Chapter 11 · free to read
Eleven signatures had let the ghost fleet exist. Ten of them belonged to men who had retired, moved or died. One belonged to a clerk two desks from where Arjun used to sit.
It took him four hours and two cups of tea. He wrote it himself. He asked twice whether his daughters' names would appear anywhere in it.
Wednesday, 5:40 AM. A dry road, a clear lane, no other vehicle, and a man who had ridden that flyover twice a day for nineteen years.
He had gone to a man's office and offered him a way to be brave. He had not once calculated what it would cost the man's daughters.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.