Chapter 4: The Phantom File

“Some files are just files. Others are locked doors—waiting for someone reckless enough to open them.”

Monday evening.

The city skyline shimmered beneath a velvet dusk as Amaya stood by her apartment window, the note still clenched in her hand.

“You were never hired. You were chosen.”

She read it for the hundredth time.

Her fingers traced the black ink, its curves too precise to be casual. Whoever wrote it… wanted her to feel something.

Fear?

Or curiosity?

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

“She asked too many questions.”

That’s all it said.

She stared at the screen.

Who?

---

The next morning

A plain black envelope sat on her desk at Sharma Group. No name. No return mark.

Inside: a photo.

A girl. Late twenties. Fierce eyes. Messy hair. Ink stains on her hands.

Scrawled on the back:

“Before she vanished.”

Beneath that, another note, written in sharp, rushed handwriting:

“She got close to Arjun. Too close. Don’t make the same mistake.”

Amaya’s hands trembled.

Who was she?

Another recruit? Another “shadow”? Another version of her?

Or was she something else entirely?

A pawn?

A threat?

A warning?

---

Later that day

Rivan called her in.

No greeting. No emotion. Just a cold briefing.

“There’s been a breach. Someone tried to access Vault Echo. Your badge pinged.”

Amaya’s heart dropped. “I didn’t—”

“I know. You didn’t go near it.”

“Then why—”

“Because someone cloned your ID.”

Silence.

Then he dropped the bomb:

“Arjun thinks you’re compromised.”

Amaya’s breath hitched. “He thinks I’m the leak?”

Rivan’s voice softened—just a shade.

“He doesn’t trust easily. And when he does… he destroys himself for it.”

Her mind reeled. The tension. The coldness. The flicker of concern in Arjun’s eyes.

Was it all real?

Or part of the manipulation?

---

That evening

She found her way to the rooftop of the Sharma building—one of the few places without cameras.

And he was already there.

Arjun Sharma.

Leaning against the ledge. Silent. Wind tousling his perfect suit.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without turning.

“You think I’m the leak?” she asked.

Silence.

“Answer me.”

He turned slowly. His gaze unreadable, but something burned behind it.

“I think,” he said, stepping toward her, “that I’ve made mistakes before. And people died.”

Her breath caught.

Was he talking about her?

The girl in the photo?

“You let someone in,” Amaya said softly.

“And it almost ruined everything.”

They were standing too close now. Her pulse quickened. His eyes held hers like gravity.

“Am I just another mistake?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and handed her a silver keycard.

Level -3.

“Tomorrow,” he said, voice low. “You go down. Alone.”

“And if I don’t come back?”

His jaw clenched. “Then I was wrong about you.”

She took the keycard.

And for a second, their fingers touched.

Not by accident.

But by design.

---

Cliffhanger Ending:

That night, as Amaya stared at the keycard under her bedside lamp, her phone lit up once again.

Unknown number.

A video.

She clicked it.

The footage was grainy. Security cam. Basement Level -3.

In the corner—

The same girl from the photo. Alive. Shackled. Breathing. Looking directly at the camera.

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