Chapter 2

Mara shoved the black file under a stack of donor folders seconds before the door opened.

Aaron Pike stepped in with a tablet in one hand and a paper coffee cup in the other. The director of Human Resources looked exactly as he did in company videos: soft gray suit, gentle smile, harmless voice. He liked to tell new interns that HR existed to "protect the human part of human capital."

Tonight, in the archive basement, there was nothing human in his eyes.

"Mara," he said. "You're here late."

"Celeste asked me to finish the foundation records."

"Did she?" His gaze moved over the spilled files, the open boxes, her knees on the floor. "That's quite dedicated."

Dedicated. At Vane & Co., the word usually meant desperate enough to exploit.

Mara forced herself to gather papers with slow hands. "I was almost done."

"Good. We have strict handling rules for legacy documents."

"I know."

"Do you?"

The question landed too softly. Mara looked up.

Aaron's smile remained in place. "Some employees see old paper and invent stories. They get emotional. They misunderstand context. That can damage careers before they begin."

Her heartbeat thudded so loudly she worried the camera could hear it.

"I haven't misunderstood anything," she said.

"I didn't say you had."

He took a step closer. The black folder was six inches from Mara's left hand, hidden under a gala guest list. She could feel it there as if it had weight and heat.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"System alert. A restricted file location was accessed."

"By me?"

"By your badge."

Mara looked at the boxes. "I was told to scan these."

"And you were told not to touch red-tagged materials."

There it was. Not an accusation yet. A net being lowered.

Mara stood, wiping dust from her palms. "Then maybe someone should label the boxes properly."

His eyebrows lifted. Interns were not supposed to answer back. Interns were supposed to apologize until the powerful person felt generous again.

"I'll make a note of that," he said.

He walked past her and began inspecting the files. Mara's skin tightened. If he lifted the donor list, if he saw the black folder, everything inside her life would split open in a room where no one would believe her.

She moved before she had a plan.

"Mr. Pike?"

He paused.

"The scanner jammed upstairs. I didn't know if I should log the delay as overtime or project support."

Aaron turned with the faintest annoyance. Payroll questions bored him. That was what Mara gambled on.

"Interns don't log overtime."

"Even when Celeste assigns work after hours?"

"Especially then."

"Could you send that policy to me? I just want to understand it."

His smile cooled. "You're very concerned with documentation tonight."

"I'm trying to do things correctly."

For one moment, neither of them moved.

Then Aaron's tablet chimed.

He glanced down. Something in his face changed. He did not look frightened. He looked inconvenienced, as if an old machine had started making noise again.

"Leave the rest," he said. "I'll have facilities lock this room."

"But Celeste said--"

"Celeste doesn't manage restricted archives. I do."

He held out his hand.

Mara stared at it.

"Your badge," he said.

"Why?"

"Temporary access review."

If she refused, he would search her. If she gave it to him, she would not get back into the building tomorrow. The file beneath the donor list seemed to pulse.

Mara unclipped her badge and placed it in his palm.

Aaron's fingers closed over it. "Go home, Mara. Get some rest. You look unwell."

That word. Unwell.

Her foster mother used it whenever Mara disagreed with her. You're tired. You're confused. You're too sensitive. You get ideas in your head.

Mara looked Aaron in the eye. "I'm fine."

"Let's hope so."

He waited while she picked up her bag. She could not take the black file. Not while he watched. So she did the only thing she could: she slipped one page from beneath the stack, folded it into the sleeve of her cardigan, and prayed the camera had not caught the motion.

She walked out of the archive with her legs steady and her throat closing.

The elevator ride to the lobby took forever. She kept expecting security to stop her. No one did.

Rain lashed the glass entrance. At the curb, she pulled the stolen page from her sleeve.

It was not the birth certificate. Not the photo.

It was the placement note.

Applicant: Mara Vale.

Risk flag: possible match.

Limit advancement. Monitor access.

Do not let her rise.

Her phone buzzed.

A company email appeared.

Subject: Immediate Meeting Required - Conduct Review.

Time: 8:00 a.m.

Required attendees: Mara Vale, Aaron Pike, Celeste Vane.

Mara's stomach dropped.

Across the street, under the awning of a closed bookstore, a man in a dark coat was watching her.

When headlights swept over his face, she saw sharp cheekbones, rain-dark hair, and eyes that looked as if they had been waiting years to find her.

Then he turned and disappeared into the storm.