The terrace was lit like day. Four strong floodlights Karan had rigged—blinding white beams cutting through night sky. Mumbai sprawled below—Andheri lights twinkling endless. Wind strong tonight—cool gusts whipping hair, drying sweat fast. No railing high enough to hide. Windows opposite glowed—faces pressed to glass, phones up, flashes popping silent.

Door to terrace wide open. Stairs full of footsteps—Ramesh, Ramu, Shyam, three more watchmen, two neighbors. Eight men total—pants open, dicks hard, beer bottles in hands. They formed loose circle around center of terrace.