The gold lanterns swayed gently in the humid Jaipur breeze, their light dancing across the dark ripples of the river. The first heavy drops of the monsoon began to fall, hitting the broad leaves of the banyan tree with a rhythmic, soothing sound. Arya stood in the center of the light, her breath hitching as she looked at Laksh. The fear she had been carrying—the fear that he was leaving again—was so heavy it felt like it was suffocating her.

Laksh reached into the inner pocket of his coat, which was still draped over Arya’s shoulders. He pulled out a thick, ivory envelope. His hands, usually so steady they could override a failing thruster in the dark of space, were visibly trembling.