He took a breath. Opened the laptop again.

"Of moments. You see, every time someone downloads a stolen copy of Maharani —or any show, really—a tiny fragment of their attention is stolen too. Not by me. By the algorithm. But I harvest the fragments. And I've been watching you for three years."

Arjun reached for the Kurkure. Then stopped.

The file was too small. 89 MB for a full 1080p episode? He knew the math. He'd been pirating since the days of Roadies season 4. This wasn't right.

His apartment in Pune was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator. Outside, the monsoon rain hammered against the tin roof of the chai stall below. Normally, he'd be asleep. But tonight, his thumb had hovered over the torrent link for exactly forty-seven seconds before clicking. Something felt off.

He remembered. He always remembered.

The man tilted his head. "I want you to finish the episode."

"Don't close the lid again, Arjun. That's rude." The man smiled. "I'm not a hacker. I'm not law enforcement. I'm just a collector."