Lyra POV
That night, she lay awake staring at the ceiling.
And the dreams returned.
Of him.
Of that night.
But her brain rewrote the edges, again and again.
The leather couch. Her back arched. His voice low.
The cold marble desk. Her palms braced. A heel kicked loose.
The bed. Always the bed.
Sometimes he whispered against her neck: "You smell like mine."
She'd wake sweating, throat dry, aching with memory her mind didn't dare claim as real.
It wasn't just want. It was haunting.
---
She buried herself in routine.
Arrived before eight. Took the stairs. Reapplied scent-masking spray twice in the stairwell bathroom.
Today's task was minor: deliver annotated financial summaries to Strategy Manager, Michael Lin's team.
As she stepped into the elevator, she nearly collided with someone already inside.
"Theo," she said, startled.
"Morning," he replied, adjusting the tablet under his arm.
His gaze flicked to her folders. "Talia's usual delivery?"
"She's still on leave," Lyra said evenly.
"She always made noise on this floor," he muttered. "Too much for my taste."
"You didn't like her?"
"I didn't trust her," Theo replied. "There's a difference."
The elevator chimed. Floor 23. She stepped out.
He didn't follow.
---
Michael Lin greeted her at his desk. Vest crisp, tie loosened just enough to signal competence and late nights.
"Lyra," he said, smiling like her name meant something.
She handed him the reports. "Updated annotations. Red tabs for the legal edits."
He took them gently, fingertips brushing hers. "I'll loop you in if anything changes."
She nodded. "Understood."
His eyes lingered. "Have you been okay?"
Her voice tightened. "Fine."
"If you need..anything. Just ask."
She left before the warmth in his voice could get past her ribs.
---
Theo's POV
Fifteen Minutes Later
Michael's desk was empty. Boardroom prep.
One file remained. Red tab, unlabeled.
Theo flipped it open.
Projected financials. Internal pre-review.
He didn't hesitate. Slid it under his arm.
It wasn't the file he meant to grab.
But he didn't stop himself either.
When he stepped into Cassian's office, he didn't explain.
"Q3 packet," he said. "From Lin's desk."
Cassian nodded without looking up. "Leave it."
Theo did.
---
Cassian's POV
He hadn't asked for anything new. But something in the folder tugged his attention.
It wasn't the contents.
It was the handwriting.
Not Michael's block script. This was smaller. Neat. Angular.
He turned a page. Then another.
Revenue loss offset – suggest partner incentives.
Precise. Analytical. Smart.
And unsettlingly familiar.
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. It wasn't déjà vu. It was instinct, twisting low and tight. He couldn't prove it. But his gut already had an answer.
Her.
He didn't know how. But something about the way the notes curved. The spacing, the edge of thought, twisted low in his gut.
Not recognition. Not yet. Just a thread that tugged too tight to ignore.
He closed the folder slowly.
---
Lyra's POV
The notification blinked on her screen:
> SYSTEM: Q3 Revision file opened by EXECUTIVE OFFICE – 9:38 AM
Her heart jumped.
That wasn't Michael.
Ping.
> Document forwarded to: THEODORE ARLEN
No.
She hadn't handed anything to Theo. Only to Michael.It was just a file. He wouldn't notice. He couldn't.
(Could he?)
So how—?
Michael must've left it out.
She pressed her hands to her desk to stop them from shaking.
She stared at the screen until the words blurred.
And somewhere behind her ribs, something started to crack.
---
Cassian's POV – Later
Theo returned with a new agenda.
Cassian didn't glance at the screen.
He held up the folder instead. "Who made these edits?"
Theo blinked. "That wasn't labeled. I assumed Lin."
Cassian shook his head once. "It's not."
He traced a single bracket in the margin with his thumb.
A tiny, deliberate curve. Slanted left.
The same shape from memory, pressed into his skin, not paper.
He didn't say her name. Not yet.
But his voice dropped as he said:
"I want a name. Quietly."
Theo didn't ask why.
He already knew.
---
Back at her desk, Lyra's screen lit up again.
> HR: Please confirm your availability for a brief check-in — 10:30 AM tomorrow.
She stared at it.
And whispered, "Please. No more..not again."