The file stayed on his desk longer than it should have.
Adrian didn't usually revisit things that were already clear.
Efficient.
Direct.
Done.
That was how he worked.
But this...
His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the folder before he opened it again.
Same pages.
Same clean layout.
Same… nothing.
His eyes moved over the lines once more.
Education.
Performance.
Basic employment records.
That was it.
His brows pulled together slightly.
No age.
No detailed personal history.
No emergency contact beyond a name with no description.
Incomplete.
His jaw tightened faintly.
He didn't like incomplete.
A knock came.
"Sir?"
"Come in."
The assistant stepped in, composed as always, tablet in hand.
"You asked for the revised financial projections—"
"Sit."
She paused.
Just slightly.
Then nodded and stepped forward.
Adrian didn't look at her immediately.
He flipped a page in the file, even though he already knew what was on it.
"This," he said finally, tapping the paper once, "is all you found?"
The assistant glanced down.
Recognition flickered in her eyes.
"Lina's file?"
"Yes."
A small pause.
Then...
"Yes, sir. That's everything available in the system."
Adrian leaned back slightly, his gaze lifting to her now.
Steady.
Unreadable.
"It's incomplete."
Her posture straightened slightly.
"In what way?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Just looked at the file again.
"No age listed," he said.
A beat.
"No relationship status."
Another.
"No detailed family records."
His gaze lifted again.
"And no background beyond basic education."
The assistant hesitated.
Not long.
But enough.
"Some interns choose to keep personal details minimal," she said carefully. "It's not unusual."
"It is," Adrian replied.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the tablet.
"Most profiles at least include standard identification data," he continued. "This doesn't."
Silence.
He closed the file.
Not harshly.
But decisively.
"Fix it."
The assistant blinked once. "Sir?"
"I want a complete profile," he said, voice calm but firm. "Everything that's missing—fill it."
"That may require external verification," she said. "Background checks, personal—"
"Then do it."
No hesitation.
No room for argument.
A quiet tension settled in the room.
"…Understood," she said finally.
She stood to leave...
"Wait."
She stopped again.
Adrian's gaze shifted slightly, not fully focused, like he was thinking through something he hadn't quite named yet.
"…Discreetly," he added.
That was new.
Her brows pulled together faintly.
But she nodded anyway.
"Of course."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Adrian remained still for a moment.
Then reached for the file again.
Lina.
The name didn't feel unfamiliar anymore.
Not entirely.
But it didn't feel known either.
Something in between.
His fingers rested lightly against the page before he closed it again.
"…why?"
The question came out quietly.
Not directed at anyone.
Just...
There.
Across the office floor, Lina shifted slightly in her seat, her hand pausing mid-typing.
That feeling again.
Stronger this time.
Like something unseen had just… moved closer.
Her chest tightened slightly.
She glanced around.
Nothing.
Everyone was focused on their work.
Normal.
So why...
Her fingers curled slightly against the keyboard.
Stop it.
She forced herself to continue typing.
But the unease didn't leave.
Not completely.
And somewhere between the lines of a file that should have been ordinary...
Something had already begun to unravel.