Meera tracked the faded thread to Raju’s sister, then to a storage room above a pawnshop. The door jammed and when she pushed it open, dust motes spun like tiny planets. In a cracked wooden crate, beneath a tangle of wire and a broken radio, she found something that made her throat tighten: a cylinder canister, iron-banded and smudged with age. No title on its side—only a hand-scratched note: “Do not show to the angry men.”