“Boss, call from number two,” Raju said, voice low. “Old man says his PAN is blocked. Wants help transfer money to clear penalty. We can get the OTP.”

For the first time in months, the town felt smaller than the choices in front of him. Pay the extortionist with stolen money, and the cycle tightened. Refuse and risk the clinic stopping care. Walk away and leave his crew—and his sister—to whatever came next. He imagined himself in a different life: a legitimate job, a steady paycheck, the quiet dignity he’d seen in a cousin who’d moved to the city. That life required something he no longer had in abundance: time.

Aman breathed in the dust and the diesel and the faint smell of bleach from the ward. He had enough time to make one choice. Not the right one. Not the easy one. Just one that might keep them breathing a little longer.

Outside, a stray dog barked. Inside, the chat chimed: a link to a new lead, a new target—larger payout, higher risk. Aman opened the link. The numbers scrolled like a promise.