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A man in security with a stiff walk and a too-friendly smile. He watches you longer than necessary. When your eyes meet, he looks away too fast.
You remember the photo.
Your pulse spikes.
Later, in the basement near the electrical room, you hear voices behind a closed door. Not the normal chatter of workers, but low, urgent tones.
You slow, pretending to check a panel. The voices rise.
“…she’s not leaving,” one man says.
“Then we make her,” another replies.
Your mouth goes dry.
A third voice speaks, calm like poison. “No more mistakes. The flood was supposed to finish it.”
The panel in your hands suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.
You step back silently, heart hammering, and in your pocket your phone feels like a lifeline.
You text the private number on the back of the card.
It’s real. Basement. They said the flood was supposed to finish it.
Three seconds later, your phone buzzes.
Stay calm. Leave the basement. Go to the 14th floor maintenance closet. Wait.
You swallow and force your feet to move like nothing is wrong. You walk out of the basement, nodding at a janitor, smiling at a receptionist, acting like you aren’t carrying a bomb inside your chest.
In the elevator, you stare at the numbers climbing. You think about Davi. You think about how quickly a good thing can turn into a trap.
The elevator opens on the 14th floor. You step out, walk to the maintenance closet, and slip inside.
It’s dark, smelling of dust and detergent. You lean against the wall, breathing quietly, waiting.
Then you hear footsteps outside.
Slow. Deliberate.
Someone stops at the closet door.
A keycard beep sounds.
Your blood turns to ice.
The door handle turns.
And the door swings open.
Light floods in, and there in the doorway is the security man from the photo, smiling like he already owns the ending.
“New guy,” he says softly. “The CEO’s little hero.”
Your heart slams against your ribs.
He steps closer. “You should’ve just fixed pipes,” he whispers. “Now you’re fixing problems you don’t understand.”
You raise your hands slightly, mind racing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He chuckles. “Sure you don’t.”
He reaches into his jacket, and your body tenses, ready for anything.
But before he can pull it out, another voice speaks from behind him, calm and cold.
“Step away from my employee.”
The security man freezes.