25. New Mysterious Teacher.
The park was quiet, eerily so.
Inspector Ratan stood silently near the bench where Shyam's body had been found earlier that morning.
The area had been cordoned off. His forensic team moved about with professional precision—taking photographs, dusting for prints, marking every detail. But there was little to find.
Ratan's eyes were fixed on the corpse.
A single gunshot wound, right in the center of Shyam's forehead.
No struggle. No scratches. No blood trail. Just a clean, clinical execution.
"Sir," said one of the officers, stepping beside him. "Ballistics confirms—it was a silenced shot. Fired from very close range."
Ratan's voice was low. "Professional."
The officer nodded. "No prints, either. Completely wiped. And the CCTV cameras near this bench… all offline since last night."
Just then, another officer approached, panting.
"Sir… did you call her?"
Ratan exhaled. "Yes. She didn't answer."
The officer hesitated, then added quietly, "Sir, I… I accidentally overheard your conversation with the Masked Detective the other day."
Ratan looked at him sharply.
"I just wanted to ask… is she your friend's daughter? Why does she hide her face? How do you know her?"
Ratan didn't reply.
His jaw clenched. His thoughts churned.
That symbol—the jagged triangle. He had seen it on Animesh Basu's neck, in the library, on the girl's wrist, and now…
Shyam. Silenced.
It wasn't just a coincidence anymore.
It was a warning.
---
Meanwhile…
Back at Taraniketan Institution, the school had returned to normal—or so it seemed.
Sanchayita Pandit had rejoined her classes. Her memories were fragile, her steps hesitant, but she was trying. Aaradhya often walked beside her in silence, a quiet presence of shared trauma.
Everything looked the same.
Freshly painted halls. Morning assemblies. Classroom laughter.
But something had changed.
On a cloudy Monday, a new teacher walked into Class 11-B.
She was tall, with long red hair that gleamed like polished copper. Her skin was porcelain-pale. She wore silver-rimmed glasses and moved like a whisper.
She turned to the board and wrote neatly:
Ms. Jayasree Mukherjee — Homeroom Teacher
"Good morning, class. I'll be your new teacher this term," she said, her voice smooth, poised.
Students sat up straighter. Even the usual chatterboxes fell silent. Something about her aura was mysterious—like calm water hiding a storm underneath.
As she walked through the rows, her eyes lingered—just a second too long—on Sanchayita.
The air felt colder where she passed.
And then, as she raised her arm to write on the board, her sleeve shifted.
For a moment, something peeked out.
A tattoo.
Not decorative. Not fashionable.
But dangerous.
A black rose, its thorns curled inwards, a crescent moon blooming from its center.
Aaradhya's eyes widened.
Sanchayita stiffened. She had seen that symbol before.
So had Inspector Ratan.
So had the Detective.
And now… it was on their new teacher.
The mystery wasn't over.
It had only just begun.