Jones examined the manuscript.
It described an ancient society of scholars who supposedly possessed hidden scientific knowledge centuries ahead of their time.
The pages were brittle, the ink faded into shades of brown and black that seemed to shift under the reading room lights. Even through gloves, the manuscript felt strangely heavy, as though the weight of its meaning exceeded the physical object itself. The symbol of the Ashvattha tree appeared again and again, its roots stretching downward through diagrams, its branches intertwining with cryptic mathematical notations and philosophical annotations.
Martin stood slightly behind Jones, watching him turn each page with careful precision.
"It reads more like a fusion of science and mythology," Martin said quietly.
Jones did not look up.
"That is often how early scientific thought survives," he replied. "Before it is recognized as science, it hides inside mythology."
Inspector Roy stood near the door, arms folded, impatient but attentive.
"You said it describes a society," Roy said. "What exactly does it claim?"
Jones paused briefly before answering.
"A group of scholars who believed knowledge is not invented, but recovered."
Martin frowned.
"That sounds… philosophical."
"Yes," Jones said. "But philosophy can sometimes be a mask for something far more practical."
He turned another page.
The ink became denser, the handwriting more urgent. There were references to experiments, chemical processes, and what appeared to be early forms of distillation techniques—centuries before such methods were officially recorded in India.
Martin leaned closer.
"This can't be accurate."
"It doesn't have to be," Jones said. "It only has to be believed."
Then Jones stopped.
His fingers hovered over the page.
There was a gap.
A physical break in the continuity of the manuscript.
He carefully adjusted his glasses.
"One page is missing," he said.
Roy immediately stepped forward.
"That's impossible. The manuscript was catalogued as complete."
Jones shook his head slightly.
"It is missing now."
Martin traced the edge of the torn binding.
"It looks deliberately removed."
Jones nodded.
"The final page."
A silence followed.
Even the rain outside seemed to soften for a moment.
Roy broke it.
"According to records, no one has accessed it except authorized personnel."
Jones closed the manuscript gently.
"Then we are dealing with someone who understands authorization very well."
Martin pulled out his notes.
"There are only four people with access."
He read them aloud.
"Dr. Arvind Sen."
A pause.
"Librarian Meera Dutta."
Another pause.
"Historian Vikram Bose."
And finally—
"Research scholar Riya Mukherjee."
Roy raised an eyebrow.
"That matches the visitor slip."
Jones looked up sharply.
"The fake name."
Martin nodded.
"R. Mukherjee."
Roy rubbed his temple.
"So either the visitor was real and using a false identity, or someone is impersonating one of the authorized researchers."
Jones said nothing for a moment.
Then he spoke.
"Or the list itself is incomplete."
Martin looked at him.
"You think there's another access point?"
"I think," Jones said carefully, "that someone wants us to believe the system is controlled."
He turned toward the manuscript again.
"But systems are only as secure as the people who guard them."
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky again, low and distant, like something waking beneath the city.
Martin broke the tension.
"This missing page… what could it contain?"
Jones hesitated.
"That depends on why it was removed."
Roy frowned.
"Give me a theory."
Jones finally closed the manuscript.
"A dangerous one."
Before he could continue, the door to the reading room opened abruptly.
A junior officer rushed in, breathless.
"Inspector! There's been an incident!"
Roy turned sharply.
"What kind of incident?"
"The manuscript vault—someone attempted a break-in last night."
Martin straightened.
"Was anything taken?"
The officer shook his head.
"No. Nothing appears missing."
Roy narrowed his eyes.
"So it was a failed attempt."
Jones immediately interrupted.
"Or a successful one disguised as failure."
The officer looked confused.
"Sir?"
Jones was already moving.
"Show me the vault."
They hurried through the corridor, footsteps echoing against stone floors. The library felt different now—less like a place of knowledge and more like a sealed container of secrets. Security guards stood at attention outside the manuscript vault, visibly shaken.
The vault door was massive, reinforced with steel and old colonial-era locking mechanisms that had been modernized but never replaced.
Inspector Roy gestured.
"No forced entry."
Martin inspected the frame.
"No scratches."
Jones stepped closer, studying the lock itself.
"Who discovered the attempt?"
"The night guard," Roy replied.
"And what exactly did he see?"
The guard, brought forward, spoke nervously.
"I heard movement… inside the corridor. When I checked, the vault door was closed, but the alarm light was blinking."
Jones nodded slowly.
"An alarm without physical breach."
Martin looked at him.
"That doesn't make sense."
Jones did not respond immediately. Instead, he examined the floor.
The polished stone reflected faint light from overhead lamps.
Then he noticed something.
A faint powder residue near the base of the door.
He crouched.
"Interesting."
Roy leaned forward.
"What is it?"
Jones touched it lightly with a gloved finger.
"Fine particulate residue."
Martin frowned.
"Dust?"
"No," Jones said. "Not ordinary dust."
He stood up.
"This was used intentionally."
Roy crossed his arms.
"For what purpose?"
Jones looked at the vault door.
"To manipulate perception."
Martin blinked.
"I don't understand."
Jones explained calmly.
"If someone wanted access to the vault without triggering suspicion, they would not break in."
"They would simulate an attempt."
Roy's expression darkened.
"You're saying someone staged a break-in?"
"Yes."
Martin shook his head.
"But why would someone do that?"
Jones turned toward the corridor.
"To distract us."
A heavy silence followed.
Then Roy spoke quietly.
"From what?"
Jones replied without hesitation.
"The manuscript."
They returned to the reading room, tension now thick in the air. The manuscript lay exactly where it had been, untouched. Yet Jones did not appear reassured.
Instead, he turned to Martin.
"Check the physical condition again."
Martin obeyed, carefully inspecting every page.
Minutes passed.
Then he stopped.
His expression changed.
"There's something here."
Roy stepped closer.
"What?"
Martin pointed at the margin of a page.
"A faint blue stain."
Jones's head lifted immediately.
"Show me."
Martin carefully indicated the mark on the victim's notes as well.
Jones's eyes sharpened.
"Not ink," he said.
Martin looked up.
"Then what?"
"A clue."
Roy frowned.
"A clue to what?"
Jones did not answer immediately. Instead, he took a sample kit and carefully lifted a trace of the residue.
He studied it under a portable lens.
The room grew quieter.
Even Roy stopped moving.
Finally, Jones spoke.
"It is a chemical marker."
Martin frowned.
"A marker?"
"Yes," Jones said. "Used in controlled environments."
Roy's eyes narrowed.
"Like laboratories?"
Jones nodded slowly.
"And more specifically—places where substances are tracked."
Martin's voice lowered.
"You think Dr. Sen was exposed to something in here."
"I think," Jones corrected, "he was exposed to something designed to be traced."
Roy stiffened.
"Poison again?"
Jones hesitated.
"Not necessarily lethal by itself."
Martin looked confused.
"Then why would it matter?"
Jones placed the sample carefully into a vial.
"Because it tells us where he was."
A silence followed that felt heavier than thunder.
Roy finally spoke.
"You're saying the victim was marked."
"Yes."
"By whom?"
Jones looked toward the manuscript.
"That is what the missing page would have told us."
Martin exhaled slowly.
"So the page wasn't just information. It was evidence."
Jones nodded.
"Or a record."
Roy rubbed his forehead again.
"This is getting worse."
Jones agreed silently.
But before anyone could continue, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
A second officer appeared, visibly alarmed.
"Inspector Roy! There's another issue!"
Roy snapped.
"What now?"
The officer hesitated.
"There's been movement in the restricted archive wing."
Jones's eyes narrowed immediately.
"Someone is still inside the system."
Roy grabbed his coat.
"Move."
They rushed again through the library corridors, the storm outside now mirrored by the storm inside the building. The restricted archive wing was secured, yet one of the doors showed signs of recent activity.
Not forced.
But accessed.
Jones examined the panel.
"This wasn't a break-in."
Martin asked quickly.
"Then what was it?"
Jones answered quietly.
"A continuation."
Roy turned sharply.
"Of what?"
Jones looked at him.
"The same operation."
Inside the archive, shelves stood undisturbed, rows of manuscripts preserved under glass. But something subtle had changed. One cabinet was slightly ajar.
Martin noticed it first.
"Here."
They approached cautiously.
Inside the cabinet, a single manuscript folder lay open.
Empty.
Roy froze.
"That was sealed."
Jones knelt beside it.
"And now it is not."
Martin swallowed.
"So something was taken after all."
Jones picked up the empty folder carefully.
"No," he said.
"It was replaced."
Roy frowned.
"Replaced with what?"
Jones looked at the others.
"That is the real question."
Outside, thunder cracked sharply.
And somewhere deep inside the National Library of India, something unseen had just shifted again.
The game was no longer about who killed Dr. Arvind Sen.
It was about what he had found before he died.
And the missing last page was no longer just missing.
It was active.