The lobby clock read 11:17 p.m. when Isadora Vale stepped through the revolving doors of Blackwood Industries.
High heels, a form-fitting dress down to her knees, a black folder tucked under one arm, and not a hint of hesitation on her face.
The building looked like a monument to arrogance: mirrored, silent, empty.
The receptionist — or rather, the statue of a woman behind the desk — didn't even try to smile. She simply pointed to the private elevator with a mechanical gesture.
Top floor. Executive level.
The place the other candidates never reached.
The place where the CEO conducted interviews personally — after hours.
Alone in the elevator, Isadora exhaled. She could feel the glamour spell pulsing under her skin. Tense. Irritated. As if the whole building were trying to sniff her out.
— Just a few more hours. Then you gut this bastard from the inside.
The doors opened with a metallic beep.
The entire floor smelled like wood, expensive leather, and an impending storm.
He wasn't behind the desk. He was standing by the glass wall, staring out at the city like it belonged to him — and in a way, it did.
Black suit. Impeccable. Shoulders too broad to be entirely human.
— Miss Vale — he said without turning. His voice was deep, crisp, modulated like a polite threat.
She didn't answer. Just walked to the chair in front of the glass desk.
He turned.
Dark gray eyes. Pupils dilated, even in the low light. As if he smelled rain... or blood.
— Impressive résumé. Fluent in five languages. Corporate contracts expert.
— And extremely discreet — she added.
He smiled. Small. Lethal.
— Did you read the confidentiality agreement?
She pulled the paper from her bag. Eighteen clauses. All standard… until clause thirteen.
Clause 13
The employee acknowledges that certain duties may be required outside regular business hours, including under extraordinary conditions, under penalty of immediate termination.
Isadora raised an eyebrow.
— "Extraordinary conditions"? Are we talking satanic orgies or just sauna meetings?
He stepped closer. The air seemed to shift in density.
— You can still walk away.
She signed with a click of her pen.
— I don't usually turn down... dark invitations.
He extended his hand to seal the deal.
The touch was brief. Skin to skin.
Like touching a live wire.
His skin was too warm.
Then — a scratch. Blood on his finger.
It dripped.
Touched her hand.
Vanished.
Not evaporated. Absorbed. As if her skin drank it in.
They both froze.
She met his gaze, and for a moment, she swore his pupils stretched longer.
— You're hired — he said, breaking the silence. — Start tomorrow. Five o'clock.
— In the evening?
— In the morning.
She smiled. But it wasn't a friendly smile. It was sharp. Almost a threat.
— Perfect.
She turned to leave, but his voice cut the air like a knife.
— One last thing, Miss Vale.
She stopped. Didn't turn.
— Yes?
— Do you believe in monsters?
A second of silence. Too long.
She smiled again, still facing away.
— Only the ones in suits.
The elevator doors whispered shut behind her.