount of gratitude will compel me to let that pass. You’ve got to stop calling me that. And do stop being so horribly polite. It makes me feel thirty years older.”

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Before Abhijat could respond with anything more than a baffled grunt, Fasih turned his blinding smile towards Ruqaiya. “And I owe you a huge thank you, Madam Dehran, for recommending Mr. Shian for the position of my chief security officer. Not that I ever doubted your judgment, of course, but even I couldn’t have foreseen how perfect a choice he’d turn out to be.

“Really, I’m glad he’s heading the investigation into what happened today. I’m sure it was nothing, of course, but you can never be too careful, can you? Gosh! I feel like I’ve smoked every last cigarette on the planet. Anyway, I’d never feel safer than if I knew Mr. Shian was watching my back.”

“Wait. Back up a second.” Ruqaiya gaped at Fasih. “Abhijat’s heading the investigation into the office fire?”

“Of course he is.” He looked equally baffled. “Who else should be heading it?”

“Well, I mean, the NIA–”

“Ah yes, the NIA. That reminds me. I was just on the phone with Mr. Vyas. He’ll share all the details of their investigation with you. Not that there’s much to share as of yet, of course. Still, I hope you won’t have a problem collaborating with them on the case.” He sighed. “I know from experience the NIA can be a pain in all the wrong places, when they want to be.”

“I – of course,” said Abhijat, swallowing his surprise. “It won’t be a problem at all.”

He looked over at Ruqaiya, and could see that she was wondering the same thing he was. How hard had Fasih hit his head when Abhijat threw him out of the burning office?

“Ah well, in that case, I’ll call the NIA headquarters and set up a meeting immediately,” she interjected, just in case Fasih changed his mind once he was feeling better. “Take care, Jehan. I’ll come visit you again tomorrow. Don’t talk to reporters until we know more about what happened.”

“Of course not.” Fasih smiled sleepily, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

After a few more seconds of polite conversation, Abhijat left the room with Ruqaiya. Shutting the door behind her, she frowned at him, looking nonplussed. “You know, it’s the strangest thing. He just gave us exactly what we wanted, probably ‘cause he’s too drugged to know better. And yet...”

“It still feels like somehow he played us?” Abhijat finished the thought for her.

“It really does, doesn’t it? And the worst part is, I don’t understand how.”