Vishwa, restless, walked out into the corridor. He spotted a young teenager sitting on a bench, nervously clutching a smartphone. The boy was a local "vlogger," known for filming "A Day in My Life" videos. He had been roaming the hospital all morning, recording his surroundings for his followers.
"Give me the phone," Vishwa said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
The team gathered around the small screen. The video was shaky, mindless footage of hospital signs and cafeteria food. But as the boy turned a corner near the intensive care unit, the camera panned past a vending machine.
In the reflection of the glass, for a split second, a figure emerged from the "blind spot" of the official security cameras.
It was Athira.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't shaking. She was calmly adjusting a pair of surgical gloves, her face a mask of cold, predatory efficiency as she stepped out of the maid's room. In the video, she looked directly toward the reflection, her eyes meeting the camera for a heartbeat—dark, calculating, and entirely unrecognizable.