The lesson began on a Friday evening, four days after Priya had taken the razor strop to Meher's back and discovered the depths of her own capacity for cruelty. The welts had faded to faint pink lines, and the bruises on Meher's face had yellowed at the edges, and she had spent every moment of those four days in a state of quiet, buzzing anticipation. She knew Priya was planning something. She could see it in the way Priya moved through the apartment, the way she looked at Meher and Rajiv over dinner, the way her fingers drummed on the arm of her chair while she watched them together in bed. Priya was thinking. Priya was scheming. And when Priya schemed, extraordinary things happened.

The summons came just after sunset. Rajiv was in the shower, the sound of water drumming against the tiles filling the apartment with a steady white noise. Meher was in the kitchen, chopping onions for dinner, her eyes stinging from the fumes. The earpiece in her ear crackled softly, and then Priya's voice was there, low and intimate and full of dark promise.