Under the Surface
The next morning, Ira couldn't shake the feeling that the walls were closing in. The hospital, once familiar, now felt like a maze designed to keep her in. The fluorescent lights buzzed again, but it was the shadows that seemed to follow her—lurking, always just out of sight.
She had returned to work, slipping into the usual routine as best she could. Her hands shook slightly as she logged patient data, and every cough, every passing nurse, felt like a potential threat. But it had to be business as usual. If anyone suspected anything was off, it would be over before they even started.
Ishita, however, seemed unaffected. She was cool, composed, as usual. Ira met her in the staff room, where they were supposed to plan their next move. Ishita had been uncharacteristically silent during their brief exchange the night before. But Ira didn't mind. They both had their roles to play.
"We need to talk to someone inside the trials," Ishita said, breaking the silence. She was already flipping through a worn-out medical directory, as though this was just another day in the office. "If Aanya was involved in those experiments, someone had to know. The files, the patients... that can't just vanish."
Ira nodded. "I thought about that. But the archives were wiped clean, and the only person I can think of who might have information is Dr. Rajeev Malhotra. He was one of the senior researchers on the trials."
Ishita's gaze sharpened. "You think he's involved?"
"I don't know. But if he's involved, he's too powerful to get close to directly." Ira hesitated. "He's been at the hospital for years. Aanya trusted him. But... he could be the one running interference."
Ishita tapped her finger against the counter, her eyes narrowing as she thought it through. "If he's involved, we'll need leverage. Malhotra won't talk unless he has to."
"I agree," Ira said. "I know where he keeps his office. There's a storage closet with confidential trial data that's not part of the regular paperwork. Aanya was always trying to get me to look into it... but we never had the chance."
Ishita stood up, her expression set. "Then we'll break in. Not tonight. But soon."
The plan was simple—too simple, Ira thought, but there was no other option. Malhotra's office was locked down tight, but there were always gaps in hospital security. There had to be.
That evening, as the hospital settled into its routine lull, Ira slipped out of the ER, her badge tucked under her jacket. She texted Ishita—Are you ready?
The response came instantly: Always.
Ira's heart raced. She could feel the weight of the night pressing down on her, the cold realization that they were now part of something much bigger than either of them had expected. There were too many risks—too many things that could go wrong—but she was beyond turning back.
They met in the stairwell, the quiet sound of their footsteps the only thing keeping them grounded. They moved with practiced precision, avoiding security cameras, slipping through darkened hallways as they neared Malhotra's office on the fourth floor.
The air felt thick with tension. Even in the quiet, Ira could sense the pulse of danger lurking just ahead.
Ishita gestured toward the janitor's closet across the hall. "That's our way in."
The closet wasn't a proper entrance, but it was close enough. Ira nodded. They crept over, Ishita taking out a set of lock-picking tools. A quiet click echoed in the silence, and the door creaked open.
Inside, they quickly pulled out the necessary tools to break into Malhotra's office. It didn't take long—just a few minutes of meticulous work—and the door was unlocked.
Ira pushed the door open slowly, the hinges barely making a sound.
The office was dim, papers scattered across the desk. The shelves were lined with academic journals, medical texts, and framed awards, but nothing that screamed "secret." The clean, sterile appearance of the room made it easy to believe Malhotra was just another researcher—nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary.
But Ira knew better.
She moved straight to the filing cabinet against the far wall. Ishita was already at the desk, scanning through the papers. Ira opened the first drawer and rifled through the contents. Trial data. Patient logs. Nothing unusual at first.
Until she found the folder with no label.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled it open, scanning through the pages. They were just as she remembered—confidential trials, patient information, and surgical notes that had been buried. But one file stood out—marked "Confidential - High Risk."
It was dated a few days ago.
Ira's stomach churned as she read through the details: Aanya's name was listed again—along with the name of a patient she didn't recognize. A child.
Her heart skipped a beat.
The next page was a surgical report.
And the last line was underlined: In case of failure, consider all measures to avoid media attention.
Ira's mind raced. What had they done? What was she reading?
Ishita's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Ira, look at this."
Ira turned to see Ishita holding a thick envelope she had pulled from Malhotra's desk. There was something hidden inside.
Ira's pulse quickened. What now?
Ishita didn't answer. Instead, she opened the envelope, pulling out a photo.
It was a photograph of a child—pale, sickly, hooked up to machines. The child's eyes were shut, and yet there was something disturbingly familiar about the face.
Ira leaned in, her throat tightening. "Who is that?"
Ishita didn't speak, but her eyes met Ira's. "I think that's the patient."
But that wasn't what had Ira's blood running cold.
The name written across the back of the photograph wasn't the patient's.
It was Aanya's.