The Ashmolean Museum at night was a kingdom of echoes and cold stone, where the ghosts of ancient civilizations stood witness to the quiet arrogance of Oxford’s brightest minds. For the Research Department Mixer, the Egyptian wing had been transformed. Soft, amber floor-lights washed over the tall limestone statues, casting long, dramatic shadows that stretched across the polished floors.

Laksh Malhotra stood near a bust of Marcus Aurelius, a glass of untouched sparkling water in his hand. He looked like an extension of the exhibits—carved, motionless, and chillingly beautiful. He wore a black-on-black suit, the fabric sharp and expensive, clinging to his broad shoulders with a precision that usually commanded the room.