The name she circled stared back at her from the page like it had teeth.
Derek Voss.
Chief of Logistics. Sapphire Reef's golden boy. Quiet, forgettable. The kind of man who didn't make waves—because he was too busy watching the tide.
He'd been at Zurich, too.
Buried deep in the audit's approval chain, Aria had found his signature—small, consistent, and hidden beneath layers of alias routing. But once she saw it, the pattern emerged. Procurement orders. Infrastructure changes. Budget cuts approved days before the fire.
He hadn't lit the match.
But he'd soaked the walls in gasoline.
She snapped the folder shut and stood, every nerve in her body buzzing like live wire.
"Time to say hello," she muttered.
⸻
The logistics office was tucked behind a secured door in the southern wing. A narrow hallway led past storage logs, vendor schedules, and dozens of admin cubicles. Most were empty—sunset was nearing, and Sapphire Reef's pulse always slowed after five.
Except one.
Derek Voss sat alone, typing with the focus of a man trying too hard to look innocent. His sleeves were rolled, his shirt pressed too crisp for someone who claimed to hate formality.
He didn't look up when Aria stepped in.
"You always work this late?" she asked casually, leaning against the frame.
He jolted slightly, then turned. "Miss Blake. Didn't hear you coming."
"I'm not the one you should be listening for."
A faint smile ghosted his face. "Is that a threat?"
"No," she said, stepping forward. "It's a warning. The kind you never got in Zurich. Or did you?"
His jaw twitched.
She dropped the folder on his desk. The audit. The circled name. The silent accusation between the lines.
His fingers froze above the keyboard.
"I don't know what you think this is," he said carefully.
"I think," Aria cut in, "that you buried a trail five years ago. And now it's starting to bleed through the walls."
"I signed off on contracts. That's all."
"You signed off on silence. On loopholes. On dying embers that never stayed dead."
He pushed the folder back. "I don't know what Killian told you, but I wasn't the villain in Zurich."
"No," she said, voice low. "You were just the architect of the collapse."
⸻
Voss stood suddenly, eyes sharp. "You have no proof."
"But I have questions," she countered. "And I don't need proof to ask them in front of an audience."
He stepped closer. "Don't make this political, Aria. This resort runs because people like me stay invisible."
She leaned in. "And Zurich burned because people like you made sure no one saw the smoke."
His expression cracked—just slightly. A flicker of guilt, or maybe regret.
Then he composed himself. "I was following orders."
"From who?"
Silence.
She waited. Seconds passed. The overhead lights flickered.
And finally, he whispered: "You don't want to know."
Aria stared at him. "Too late."
⸻
Later that evening, she sat alone in the rooftop lounge, drink untouched.
The ocean beyond was endless and dark. No stars, no moon. Just the quiet churn of water over secrets.
Killian had said Zurich was betrayal. But he hadn't said who pulled the strings. Derek Voss had just confirmed what she suspected—Killian hadn't told her everything.
And if she was going to survive this maze, she needed someone who would.
She dialed the number again. The voice from earlier picked up on the first ring.
"You're early."
"I need more than names now," Aria said. "I need connections. Voss was in Zurich. He claims he wasn't alone."
"He wasn't," the voice said. "There was a name buried deep in the funding records. Alias flagged twice in Berlin, once in Milan."
"Give me something real."
"You'll get it in the morning," the voice promised. "But Aria?"
She stilled. "What?"
"Watch your back. You're digging in a graveyard."
The call cut.
⸻
As Aria walked back toward her suite, she noticed the hallway lights dimmed unnaturally. Shadows stretched across the marble like claws. And then—movement.
A door creaked behind her.
She turned fast. Nothing.
But her pulse didn't settle. Something in the air had shifted. Not fear. Not tension.
Surveillance.
Someone was watching her.
She quickened her pace, slipped her keycard into the door—and stopped cold.
Her suite door was ajar.
She hadn't left it that way.
Aria stepped back, scanned the corridor. Empty.
Then, with a breath steady enough to mask her pounding heart, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Lights off.
She reached for the switch. Nothing. Power disabled.
Her phone lit up the space with a dim glow—furniture intact, her files untouched.
Except one thing.
On her bed sat a card.
Plain. White.
One word written in red:
STOP.
⸻
She backed away slowly, breath caught in her throat.
Then steel hardened in her spine.
Whoever left the note hadn't taken anything.
Which meant they didn't come to scare her.
They came to warn her.
Or test her nerve.
Either way…
They just made the biggest mistake of all.
Because if Zurich had been fire, then Sapphire Reef was a powder keg.
And Aria Blake had just found the spark.
She didn't sleep.
She sat by the window, watching the horizon try to bleed light into the sea. It never reached her. Not really. She'd crossed a line now—and she knew it.
Whoever had been in her suite had her scent. Her routine. Her pattern.
But they hadn't touched the files.
That meant the warning wasn't about stealing from her.
It was about stopping her.
And that meant something she didn't want to admit out loud: she was getting close.
Too close.
Her burner phone buzzed before sunrise.
Unknown Number.
Text: 7AM. Storage wing. Door 14. Come alone.
She stared at it for a long time before responding with a single word:
On my way.
⸻
The storage wing was a maze of forgotten boxes and resort renovation relics. No cameras. No foot traffic. Just echoes and dust.
Door 14 looked like every other door—until she stepped inside and saw what was waiting.
A man in a grey hoodie, hood up, sunglasses on. He stood beside a rolling cart filled with black binders.
"You're early," he said.
"You're paranoid," she replied.
"Fair."
He gestured to the binders. "Zurich's financials. Pre-fire. Post-fire. Cross-referenced with every offshore entity linked to Sapphire."
Aria's heart nearly stalled. "How did you get these?"
"I knew someone in procurement," he said. "And I used to audit contracts—until I got too nosy."
She opened one of the binders, flipping quickly through the pages. And there it was—a wire transfer to a dummy firm, authorized 48 hours before the fire. The signatory?
Derek Voss.
Her throat tightened. "You said there was a name. The alias buried in funding records."
He nodded. "Look under project code Z-84. Cross-list with Sapphire's Rome division. The alias appears three times."
She flipped fast. Then stopped.
E. Laurent.
The folder nearly slipped from her hands.
"Killian?" she whispered.
The man didn't answer right away.
"Not confirmed," he said. "But it's not a common last name. And someone went to hell and back trying to scrub that connection."
Her knees almost gave. It wasn't just Derek Voss. It wasn't just Zurich. It was deeper. Older. Buried in the walls of Sapphire itself.
"You need to leave the island," the man said quietly. "This place—it devours secrets and people alike."
She shook her head. "I'm not done."
He gave a grim smile. "Then I hope your fire burns hotter than theirs."
⸻
She left with the binders tucked under her coat.
Her hands didn't stop trembling until she got back to her suite. Even then, she didn't rest. She spread the evidence across her floor. Took pictures. Uploaded files to a hidden cloud backup. Highlighted everything Voss signed, everything Killian might've touched.
She thought she knew betrayal.
But this? This was legacy-deep.
She pulled up the transfer slip again and stared at the initials: E. Laurent.
Not K. Laurent. Not Killian.
E.
Was it a brother? A cousin? An alias?
She picked up her phone and dialed the only man who might actually answer that question.
Killian picked up on the second ring.
"You shouldn't be calling me," he said.
"You signed off on Zurich under another name?"
A pause. Then: "No."
"Then who is E. Laurent?"
Another pause—longer this time.
"Where did you see that?"
"In Zurich's ledger," she said coldly. "It's linked to the final payout before the fire."
He exhaled hard, but said nothing.
"You knew," Aria hissed. "You knew there was another Laurent involved, and you didn't say a word."
"I didn't think it was relevant," Killian said slowly. "Not anymore."
"Well, it is now."
She hung up before he could lie again.
⸻
That afternoon, security swept her suite twice. Management claimed it was routine.
But Aria saw it for what it was: a scare tactic. A subtle reminder that someone with access could reach her anytime.
She didn't flinch.
Instead, she went to the one place they'd never expect: the staff cafeteria.
Derek Voss was eating alone at the far end, tapping at his phone like he didn't have a target painted on his back.
She slid into the seat across from him and dropped a single photo on the table.
The wire transfer.
His signature.
The alias: E. Laurent.
His eyes went wide. "Where did you get this?"
"That's not the question," she said coolly. "The question is why you didn't burn this with everything else."
"I did," he whispered. "Someone else kept copies."
She narrowed her gaze. "Who is E. Laurent?"
"I don't know," he said.
She grabbed his wrist across the table. "Wrong answer."
Voss swallowed hard. "Look… all I know is that Zurich was never meant to survive. It was a test site—money laundering, shell contracts. They told me if I kept my head down, I'd be protected."
"Protected by who?"
"An old board member. A ghost in the system. They called him 'The Ember.'"
Aria froze.
He continued. "They said he'd disappear once Zurich fell. But some people… think he never left."
⸻
That night, Aria stood alone on the helipad roof, wind tugging at her coat, heart beating in time with the waves.
The Ember.
E. Laurent.
Killian had once told her there were no ghosts left in Sapphire—only ruins.
But now she knew the truth.
The ruins still burned.
And one of them bore the Laurent name.