He didn’t say it like it was a concession. It sounded like recognition.
And in the quiet that followed, with the rest of the floor dark and the glass around us reflecting our own shapes back at us, I became uncomfortably aware that the argument had done nothing to cool the air between us.
“I’m going home. Want me to walk you out?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, I have a few more things to do to wrap up.”
I breathed a sigh of relief that I had the fishbowl to myself.
I was deep into audit logs when I noticed it: file access at 3:41 a.m., under my credentials, from a remote IP I didn’t recognize. Followed by two more, identical access patterns. No logs of physical badge swipes, no security video - because who checks the security video unless something’s already on fire? My skin went cold.
I tried to reconstruct the breach, but the trail was sanitized. Too clean. Either someone wanted me to notice, or someone was very, very good.
Panic began to bubble up in me. How could I protect myself from a ghost? A clever ghost obviously hellbent on ruining me?
The office was officially closed. But I heard the soft tone of the elevator and, sure enough, Gabriel was back, carrying two cold-pressed juices.
He stopped in the doorway, catching the look on my face. “You look like you found a zero-day.”
“Someone’s been in the logs,” I said, voice taut. “Using my credentials.”
He set down the drinks. “You think it’s an inside job?”
“I don’t think,” I snapped. “I know.”
He crouched beside me, scanning the audit log over my shoulder. Close enough that his breath tickled the hair behind my ear. He smelled like citrus and those bodice-ripper old paperback books that I used to read when grandma was in bed, a ridiculous combination.
He pointed. “They’re using your shell alias. But the behavior is… off. Why leave a trail at all?”
“Either an amateur, or a pro with a message.” I turned, finding his face inches from mine.
We locked eyes. For a split second, I forgot the code, the crisis, the job. His lips parted like he was about to say something that mattered.
He stood up abruptly. “I’ll have Security run the badge logs. Nobody’s getting away with this.”
I scoffed. “You sound like you’re trying to reassure me.”
He didn’t answer, just watched me with that clinical intensity.
Before I could break the silence, my phone buzzed. New calendar invite: Business Class flight to San Francisco, 5:55 p.m. a week from tomorrow. Required: Gabriel Valor, Eliza Reeves.
My insides did the freefall thing they always did when flying loomed. I hated flying. Hated the loss of control, hated that the only thing between me and the ground was a tube of aluminum and hope. I was about to say no - to push back, to set a boundary - but then I caught his eye. He was waiting. Waiting to see if I’d flinch.
I squared my shoulders. “Guess we’ll have to share a row.”
He grinned, and it was disarming, like a man who knew every outcome was already in his favor. “Try not to rip off someone’s cufflink this time.”
Of course, my brother told him I hated flying. The only response I could give was an eyeroll.
I packed my things in silence and he walked me out, got me into a cab, and sent me off.
The city lights streaked by as my brain pondered all of the things: flying, the breach, being on a plane with Gabriel…
And when I got home and let myself in, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep. So I did the next best thing; I opened a fresh, encrypted document and started logging everything: dates, times, file hashes, access attempts. Even the way Gabriel watched me, how he sometimes hovered just a beat too long, or how his voice softened only when he said my name.
If this was war, I intended to win. If it was something else… well, I’d document that, too.
Chapter Eight