Aarav Kane didn't trust chalk. Not the way it was used in the Bureau. That morning, the hall smelled faintly of damp concrete and cleaner, but beneath it, the metallic tang of something darker lingered. A body lay in the center of the room, carefully outlined in white chalk.
Rookie, meet reality, Aarav muttered under his breath.
The Bureau's training rooms weren't classrooms. They were miniature crime scenes designed to teach calculation under pressure. And this one was no exception. The body was a mannequin, but realistic enough to make a less experienced cadet recoil. The chalk outline was precise, almost ceremonial, like the Bureau itself was mocking him.
Soren appeared in the doorway, grinning with that edge of menace Aarav had come to expect. "Your first real puzzle, Kane. Don't just look. Analyze. Interpret. Predict. And remember: mistakes are… permanent."
Aarav rolled his eyes. "Permanent. Got it. Thanks for the subtle encouragement."
He circled the mannequin slowly, noting every detail: the positioning of the limbs, the angle of the head, faint scratches on the jacket, a small blotch of red—paint, not blood—but perfectly placed. It wasn't about the mannequin. It was about patterns, about reading the story that someone else had laid out for him.
A notebook and pencil materialized on a nearby table, as if the room itself expected him to solve the crime. Aarav crouched, sketching lines connecting points, noting inconsistencies.
Then he saw it: a faint scuff mark near the right ankle. He traced it with his finger. The chalk outline had been intentionally misaligned. It was a red herring.
He muttered, "Someone's clever. Or they think I'm clever. Either way, I like it."
A soft hiss echoed from the walls. Smoke filled the corners. A panel slid open, revealing a hidden screen. On it, an image of the mannequin—except now the position was different.
Aarav froze. The room wasn't static. The Bureau had rigged it to move subtly, to test observation under stress. He studied the new image, comparing it mentally with the mannequin. Subtle differences. A hidden clue.
He leaned closer to the mannequin, noting a faint scratch on the collar. Not random. Intentional. The Bureau wanted him to notice the smallest detail.
"Detective Kane," Soren's voice purred from the intercom, "can you tell me who moved the body?"
Aarav smirked. "Depends. Are we talking Bureau, or someone… else?"
A laser grid activated around the mannequin. Red beams crisscrossed, poised to trigger alarms. Aarav rolled under a beam, grabbed a nearby stool, and used it to vault over another. Precision. Timing. Calculated risk. He reached the screen and typed a sequence of numbers he had deduced from the scratches and markings.
The laser grid deactivated.
A small compartment opened beneath the mannequin, revealing a USB drive. Aarav grabbed it, tucking it into his jacket.
"Good," Soren said, almost approvingly. "But tell me, Kane—what did you learn?"
Aarav's grin was sharp, a little dangerous. "Patterns matter. Misleading patterns matter more. And sometimes, the story isn't in the obvious details… it's in the lies the scene tells."
A hum in the hallway indicated another test waiting outside. Aarav wiped sweat from his brow, smirking. "Bureau, Cipher Dawn… same difference. Both love games. I just happen to play better."
He glanced back at the chalk outline. The fake blood, the misaligned limbs, the hidden scratches—it wasn't just a puzzle. It was a message: we know what you can see, Kane. Let's see if you can survive what you can't.
Somewhere beyond the Bureau walls, shadows moved. Eyes watched. The name Kane was already whispered in dark corridors. Aarav Kane had survived the Arena. He had solved the Labyrinth. And now… he had learned the Bureau's first lesson in reading deception.
The chalk outline didn't scare him. It amused him. It challenged him. And Aarav Kane—sarcastic, relentless, and alive—was just warming up.