The evening was unfolding with its usual, heavy tension. Amyra was in the kitchen, her back to the living room, her hands moving mechanically as she chopped fruit for Aarav. She could hear the low rumble of Aman’s voice as he explained the "vroom-vroom" mechanics of a toy car to their son.

Aman was sitting on the floor, his massive back leaning against the sharp edge of the mahogany coffee table. He looked weary, the weight of five years of searching and the crushing silence of the last week taking its toll.