Lyra's POV
She hadn't eaten breakfast.
Blamed the coffee. The nerves. The pressure.
Every elevator chime hit like a countdown, tightening her spine, knotting her stomach.
The chrome walls inside the lift threw her reflection back in harsh light. The floor hummed beneath her shoes. The air felt too thin to swallow.
Just stress. That's what she told herself.
A tension knot. A brewing ulcer. Too many caffeine-fueled nights, not enough sleep to blunt the edges.
But when the elevator jolted between sixteen and seventeen and her knees nearly buckled, the lie thinned.
The doors opened on eighteen.
And there was Ms. Hensley, waiting.
"Oh," she said, lips sweetened with concern. "You don't look well."
Lyra stepped out, spine straight. "Just a long night."
"You've missed department breakfasts all week. You know low blood sugar's dangerous for Omegas," Hensley added, voice sugar-slick. "We tend to… tip."
"I'm capable of managing my health."
"Of course." That smile again, courteous, predatory. "But if there's anything we should be made aware of—for compliance—you'd go through the proper HR channels, wouldn't you? Corporate accommodations aren't automatic."
The words landed like a pin to the skin.
Lyra gave a small nod and walked away. Not fast, but firm.
She didn't miss the narrowing of Hensley's gaze. The mental note already forming behind her eyes.
---
Later – Internal Compliance
The lights in HR always felt too white.
Lyra sat across from a stranger, Mr. Venn. Not HR. Internal Compliance.
His suit was colorless. His voice smooth and bland, like he'd memorized a playbook.
"We've seen irregular patterns in your ID tracking," he said, tapping a screen. "Unscheduled stairwell use. Solo elevator loops. Time in restricted corridors."
She fought to stay calm. "I've needed space. Crowds have been…"
"No recorded violations," he cut in. "This is an observational flag. We're noting increased scent neutralizer use."
She didn't answer.
"Some Omega staff, particularly under pressure. Overapply when experiencing burnout or physical duress."
"I'm fine," she said. Flat.
He blinked once. "We're labeling it a stress response. No penalty. Just a reminder. Further flags escalate to Corporate Wellness. Then Security."
Lyra stood. "Understood."
Outside, the hallway felt colder.
They weren't just watching her work anymore.
They were measuring her scent. Counting her steps.
---
Her desk sat where she'd left it. Safe. Labeled.
Normal.
She dropped into the chair and let her fingers fly across the keys, too fast, like typing could outrun the unraveling.
Supplier log errors. Lost calendar sync. A broken budget formula.
Fixable things. Tangible things.
She clung to them.
Only when a laugh broke nearby did she glance up.
"Talia?"
There she was—Talia Aniq, braid slung over one shoulder, oversized blazer flapping behind her like she owned the building again.
"Back in the flesh, sunshine," she grinned. "HR admitted the error wasn't mine. Shocked?"
"You didn't tell me."
"Dramatic entrances are my love language."
Dara's door creaked open. "Aniq. You're two hours late."
"Worth it," Talia muttered, before leaning in. "But you. You look like three spreadsheets from a meltdown."
"I'm fine."
"You always say that when you're not," Talia said, softer. "You look like your stomach's staging a mutiny."
"Ulcer," Lyra muttered. "Probably."
Talia didn't argue.
But she didn't stop watching.
---
She didn't make it through the hour.
The bathroom lights were too bright. Her stomach twisted hard, then let go, leaving a cold sweat on her temples and a burn behind her eyes.
She gripped the sink.
The mirror showed a woman unraveling, pale, drawn, eyes too bright and too tired.
She splashed water on her neck. Reapplied scent veil. Patted her face dry.
The stall door clicked open behind her.
Mari.
Department darling. Gossip incarnate.
She paused mid-step. "Jesus. You okay?"
"Deadlines," Lyra said.
Mari frowned. "Stress'll kill you faster than expired scent blockers."
Her heels snapped judgment as she left.
Lyra stayed frozen, heart thudding like it knew something she didn't.
---
Cassian's POV – Executive Wing
He reread the file again that morning.
Lyra Elmont. Omega. Admin sector. Two years. No flags.
But it was the Q3 revision that held him.
The margins.
Redline notes. Clean, sharp, layered with logic that didn't just suggest fixes. They anticipated fallout. Quiet brilliance with no name in the header.
Not Lin's. Not Arlen's.
He'd traced the metadata. Her credentials matched.
And the image in her file. Hair pulled back, profile almost turned, wasn't familiar. But it haunted him.
Pretty. Not striking. But distinct.
Like something he'd missed.
And instinct didn't forget.
---
Theo's POV – Server Archive
He'd confirmed it days ago.
The Q3 file. The one Cassian couldn't stop studying, was hers.
Michael had left it. Theo had moved it. Cassian had read it.
Now it was too late to pretend it hadn't mattered.
He stood in the archive room with the lights humming overhead and thought:
He should warn her.
But instead, he stayed still.
Because the closer Cassian circled, the harder it was to stand between them.
---
Lyra's POV – Afternoon
She drowned herself in monotony.
But the system didn't care.
At 4:12 p.m., her screen blinked:
> SYSTEM NOTICE: Personnel File – L. Elmont accessed by EXECUTIVE OFFICE – Timestamp 3:47 PM
Her breath caught.
That wasn't a routine audit.
That was real.
---
Executive Wing
Theo stepped into Cassian's office. Laid down a file.
Cassian opened it. Read the name once.
"Elmont," he said.
Then lower, almost remembering:
"Pretty. Quiet. Sharp."
Like something he hadn't noticed at first.
But he couldn't ignore it anymore.