Aarav Kane hated elevators. Not because of height or claustrophobia—but because they gave people time to think. And thinking, in his experience, usually led to mistakes.
The Sentinel Bureau's underground elevator descended silently, numbers blinking downward like a slow countdown to something unpleasant. Aarav stood alone inside, jacket zipped, blade concealed, dossier tucked against his ribs. His reflection stared back from the steel walls—bruised, sharp-eyed, nineteen years old, and already tired in a way most people never experienced.
The elevator stopped.
B2 – FIELD OPERATIONS.
The doors slid open.
The room beyond looked nothing like the sterile halls above. This place was darker, rougher. Weapon racks lined the walls. Screens flickered with live feeds of streets, alleys, rooftops. The air smelled of oil, sweat, and old coffee. This wasn't training. This was where things went wrong in real time.
Commander Veer stood near a briefing table, holographic screens floating around her. She didn't look at Aarav immediately.
"Sit," she said.
Aarav sat.
Soren leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. That worried Aarav more than the smirk ever did.
Veer finally turned. "Your first field assignment is not a rescue. Not an arrest. And definitely not a glory hunt."
Aarav tilted his head. "Disappointing."
She ignored the comment. "Two hours ago, a man named Raghav Mehta was found dead in his apartment. Software engineer. No criminal record. Official cause of death: suicide."
A photo appeared. A man in his thirties, eyes glassy, wrists slit in a bathtub.
Aarav leaned forward. "And unofficially?"
Veer's gaze hardened. "Cipher Dawn signature."
That got his full attention.
Soren pushed off the wall. "Mehta worked on encryption architecture for a private defense contractor. Three weeks ago, he tried to leak information. Tonight, he died before he could talk."
Aarav studied the photo again. The angle of the wrists. The position of the razor.
"No hesitation marks," he said calmly. "Cuts are too clean. That's not suicide."
Veer nodded once. "Good. Your job is to prove it."
Aarav blinked. "My job? Alone?"
"You won't be alone," Soren said. "You'll have remote support. But this is your call. Your instincts. Your consequences."
Aarav smiled slowly. "You're throwing me into live fire on day one."
"Yes," Veer replied. "If Cipher Dawn notices you, we want to know how you react."
Aarav exhaled a quiet laugh. "So I'm bait."
Soren met his eyes. "You're a test."
The city came into view minutes later as a Bureau vehicle dropped him three blocks from the apartment complex. Rain had started again—light, persistent, annoying. The building was old, concrete stained with years of neglect. Police tape fluttered uselessly near the entrance.
Aarav slipped inside.
The apartment smelled wrong. Not death—chemicals. Cleaning agents. Someone had tried to erase something.
He crouched near the bathroom. The tub was spotless. Too spotless.
"Control," he whispered into his mic, "either this guy was the cleanest suicide victim in history… or someone really didn't want fingerprints."
Soren's voice crackled back. "Careful. Local police cleared the scene."
Aarav smirked. "Then they missed the lie."
He examined the mirror. A faint smear near the edge. Not blood. Oil.
Aarav tilted the mirror, light catching a tiny engraving on the back.
A symbol.
Three intersecting lines forming a broken triangle.
Cipher Dawn.
A floorboard creaked behind him.
Aarav turned just in time as a shadow moved fast—too fast for a civilian. He ducked as something whistled past his head and shattered against the wall.
A blade.
Aarav rolled, grabbed the sink edge, and kicked backward. His attacker slammed into the doorframe. Masked. Silent. Professional.
"Well," Aarav muttered, drawing his own blade, "that escalated quickly."
They collided in the narrow hallway, metal flashing, bodies slamming into walls. The attacker moved efficiently, no wasted motion. Aarav matched him step for step, adapting, calculating.
"You really should've waited," Aarav said, deflecting a strike. "I just got promoted."
The attacker disengaged suddenly and bolted for the window.
Aarav chased.
The man leapt.
Aarav followed without hesitation.
They hit the fire escape hard. Metal screamed. Rain slicked the rails. The attacker kicked backward, catching Aarav in the ribs. Aarav grunted but held on, swinging upward and slamming his elbow into the man's shoulder.
The attacker lost grip—and fell.
Three floors.
Gone.
Aarav stood there, chest heaving, rain soaking his hair, staring down at the empty alley.
Soren's voice was quiet in his ear now. "Kane… confirm status."
Aarav wiped blood from his mouth and looked back at the apartment.
"Confirmed," he said calmly. "This wasn't suicide. And Cipher Dawn just confirmed they know who I am."
A pause.
Then Veer's voice: "Welcome to the field, Sentinel Cadet."
Aarav smiled grimly.
His first mission wasn't about solving a murder anymore.
It was about surviving a war that had just noticed him.