Jehan stirred the translucent liquid in one of the cups and handed it to Sinya with a smile. He then dropped another sugar cube into his own cup and folded himself into the moth-eaten sofa next to the stained kitchen counter.
He didn’t have much of a sweet-tooth, but there was something about being in this house that always made him crave the sweet ginger tea Anuja gave them whenever they had a cold.
The kitchen was dim, paint peeling off the walls, and cobwebs peeked out of the corners. Jehan hadn’t felt so comfortable in weeks. Breathing in the spicy aroma of the tea, he sighed. “God, I’ve missed this.”
“And you’ve got no one to blame for it but yourself,” Sinya informed him, taking an appreciative sip of her tea. “Maa taught you well. It’s just like hers.”
Jehan grinned, tipping his head back to stare up at the mold-stained ceiling. “Pretty much the story of my life summed up in a sentence, isn’t it? ‘No one to blame but myself.’”
On the dilapidated old couch beside him, Sinya stiffened. “Damn it, Jehan. That’s not what I–”
“Drink your tea. It’ll get cold. I’ll let you know when I’m in need of a cuddle.”
Sinya rolled her eyes and threw a cracker at him. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re the pot to my kettle,” he said cheerfully, popping the cracker into his mouth.
“I’m serious, Jehan.” Sinya frowned, gazing worriedly at him. “You could’ve been killed. And we couldn’t even come to visit you. Damnit, do you have any idea how scared we were? How fucking terrified I was!”
Almost imperceptibly, Jehan curled in on himself, trying to calm his racing pulse. He bit his tongue, swallowing back the useless apology that rose automatically to his lips. He was sorry, but it wouldn’t change anything. And neither of them had ever been big on inane platitudes.
Beside him, Sinya sighed and rubbed a hand tiredly over her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just...worry about you.”
Jehan ignored her, looking around the room. “We’ll need to repair this place sooner or later. It’s falling apart.” He was desperate to change the subject, and wasn’t doing much to hide it. No point, anyway. Sinya had always been able to see right through him. She was probably the only person on earth who could.
Sometimes, he hated her for it. Just a little bit.
Sinya huffed and sipped her tea. She wasn’t going to dignify such an obvious evasion with a response.
Neither of them had any real desire to have the house repaired. They had talked about it. There was even a time when they’d thought of selling it.
But nothing had ever come of it, and the ramshackle old house still stood precariously at the edge of the city, one strong wind away from catastrophe. Just as it had, almost fifteen years ago, when they’d first moved into it – penniless refugees fleeing their past into an uncertain future in an unknown city.
Besides, Jehan was sure that Anuja’s ghost would haunt him for the rest of eternity if he dared to mess with her kitchen. He was not a superstitious man, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that if Sinya’s mother wanted to box his ears from the afterlife, she would find a way to do just that.
“So, did you find out what caused the fire?” Sinya asked at length, carrying her cup to the sink. “Or should I say…who caused it.”
“It could’ve been an accident.”
She snorted. “Sure. Just like you becoming the goddamn prime minister was an accident. You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”
“Define ‘this’.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Jehan. You told Dileep somebody was gunning for Rajat Shian. It isn’t that much of a stretch to imagine they might’ve shifted targets, considering recent events.”
Jehan shrugged, moving to the counter to retrieve the jar of cookies from the lower cabinet. They hadn’t lived in this house in years, but the kitchen was always stocked with Jehan’s favorite tea and Sinya’s favorite cookies. Just like it had been when Anuja was alive. It was tradition.
He took a cookie and passed the jar to Sinya, who took two. “I don’t think they’re targeting me, if that’s what you’re asking. They’d have no reason to. They’d only try to kill me if they thought I couldn’t be bought.”
“And they don’t think so?” Sinya’s gaze turned curious. “Maganti’s made an offer?”
“Not him personally, of course. And not in so many words. But there’ve been…hints. Overtures. Very generous trade agreement terms, for one. Manufacturing revenue will grow by leaps and bounds in the coming years, that’s for sure. The markets will be delighted.”
Sinya sighed. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Jehan. Not that anything I say is gonna make you see sense. At least tell me you’re investigating it. The fire, I mean.”
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“Sure I am. Or at least Abhijat Shian is. The man’s more useful than I’d expected him to be.”
Sinya threw her head back, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Bits of cookie flew in all directions. “Oh dear lord, Abhijat Shian! To be saved by the son of the man you dethroned in your nefarious bid for power. Man, that’s gotta sting.”
“You’re juvenile.” Biting back a smile, Jehan rolled his eyes. “He is my bodyguard. Keeping me from harm’s way is literally his job description.”
“Yes indeed. Your choice of employees is simply stellar.”
“Well, you’re the one who gave his sister a job,” Jehan pointed out, biting into his cookie. “Seems like we all need a bit of Shian in our lives. How’re you two getting along? Has she filled the void left by Jhilik…or whatever the last one’s name was?”
“And then some. She’s spectacular. I told you I wouldn’t hire her if she didn’t live up to my standards. Which reminds me. Jhilik called yesterday.” She frowned, her voice turning grave. “Something’s going on in Weritlan.”
“Something’s always going on in Weritlan. But what’s that got to do with your ex-TA?”
Sinya said nothing for a few seconds, her fingers drumming the arm-rest of the threadbare couch. Then, she reached for her handbag and retrieved her cellphone from its overstuffed depths. Her fingers flew over the screen until she’d found what she was looking for. Then, she handed the device over to Jehan and sat back.
A good-looking young woman with jet-black hair and big, brown eyes smiled back at him from the screen. “Who is this?” Jehan asked, glancing up from the screen. “Am I supposed to know her?”
“That’s Afreen Firoz. One of my old students. Jhilik’s classmate. For the last few years, she’s been working with Pragati in Weritlan.”
“Pragati?” Jehan frowned. “You mean the anti-human trafficking organization?”
“Yep. That’s the one. Afreen always was interested in social work. Was involved with many nonprofits here in Qayit while she was studying at the university. Anyway, after Jhilik moved to Weritlan with her husband, she started working at Pragati with her friend.
“About a week ago, Afreen went with a colleague to some club they’d been told was being used to hold trafficked children from Eraon. The colleague returned the next day, injured, disoriented, and alone. Unable to remember much of anything that’d happened after they’d entered the club. Afreen hasn’t been heard from since.”
Jehan’s eyes widened. “What? Have they filed a report? Who’s investigating this?”
“They have. And that’s the thing. Jhilik and her colleagues believe the police aren’t taking the matter seriously, ‘cause apparently this club’s frequented by the who’s who of Ishfana. Politicians, businessmen, actors, that sort of thing. Very high-profile clientele, which makes the local law enforcement reluctant to step in.
“Jhilik told me there’s been a recent spike in trafficking from Eraon, and even from the rural parts of Ishfana, to Weritlan. Interstate trafficking has always been a problem in those parts, of course, so it’s not something they haven’t dealt with before. But from what I gather, there’s something…different, this time.”
Jehan leaned forward, his eyes boring into Sinya. His skin prickled with unease. “Like what?”
She sighed. “You’re not going to like this. As usual, most of the abducted kids are the children of poor villagers or city laborers. There’s nothing unusual about the police not giving a fuck about them.
“But this time, Jhilik says something else is going on. The police say the children weren’t kidnapped at all. That they left willingly, of their own volition.
“What’s more, eyewitness accounts corroborate these claims. Neighbors and friends saw these kids get into the cars willingly and drive off…no protests, no struggling. As if they were going for a drive with an old friend.
“And it’s not just the younger children, either. A six-year-old might’ve been tricked by a stranger offering sweets, but a sixteen-year-old? Not likely, is it? Rural Eraon is no stranger to trafficking.
“And since they weren’t taken by force, the police are refusing to even consider the possibility that they might’ve been abducted. Even the families of the missing children don’t know what to think.
“Pragati had been working for months to locate these missing kids. And apparently, many of them were spotted by locals around this club in Weritlan, which was what kindled their interest in it. And after what happened with Afreen–”
Jehan interjected impatiently, “You said this colleague of hers had returned disoriented and confused, without any recollection of what had happened inside the club. That right?”
Sinya nodded.
Jehan bit his lip thoughtfully, blood thrumming in his veins. “Can you ask Jhilik if he happened to have any puncture wounds on his arms? Or on any other part of his body, for that matter.”
Sinya’s eyes widened, but she typed out a message on her phone and said nothing. Jehan rose to his feet and walked over to the counter, setting the water to boil for another pot of tea. His hands were shaking.
He heard the phone beep behind him, but forced himself to focus on the tea brewing on the ancient stove. He needed a clear head, and getting anxious and overwrought wouldn’t solve anything anyway. He poured the tea into cups – spilling some onto the counter – and walked back to the sofa.
Sinya accepted her cup and handed him her phone. On the screen was the picture of a man’s forearm. His hand was fisted, making the veins stand out against his fair skin.
There were three puncture marks above the wrist, the skin surrounding each slightly bruised, like the wound from a badly administered injection.
“Jhilik sent me this photo after I asked her about the puncture wounds,” Sinya said quietly, as Jehan sank back into the sofa. “This is what I was afraid of.”
“They’re using Amven,” Jehan said, pushing his hair back with shaking fingers. “I don’t know how, but it all adds up. Confusion, disorientation, memory loss…symptoms of Amven overdose. And that’s why those kids went willingly with the traffickers – they were drugged. They’d have jumped off a bridge without question if they’d been told to do so. God, does Dileep know about this?”
Sinya shrugged. “I told him what I’ve told you. He was the one who asked me to talk to you about it, so he must’ve suspected something. He couldn’t call you himself, of course.” She glared at him. “You’ve made that quite impossible.”
Jehan sagged against the tattered backrest of the sofa, tipping his head back with a sigh. He was suddenly exhausted. “It had to be done, Sinya. The phones could be tapped; some goddamn journalist could get their hands on the call records. We can’t afford to risk it.” He closed his eyes. “I can’t afford to risk it.”
Sinya huffed out a breath, her eyes on the teacup clutched in her hands. “I know,” she said tiredly. “I know. I just–” she shook her head, as if to clear it. “Look at me, getting all sentimental and shit. La Fantome. That’s the name of the club Pragati was investigating. It’s somewhere in downtown Weritlan. I’ll email you the exact address once I have it.”
Jehan nodded. “I’ll look into it. I’ll find your student, Sinya. Don’t worry about it. She’ll be alright.”
“I know,” she said quietly, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Her eyes found his and held them, forcing him to see her concern, her empathy. “But tell me, Jehan. Will you?”