THE LAST CHECK IN

Naina Kapoor didn’t panic easily. She panicked professionally—quietly, efficiently, with a checklist in her head and her emotions locked behind a door that only opened when she was alone. But when her phone lit up at 6:14 a.m. with Meera’s name, her hands went cold anyway. MEERA (2 new messages) Naina swiped. The first message was blank—just a single period. The second was a voice note. Duration: 0:12 Naina’s thumb hovered over play. Meera didn’t send voice notes. Meera sent bullet points. Meera sent screenshots with red circles. Meera sent “Call me in 2” like she owned time. Naina hit play. Meera’s voice came through, breathless and controlled at the same time. “Don’t call me,” Meera whispered. “If I’m missing, it’s not an accident. Check my last check‑in. And Naina…” A faint sound, like fabric moving. A door? A hand over the mic? “…trust no one at Atlas. Not even—” The note cut off. Naina stared at her phone until her reflection came back—pale, sleepless, eyes already calculating. “Meera,” she whispered, and the apartment stayed silent. She called anyway. Straight to voicemail. Naina tried again. Voicemail. A third time. Voicemail. She threw on a hoodie and grabbed her keys without thinking, then stopped in the doorway and forced herself to breathe. She said don’t call. Naina opened Meera’s location sharing. Last updated: 11:58 p.m. Lakeshore Atlas Residences Atlas. The new luxury building downtown. The one with private elevators, fingerprint locks, and a PR team that made every resident look like a success story. Naina’s stomach turned. Meera worked as a compliance analyst. Her job was boring on paper and dangerous in real life—finding the kind of patterns rich people paid to bury. Naina had begged her to quit. Meera had laughed and said, “Someone has to keep the monsters honest.” Naina grabbed her phone and searched Meera’s check‑in history. Only one entry appeared: CHECK‑IN CONFIRMED — LAKESHORE ATLAS RESIDENCES — 11:58 p.m. Then a second entry loaded. Naina blinked. CHECK‑IN CONFIRMED — ROSELINE PLAZA HOTEL, NASHVILLE — 12:09 a.m. Her throat tightened. That wasn’t possible. Unless it was. Or unless someone wanted it to look possible. Naina’s phone buzzed again. Unknown number. One text. STOP LOOKING.