Ruvan Calderic didn't freak out.
Panic didn't help.
He always answered the same way: by pushing against resistance and hoping for results.
He made one call at 8:17 a.m.
"Activate a trace," he said as the call went through. "Quietly."
The man on the other end didn't ask for more information. He never did. He worked because he had discretion.
The man asked, "Digital, financial, or physical?"
Ruvan said, "All three." "I want a place, not a theory."
"Got it."
The call is over. Ruvan put his phone down and went back to the things on his desk. He was relaxed and already thinking about how things would turn out.
People didn't completely disappear.
Not without help.
Not without mistakes.
Ilyra Noem had been careful, but there were still problems.
The first report came in by noon.
There are no financial transactions linked to her identity right now. Accounts are either closed or not being used. Credit traces are on hold. There are no utility registrations.
Not normal.
But it's not scary.
"She is using cash," the investigator said later that day. "Or a middleman."
"Then follow the middleman," Ruvan said.
"We're doing our best."
It was inappropriate to try.
A second report came in at 2:06 p.m. It was more specific and less comforting.
Travel records indicated that a one-way train ticket was bought in a different name. The video of the purchase confirmed it, but it didn't show any useful face matches. The video quality was low. The angle is wrong.
The timing is on purpose.
Ruvan leaned back in his chair and put his hands together.
He asked, "How many days?"
"Since leaving? Four."
"And you have nothing."
A break. "She made plans in advance."
Ruvan tightened his jaw a little.
This was becoming a habit.
He looked for more things at 3:30 p.m. Contacts from the past. People you used to work with. The background checks were done so quietly that they didn't make a sound.
Nothing.
No social media.
There are no listings for professionals.
There were no reports of leaks.
It looked like she had slipped out of the universe he was responsible for.
By early evening, annoyance had changed into something else—something harder to recognize.
Opposition.
The investigator called again at 6:11 p.m., but this time he spoke more softly.
"There's a problem."
Ruvan stood up straight. "Explain."
The man went on, "She expected this." "The trail doesn't just get cold; it breaks."
"How does it break?"
"There are many dead ends. Wrong paths. Old addresses were put into databases that never worked. She made noise around herself, as if she were making it.
Sound.
A deliberate distortion.
Ruvan shut his eyes for a short time.
He said to me, "She didn't have access to these resources."
The investigator said, "She didn't need them." "She needed time."
Time.
He thought she wouldn't have this.
At 7:02 p.m., Ruvan suddenly let the people on the executive floor go. He stayed by himself as the lights in the city started to flicker outside the glass walls.
He had the USB drive next to his laptop.
He hadn't touched it since the night before.
He opened it now, not to study the systems again, but to look through the folders more closely. Patterns, timestamps, and metadata.
So, there it was.
He hadn't seen this folder before.
Exit Rules
Ruvan's fingers didn't move.
There were lists inside. Possible outcomes. The lists included guidelines for maintaining the integrity of your identity. Take the necessary steps to avoid financial involvement.
This approach does not violate any legal requirements.
The action wasn't overly dramatic.
Just thorough.
This wasn't a woman running away from terror.
This was someone who was following through on a plan.
He took his time breathing.
Ilyra sat at a small café near her apartment with her notebook open on the table. The place was quiet, but not in an obvious way.
She drank some water and wrote down notes. They weren't about him or the past; they were about deadlines, new projects, and changes she needed to make to her schedule.
She kept her phone off.
She was ready for it.
The Try.
The stress.
She had planned it for months, long before the hearing and the sworn denial. People like Ruvan Calderic didn't easily give up their access.
So she got rid of it.
Ruvan stood up in the penthouse and walked to the window. The city below him looked like a well-oiled machine.
Other than this.
This went against the way he thought things worked.
He picked up the phone again.
"Stop the trace," he said when the investigator answered.
A short break. "Sir?"
"Stop it."
"That will lower our chances."
"I know," Ruvan said.
He stopped talking and looked at himself in the glass.
It wasn't about looking for her anymore.
It was about getting to know her.
To understand, you had to be patient.
He wasn't used to working out and not seeing results.
He looked away from the window and back at the Exit Protocols folder on his screen.
Be careful.
Ready.
Think about it.
She knew he would come looking.
She had made up her mind that he would not find her.
Ruvan carefully closed the laptop.
For the first time since the hearing, anger almost turned into something worse.
No regret.
Respect.
Underneath it, there's something colder.
If she could completely avoid him—
The rules he followed no longer worked.
Ruvan Calderic faced a barrier for the first time in his life that his power could not break through.