School felt unreal that morning.
Maya walked through the gates like someone returning to a place she once knew but no longer belonged to. The noise, the laughter, the casual conversations — all of it sounded distant, muffled, as if she were underwater.
She had slept barely three hours.
Her father's words replayed in her head with every step.
This conversation is not over.
She knew that.
What he didn't know — what he couldn't know — was that the conversation outside their house had already begun.
And it would not wait for him.
She sat in the lecture hall but didn't hear a word. Her eyes stayed on the front, notebook open, pen moving automatically. If anyone checked, she would look normal. Focused. Just another student.
That was the first rule now.
Appear normal.
Her phone vibrated once.
She didn't check it.
A second vibration followed — longer this time.
Still, she didn't move.
Only when the lecture ended and students began to rise did she glance down.
Unknown Contact:
You are being observed. Do not look around.
Her spine stiffened.
She closed the message without replying and slipped her phone into her bag. Her heartbeat remained steady — not because she wasn't afraid, but because fear had become familiar.
Outside, the campus buzzed with life. Maya walked slowly, deliberately, following her usual path. She didn't scan faces. Didn't search for threats.
If Project L wanted her to know she was being watched, it meant something else was coming.
She reached the library and sat at a corner desk, placing her bag carefully beside her. She opened a textbook she didn't intend to read and turned pages at random.
Minutes passed.
Then someone sat across from her.
She didn't look up.
"You were told to live normally," a male voice said quietly.
Maya's fingers tightened around her pen.
"I am," she replied.
"Normal people don't tense when someone sits down."
She lifted her eyes.
The man looked ordinary — mid-thirties, neat clothes, no identifying features. He could disappear into a crowd and never be remembered.
That was the point.
"You shouldn't be here," Maya said calmly.
"And yet," he replied, "here I am."
She glanced around. No one paid attention.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"To assess," he said. "Yesterday was observation. Today is confirmation."
"Confirmation of what?"
"That you're capable of restraint."
She didn't react.
He nodded slightly, as if approving something unseen.
"You went home," he continued. "That was a risk."
"I had no choice."
"There is always a choice," he said. "You chose emotional exposure over operational safety."
Her eyes sharpened. "I chose not to disappear."
"That may cost you."
"I'm aware."
He leaned back slightly. "Your father is a variable."
Maya's chest tightened.
"You will not touch him," she said.
His gaze remained neutral. "We don't touch variables. We monitor outcomes."
"If anything happens to him—"
"Then you will lose efficiency," he finished. "Which is not in our interest."
She exhaled slowly.
"Why are you really here?" she asked.
"Because you asked a question you shouldn't have."
Her mind raced. "Which question?"
"What happens to people who leave."
Her pulse quickened — just slightly.
"And?" she asked.
"And now you're on a list," he replied.
She stared at him. "A list for what?"
"For potential elevation."
The word felt heavy.
"I didn't apply," she said.
"No," he agreed. "You were noticed."
She looked away briefly, then back. "That wasn't my intention."
"It rarely is."
He slid a small card across the table. No logo. No name.
"Tonight," he said. "Seven p.m. You will go to the address on that card."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you will continue being watched. Without explanation."
She took the card.
"Is this mandatory?"
"Nothing with us is mandatory," he said. "But consequences are consistent."
He stood.
"One more thing," he added. "You are not to tell anyone. Not your friend. Not your father."
Her jaw tightened. "I don't tell my father anything anymore."
"That," he said quietly, "is why you were chosen."
He walked away.
Maya sat still long after he was gone.
By the time she got home, her father was already there.
He sat in the sitting room, newspaper in hand, glasses perched low on his nose. He looked up when she entered.
"You're early," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"You usually stay late."
"I finished early."
He studied her face.
"You look tired."
"I didn't sleep well."
He nodded once. "Sit."
She did.
"Yesterday," he said carefully, "I was angry."
She waited.
"I still am," he added. "But anger doesn't solve things."
She met his eyes.
"You don't owe me explanations you're not ready to give," he said. "But you owe me honesty about one thing."
"Yes, sir?"
"Are you safe?"
She paused.
This time, she didn't lie.
"I don't know," she said.
He exhaled slowly.
"That answer worries me more than silence."
"I know."
"You're walking into something bigger than you," he said.
"Yes."
"And you're choosing not to stop."
"Yes."
He leaned back. "Then promise me this."
"What?"
"That if it stops being your choice — if someone forces your hand — you tell me."
Her throat tightened.
"I promise," she said.
He nodded. "Go rest."
She stood.
"Maya," he added.
She turned.
"You are still my daughter," he said. "No matter how far you think you've gone."
The words stayed with her as she went to her room.
At exactly 6:45 p.m., her phone vibrated.
Unknown Contact:
Leave now.
She didn't hesitate.
The building on the card looked abandoned.
Cracked paint. Dark windows. No signboard.
Maya hesitated only once before entering.
Inside, the air was cool and sterile. Too clean for a forgotten place.
Lights flickered on automatically.
Footsteps echoed.
"You came," a woman's voice said.
Maya turned.
The woman was tall, composed, eyes sharp with intelligence. She looked at Maya like one looks at a problem worth solving.
"Welcome," the woman continued. "We've been waiting."
"For what?" Maya asked.
"For you to stop pretending this is accidental," the woman replied.
Maya stood straighter.
"What is this place?" she asked.
"A threshold," the woman said. "Step fully in, or walk away forever."
Maya's heartbeat thundered.
"And if I step in?"
"Then," the woman said softly, "there is no returning to the girl who only studied and came home."
Maya thought of her father.
Of her unanswered questions.
Of the list.
She took a step forward.
The doors closed behind her.