Chapter 2: The Envelope

The sun was blinding as Amaya stepped out of the building. She didn’t remember the elevator ride down, or the streets she crossed—just the sharp edges of Arjun Sharma’s words echoing in her ears.

"My shadow can’t afford to make mistakes."

She walked until her legs ached, eventually finding a cracked wooden bench in a park no one seemed to care about. There, in the filtered light of late afternoon, she finally pulled the envelope from her bag.

It was plain. White. Sealed perfectly.

No name. No logo. Just... stillness.

Her fingers trembled as she tore it open.

Inside, a single sheet of paper.

---

CONFIDENTIAL TASK – DO NOT SHARE

You have 24 hours.

Your first assignment is simple.

Find out the real name of “M. Rahman.”

He is one of our senior analysts, but we suspect he's hiding something.

If you succeed, you’ll earn access.

If you fail, don’t bother returning.

No internet searches. No asking around.

Trust your instincts.

Welcome to your first lie.

---

Amaya blinked.

This wasn’t a job. This was… something else entirely.

> Who was M. Rahman?

What kind of company asked for this?

What did “first lie” mean?

Her heart thudded. Was this legal? Was she being watched? Was this a prank?

She looked around the park—suddenly aware of every passerby. Every pair of eyes.

---

That night, back in her tiny one-room flat, she stared at the ceiling, the paper on her desk like a bomb waiting to go off.

“Find out the real name…”

How?

She didn’t know anyone inside the Sharma Group. She wasn’t even sure if this “Rahman” existed. No internet searches. No help.

Just… instincts?

She pulled out her sketchbook—the one thing that always calmed her. But instead of art, she wrote:

Rahman \= fake name

Analyst \= maybe in data team?

Must have badge ID

Office floor… maybe I can go again?

Was this what Arjun meant by “real job description”?

It felt like espionage. And yet… a part of her liked the thrill.

For once, she wasn’t just surviving. She was… chasing something.

---

The next morning, Amaya showed up at the Sharma building unannounced.

The receptionist gave her a suspicious look. “You don’t have an appointment.”

“I’m here to submit an updated resume,” Amaya lied smoothly, holding up a folder.

The woman hesitated, then pointed toward the assistant waiting area. “Fifteen minutes. No more.”

Amaya sat, pretending to scroll on her phone. But her eyes scanned every ID badge that passed by.

And then—

She saw it.

A man in a grey suit. Early 40s. Sharp features. His badge read “M. Rahman – Strategy Dept.”

But beneath his name was something odd. Faint, almost hidden—

“Clearance: L-3 (Red)”

Her breath caught. Most employees had L-1. Some had L-2. But Red?

Why would an analyst need red-level clearance?

What the hell kind of company was this?

She stood. Followed him discreetly as he turned down a hallway—

Until she saw it: he used his fingerprint to enter a restricted zone. The doors whooshed shut behind him.

Gone.

Amaya stepped back, heart racing.

She didn’t have his real name. But she had something maybe more valuable—

Proof he was not just an analyst.

---

That evening, she returned the envelope—now with a new slip inside.

M. Rahman

Level 3 Clearance (Red)

Enters restricted zone

Analyst is a cover

What is in that department?

No signature. No explanations. Just a silent dare.

She placed the note in the same black desk drawer Arjun had pulled from.

And left.

The next morning, she received a text from an unknown number:

“You passed.”

Report Monday. 8 AM.

Wear black.

No questions. No late arrivals.

Welcome to the game.

Amaya stared at the message.

She thought she was applying for a job.

She was wrong.

She had just stepped into a world where secrets were the currency…

and she was already in too deep to turn back.

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