Arjun flipped the page, his fingers trembling. The second page wasn't a comic panel. It was a photograph, pasted onto the paper. It was a
"Aranyadeb," the bookseller, an old man with eyes like crinkled paper, wheezed. He pushed his spectacles up his nose. "You are the fifth person this week asking for the old comics. The 'Adventures of Aranyadeb'."