The building lift had become a silent accomplice by the third night. At 12:02 a.m. the doors slid open on the ground floor with a soft chime that echoed too loudly in the empty lobby. The interior was mirrored on three sides—cold steel, dim yellow light from the ceiling panel, the faint smell of cleaning fluid and stale cigarette smoke from someone’s earlier ride.

Aisha stepped in first. She wore a long charcoal trench coat again—belted this time—but the hem barely reached mid-thigh, and her bare legs showed she had nothing underneath. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, exposing the black leather collar still locked around her neck. Karan followed, casual in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt, hands in pockets. He pressed the button for the top floor—15th—then immediately hit the emergency stop button once the doors closed.