The hallway was empty.
At least, that's what it looked like when Layla flung the storage room door open, heart hammering in her chest. The reflection she'd seen—gone. Like it had never existed.
But she had seen it.
She didn't imagine the broad-shouldered figure, didn't invent the way the hallway lights flickered right as the glass caught his outline. She waited for several heartbeats, back pressed against the cold metal cabinet, straining to hear anything beyond the low buzz of the fluorescent lights.
Nothing.
She left the file where she'd found it and slipped out, her steps quick and silent.
By the time she reached the elevator, she'd convinced herself to forget it. Write it off as paranoia and lack of sleep. Stress hallucinations. Anything.
Except when the elevator doors opened, he was inside.
Again.
Adrian Blackwood.
He didn't speak. Neither did she.
But this time, he didn't pretend to be just another man in a suit. His eyes met hers and held. Dark, unreadable, sharp as cut stone. He stepped aside, holding the door like it was his building, and nodded once.
An invitation.
She hesitated for the briefest second—then stepped in.
The doors closed with a metallic hush.
For a moment, silence.
Then he said, "You found the file, didn't you?"
She stiffened. "What file?"
His smile was slight, humorless. "The one labeled 'Blackwood Family Holdings.'"
Her stomach dropped.
She turned toward him fully now, eyes narrowing. "You were watching me."
"I was making sure you didn't get hurt."
"By what? Paper cuts?"
Another flash of that almost-smile. "You don't know what you've stepped into, Layla."
Her name in his voice sounded too familiar. Too practiced.
She crossed her arms, refusing to let him see the way her pulse jumped. "You know who I am."
"I've always known who you are."
The elevator hummed between floors. A sound too steady, too quiet.
Layla leaned back, her voice cold. "Then why don't you start explaining what the hell is going on?"
Adrian looked at her, and something flickered behind his eyes—something dangerous. But not hostile. Not yet.
"You're not the only one looking for answers," he said. "But you need to be careful where you dig. Some graves weren't meant to be unearthed."
She held his stare. "Is that a threat?"
"No," he said quietly. "It's a warning."
The elevator stopped. Not on her floor. Not on his.
Basement level.
The lights flickered again.
Layla's instincts screamed.
"Why are we—"
Adrian held up a hand. "Stay behind me."
The doors slid open with a groan.
The hallway beyond was dark.
Silent.
A single red light blinked at the end of the corridor—security system, maybe. Or something worse.
Adrian stepped forward, his body tense, controlled. Layla hesitated, then followed. Carefully. Quietly.
They walked past a locked room with reinforced glass. Layla caught a glimpse of what looked like shredded documents, a wall of surveillance monitors, and—
Her breath hitched.
Her name.
On a file. Sitting on the desk inside.
Adrian saw it too. And this time, his expression shifted—not into surprise, but anger.
"They're watching you," he muttered. "They've been watching you for a long time."
"Who?" Layla demanded.
But he didn't answer.
Because suddenly, the lights snapped off.
And somewhere in the dark, a door slammed shut.