The door opened again.
Jonathan didn't look up immediately. He was still seated in the sterile interview room, hands folded, eyes fixed on the blinking surveillance camera in the corner. The silence had stretched long enough to become ritual.
The interviewer returned—but this time, he wasn't alone.
Chairman Voss stepped in behind him.
Jonathan turned slowly. The man who had orchestrated his deathbed betrayal looked older than he remembered—silver hair slicked back, deep lines carved around his mouth, and a suit so dark it seemed to absorb the light.
Voss's eyes locked onto Jonathan's face. He didn't speak.
The interviewer cleared his throat. "Chairman Voss wanted to sit in. Your application raised… questions."
Jonathan smiled. "I imagine it did."
Voss stepped forward, folding his hands behind his back. "Jonathan Raines. That's quite a name to carry."
Jonathan tilted his head. "It's mine."
Voss studied him. "You look… familiar."
Jonathan leaned back. "I've been told that."
Voss's gaze narrowed. "You applied to Risk Division. Why?"
Jonathan's voice was calm. "Because it's the only department that still uses legacy protocols."
The room fell silent.
Voss's jaw tightened. "You know a lot for someone with no résumé."
Jonathan shrugged. "I read. I remember. I return."
Voss blinked. "Return?"
Jonathan smiled. "To the beginning. To the root. To the vault."
Voss didn't move. But something flickered behind his eyes—recognition, or fear.
Jonathan stood. "I'm here to learn. To serve. To rebuild."
Voss stepped closer. "You're not here to reclaim?"
Jonathan's voice dropped. "Not yet."
The silence was a blade.
Voss turned to the interviewer. "Hire him."
The man blinked. "Sir?"
Voss didn't repeat himself. He turned and left the room.
Jonathan watched him go.
The interviewer stared at Jonathan. "What the hell just happened?"
Jonathan smiled. "I got the job."
That evening, Jonathan returned to his apartment.
He cooked slowly—ritualistically. Garlic, onion, rice, and seared chicken. The scent filled the small space, mingling with the rain tapping against the window.
He ate alone, watching Rainescorp Bank through the glass.
The building glowed in the twilight, each floor a memory. He could see the rooftop garden, the executive lounge, the vault level. His vault.
He sipped wine from a chipped glass.
Tomorrow, he would return.
Not as a ghost.
As a glitch.
The morning was crisp.
Jonathan dressed deliberately. A gray suit—not the polished three-piece armor of his past life, but a textured, modern cut with rolled sleeves and a muted tie. His shoes were scuffed. His watch was digital. His hair was tousled, not slicked.
He looked in the mirror.
The man staring back was not the CEO.
He was the override.
Rainescorp's lobby was busier than yesterday. Trainees, executives, assistants—all moving in choreographed haste.
Jonathan stepped into the elevator.
Floor 17.
Risk Division.
The doors opened.
He stepped out—and froze.
Eli Raines stood just outside the office, speaking with Kara, his assistant. Eli's suit was minimalist, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable.
Jonathan walked past him.
Eli glanced up.
Their eyes met.
Eli frowned.
Jonathan nodded politely and kept walking.
Eli turned to Kara. "Did you see that guy?"
Kara blinked. "Which one?"
"The one who just walked in. His suit. His posture."
Kara shrugged. "Looked like a trainee."
Eli stared at the door. "He reminded me of someone."
Kara tilted her head. "Who?"
Eli didn't answer.
Inside Risk Division, the air was cooler.
Rows of desks. Screens flickering with data. A low hum of algorithms processing risk matrices.
Jonathan was assigned a desk near the window.
Lena approached.
She was in her late twenties, sharp-eyed, with a calm presence. Her blazer was unbuttoned, her tablet tucked under her arm.
"Jonathan Raines?"
He nodded.
"I'm Lena. I'll be your mentor for the first cycle."
He smiled. "Pleasure."
She gestured to the screen. "Let's start with the basics. Risk tagging, protocol routing, and legacy override flags."
Jonathan sat.
She walked him through the interface.
He fumbled with the tagging system—mislabeling assets, forgetting shortcuts.
Lena frowned. "You've never used a risk matrix before?"
Jonathan shook his head. "Not like this."
She moved on to protocol routing.
He struggled again—slow, imprecise.
She sighed. "Okay. Let's try legacy override flags."
Jonathan's fingers moved faster.
He navigated the system with eerie precision, activating dormant protocols, bypassing redundant checks.
Lena stared.
Jonathan looked up. "Something wrong?"
She blinked. "You're… very familiar with the legacy structure."
Jonathan smiled. "I read. I remember."
She didn't respond.
He returned to the screen.
The override was beginning.