"Twenty-two percent," Lucas said, dropping the signed documents onto Aarika's desk.
She looked up from her laptop. "You sure you want to do this?"
Lucas sat across from her, elbows on his knees. "I'm not in the habit of giving away equity. But I've done the math. You're not just rising. You're correcting the market."
"And if I decide to take it all?" she asked.
"Then I hope you take it with fire."
The tension between them had grown since the gala. It was no longer curiosity. It was wariness—wrapped in admiration. He wasn't afraid of her. He admired the weapons she kept hidden.
She signed the counter-documents.
"I'll keep you informed," she said.
"Don't," he replied. "Just win."
She smirked.
Hours later, while finalizing her product prototype, her office phone rang. An intern—terrified—whispered, "There's... red paint. On the front door."
Aarika stepped outside. A large red X had been painted across her office building's glass door.
Security footage revealed nothing. No faces. No time stamps. The footage jumped from midnight to 2:17 a.m. in a blur.
She received a message shortly after.
"We told you. This is a loop. You'll bleed again."
Attached was a corrupted image: her son's crib.
Twist: The metadata from the corrupted image shows it was taken two weeks in the future.