Two days later, Ananya's cover life as Aria Sharma took an unexpected turn.
Her Chemistry teacher announced,
"Class, we'll be preparing for the interschool science competition. Ananya, you'll lead the project."
Half the class groaned. The other half shot her annoyed looks—apparently, "Aria" wasn't exactly leadership material before. But this was more than a school event for Ananya; it was an opportunity.
That afternoon, she stayed back in the science lab, examining the equipment. Most of it was outdated, but she could improvise. Her mind drifted to designing a harmless-looking project that could double as a signal scanner—something to detect surveillance devices.
As she connected the final wires, the lab door clicked shut.
She turned.
Vikram Kaul stood there, hands in pockets, a faint smile on his lips.
"Quite an upgrade from baking soda volcanoes, Dr. Mehra," he said softly.
She didn't answer, keeping her body between him and the circuit she was building.
He took a step closer.
"You died once already. My employers are willing to let you live—if you delete everything you remember about the Consciousness Transfer Protocol."
Her voice stayed steady.
"And if I don't?"
His smile faded. "Then your second life ends before the first term."
Before she could reply, the intercom crackled with the peon's voice:
"Aria, Principal's office—abhi."
She glanced at the door. By the time she looked back, Vikram was gone.
But on the workbench beside her lay a tiny black disc no bigger than a coin.
It was warm to the touch.
A tracker.