ELARA...
The morning light leaked into the apartment slowly, like it wasn't sure it belonged there. Elara sat at the table, untouched coffee cooling beside her laptop, the faint hum of the city echoing beyond the glass. The file she'd found last night glared back at her from the screen — Project Serpent – Modified (Recent). Half the documents were redacted, dates scattered, one name repeating like a ghost: Voss Technologies – Chicago Branch, 2010.
Her stomach knotted. Chicago. The year her parents died. She pressed her fingers to her temple. It could be coincidence. It could be nothing.
It never was.
"Morning, Sherlock," Jamie's voice broke through the quiet.
She looked up to see her nineteen-year-old brother balancing two take-out coffees and wearing a grin that didn't belong to anyone with exams next month.
"Morning, Annoyance."
He sat opposite her, passing over a cup. "You look like you're plotting a war."
"It's called work."
He raised a brow. "Work doesn't make people look haunted."
Elara's lips quirked. "Neither does minding your own business."
Jamie ignored that, leaning forward. "You're still chasing it, aren't you? Whatever you found in those files."
She didn't answer, which was answer enough.
He sighed, softer this time. "You can't keep living like this, El. Dad wouldn't have wanted—"
She looked up sharply. "Don't."
Jamie's words caught between them. He looked down at his cup, then forced a crooked smile. "Fine. I'll shut up. But when you end up in jail for corporate espionage, I'm not bailing you out."
Her laugh came out low and tired, but it broke the tension. "Deal."
He stood, grabbing his jacket. "I'm meeting the guys for lunch. You should try doing something normal. Like breathing."
"I'll pencil it in," she said, watching him leave.
When the door closed, the silence returned — heavier, sharper.
By nine, she was at Voss Publishing.
The air buzzed with the kind of forced calm that followed gossip. Conversations stopped when she entered; people smiled too politely, too quickly. She could feel the curiosity in the air — the aftermath of a scandal disguised as small talk.
Stella appeared at her desk, half-whispering and half-vibrating with excitement. "Okay, you won't believe this," she said, leaning close. "Alex Walter came down to our floor again this morning. Just… casually. Like billionaires wander in every day."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "Did you trip and fall into his arms?"
"I almost did," Stella admitted. "He smells like danger and taxes. He asked about the new magazine layout."
"I'm sure he did."
Stella's grin widened. "You're impossible to fluster. Does anything get to you?"
Elara's eyes flicked to her screen — Project Serpent still open in a hidden window. "Some things."
At lunch, she didn't eat. Instead, she followed a thread through the digital archives, cross-referencing contracts. Every time she searched Serpent, another layer unfolded: subcontractors, shell companies, offshore accounts. One link pulsed faintly — Voss Technologies, Chicago Branch.
The same year. The same city.
Her hands trembled on the keyboard. Nathaniel Voss. The name appeared in a signature line Again. Her pulse spiked so fast she had to sit back.
That was Damon's father.
The file was dated two weeks before her parents' deaths.
The screen blurred for a moment before she forced herself to close it. Her throat ached. She couldn't prove anything yet, but something inside her shifted.
This wasn't coincidence. It was connection.
Across the city, Damon Voss sat in his office surrounded by glass and quiet.
The Zurich team's report played through his headset, but he wasn't listening. His mind kept circling the same alert: E. Quin accessed restricted archive. Luke appeared at the door with a tablet. "The London branch wants confirmation on the merger schedule, sir."
"Send it."
"And Tokyo?"
"Postpone the call until tomorrow."
Luke hesitated. "Sir, you already—"
"I said postpone it."
The aide nodded, retreating.
Damon turned his chair toward the window. The skyline glowed pale in the noon light. He'd built this empire out of precision and silence, out of the promise that he'd never repeat his father's chaos.
And yet, here he was — watching a woman dig through the ruins of Nathaniel Voss's sins.
He opened his secure server again. The file glared at him: 2010 – Chicago – N. Voss. He didn't scroll further. He didn't need to. He remembered the fallout — the police reports, the missing money, the quiet settlements.
His jaw tightened. Why is she looking at this?
Then another ping.
Request: Level 2 Archives – Filed by E.Quin.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, then pressed Authorize.
"Persistent," he murmured.
Luke's voice crackled through the intercom. "Sir?"
"Nothing. Clear the next hour.
Evening descended like a slow sigh. The office was nearly empty when Elara received the email.
Subject: Authorization Granted.
Message: Curiosity can be a dangerous thing. — D.V.
Her breath caught.
The email wasn't a reprimand. It was a warning — or an invitation.
She glanced toward the glass walls of the tower, half-expecting to see him there. The office was still, shadows long and cold.
He knows.
Elara stared at the screen until her reflection stared back, pale and still. Then, with deliberate calm, she typed a single word reply.
>Then let's see how dangerous.
She hit send.
From the street below, Damon watched the light from her office flicker once, then steady. He told himself he'd stayed because he wanted to ensure system security. He told himself it wasn't about her.
The lies came easier than they should have.
The city glittered in the windshield's reflection — a thousand mirrored truths. He took a slow breath, leaning back against the seat. He could feel the invisible thread between them tightening, line by line, question by question.
He'd given her access. But she wasn't the only one walking into danger.
They weren't chasing answers anymore — they were chasing each other.