Nyra Raizada has never needed answers.
Her life in the quiet lanes of Suryanagar has followed a steady, unremarkable rhythm—school, home, silence. She does not seek attention, and the world, in return, rarely notices her.
Until something begins to change.
A moment in a classroom. A crack in the glass no one can explain. Words appearing where none were written. And then, the letters—arriving without sender, without warning, repeating a single instruction:
Report to Astraea Adhyayan.
Nyra does not respond.
But Astraea does not wait.