The office was quieter than usual.
A Friday calm had settled over the top floors of Voss & Hale, the kind that made every sound — every click, every sigh — feel louder than it should. Leah sat at her desk, the faint hum of the computer blending with the rhythm of her pulse.
Across the floor, the glass door to Adrian's office stood half-closed. He'd been on back-to-back calls since morning, his tone clipped, lower than usual. There was tension in his voice — the kind that wasn't about business alone.
Leah tried not to notice. Tried to keep her focus on the audit summaries piled neatly before her.
But one folder, sitting slightly apart from the rest, drew her eye. "Project Halcyon — Internal Records."
It wasn't part of her assigned batch. It shouldn't have been in her section at all.
She hesitated. She wasn't supposed to open files outside her purview — Adrian's rule, made clear from day one. But the label had a handwritten note beneath it: "Review discrepancies: see file A/V/Clara – confidential."
Clara.
Her fingers froze. Clara wasn't just another executive; she'd been Adrian's closest associate before Leah joined. The woman whose departure from the company had been whispered about but never explained.
Leah told herself it wasn't her business. She reached for her coffee instead, trying to drown the curiosity building like static in her chest. But the silence around her pressed harder.
Just check the header, she reasoned. To see if it's misfiled.
Her cursor hovered, then double-clicked.
The document opened in an instant — a scanned internal report dated two years prior. Her eyes skimmed the lines, at first out of habit, then with growing stillness.
Incident Summary: Unauthorized transfer – confidential data breach suspected. Primary oversight: A. Voss. Secondary liaison: Clara Reinhart.
The report was incomplete, but the tone was unmistakable — it wasn't a mere audit note; it was an investigation summary.
She scrolled further. Half the pages were redacted. The remaining fragments hinted at corporate cover-ups, NDAs, and disciplinary settlements that had quietly disappeared.
And Adrian's name, listed over and over.
Her chest tightened. None of this matched the man she knew — or rather, thought she knew. The one who measured every word, every action, who valued control above all else.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Still here?"
She nearly jumped. Nathan, from Operations, leaned against the partition wall, eyebrows raised.
"Oh — yes," Leah managed. "I'm finishing the backlog."
Nathan chuckled, tapping his coffee mug. "Careful, or you'll inherit the whole company at this rate."
She smiled faintly, willing her heartbeat to calm. "Hardly."
"Well, rumor says you're already close."
The words hit sharper than he meant them. Leah's gaze flicked to Adrian's glass door, instinctively.
Nathan followed it, smirking. "Relax. It's just talk. People notice who gets invited to closed meetings."
"I was asked for efficiency reasons," she replied, tone clipped.
"Sure," he said, raising his hands. "No judgment. Just—watch your back. The office doesn't forgive proximity."
When he left, the silence returned heavier. She saved her current file, then hovered over the Halcyon document again.
She should close it. Delete it. Pretend she never saw it.
But one line near the bottom caught her eye:
Follow-up meeting, 09.14. Confidential witness present – initials L.M.
Her initials.
For a moment, her breath stalled. She hadn't been here then. It couldn't refer to her. But seeing her own letters printed in that cold font, tied to something buried and secret, sent a tremor through her spine.
The door to Adrian's office opened.
He stepped out, eyes finding her immediately. "You're still working?"
She shut the screen reflexively. "Just wrapping up the summaries."
He studied her, his gaze sharp — as if he'd sensed the faint shift in air between them.
"Long day?" he asked finally.
"Productive," she said. Her voice was steady, but her palms were damp against the desk.
He nodded once. "Good. You've been precise lately. Keep it that way."
She gave a small smile. "I try to."
"Try less. Do more."
The faintest glint of humor, rare but genuine, softened his tone. For a moment, it almost felt normal — familiar, the easy gravity of their working rhythm.
Then his phone buzzed. He glanced down, expression shuttering. "Clara's legal counsel just resurfaced. I'll be working from home tonight."
Leah froze. "Clara?"
"Yes." He looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind his calm exterior. "It's an old matter."
Her throat felt dry. "Should I prepare anything?"
"No." His answer was immediate, too quick. "It doesn't concern you."
He turned to leave, then paused. "And Leah—"
"Yes?"
"If you come across any archived files labeled Halcyon, forward them to me directly. Don't open them."
Her pulse stumbled. "Understood."
He nodded slightly. "Good night."
When the door shut behind him, the office seemed to exhale.
Leah sat there for a long time, the cursor blinking at the edge of the forbidden file. She knew he was protecting something — or someone — but she couldn't tell whether it was the company, Clara… or himself.
She shut down the system, gathered her things, and left.
Outside, the night air was cool against her face. The city glimmered, unaware of the quiet storm she'd just uncovered.
At the station, her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:You shouldn't have opened that file.
Leah's blood ran cold. She scanned the crowd instinctively — faces, lights, movement — but no one looked her way.
The message disappeared before she could take a screenshot.
Back at the tower, Adrian stood by his window, phone in hand. His reflection merged with the city lights, distant and composed. But his jaw was tight, his thoughts darker than usual.
He'd told himself she wouldn't look. That she trusted him enough not to.
Now he wasn't sure if he was more disappointed in her curiosity — or in his own predictability for expecting anything else.