The hostel corridor was silent except for the slow drip of water from the roof and the distant sound of a ceiling fan in some other room. Arjun had left his door unlocked. The mattresses were already pushed together into one wide platform. Twelve lengths of rope lay coiled. The leather belt hung from the chair. A small bottle of coconut oil stood open on the table beside two empty collars. The tube light was off; only two candles burned, throwing long, trembling shadows.

Twelve soft knocks.