When they all started here three years ago, Divya worked evenings, and Gavin had mornings. Six months later, both got moved to third shift without explanation. Neither complained once.
“So, Rafael…when’s Kane coming to town?” Divya asks with a grin. At her side, Gavin mirrors her. “About time you guys met up again, right?”
Heat floods Rafael’s face. He dodged this question when he first told them about Kane a few days ago. Since then, he hasn’t come up with a better lie or informed Kane that his friends know about him. He’d been hoping to wait until theirnext in-person date.
“Uh—” His wristlink vibrates, saving him. “Hold on a sec.”
Rafael glances at the device. An alert glows on the display in red.
[REPORT TO HUMAN RESOURCES, LEVEL 1, ROOM 18. STAT.]
His stomach drops. In three years at VitaCorp, he’s never been summoned by HR once.
Is it possible they know? About his time in Shreveport? The fake outreach program Coda planted in their systems? Or worse, did someone spot him with Kane? Does VitaCorp know about them?
Divya waves, catching his eye. “Rafael, what’s going on?”
“Yeah, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Gavin raises a brow.
Twisting his wrist, he shows them the message. “What do you think this means?”
“I don’t know,” Divya murmurs. “Maybe it’s a paperwork issue?” She shrugs.
Gavin tilts his head. “Could it be about that outreach program you did?”
Rafael’s pulse quickens. Even they’re thinking along the same lines. Though likely not for the same reason. “Yeah, probably,” he manages to sound casual, standing up. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
His friends call out for him, but their voices blur under blood rushing to his ears.
Weaving through the crowded cafeteria, Rafael’s heart pounds with every step. In the elevator, he shoves his shaking hands into his pockets. Two nurses he doesn’t recognize enter after him, chatting about inventory. Nothing they say registers, his pulse drowning everything out.
The ride to Level 1 seems to stretch forever, but after a few stops, he finally reaches the bottom floor.
Outside the doors, the small lobby is empty and quiet.
A receptionist in a white suit sits behind a front desk terminal, framed by a wall of scrolling VitaCorp ads. She greets him with a smile. “Rafael?”
His breath stutters. All he can manage is a nod.
“Right this way.” The receptionist waves behind her, and Rafael follows into a long hallway of bright lights and sealed doors.
At the end of the hall, they arrive at Room 18, where she motions toward the door and steps aside.
Dozens of worst-case scenarios had played in Rafael’s mind on the ride down, but the one waiting beyond the door is much worse.
Inside is a scene straight out of a V-link film. A small, grey room with no windows and a single light overhead. At the center is a metal table with two chairs. One is empty, the other occupied by a man in a tailored yellow suit with the VitaCorp logo above the breast pocket. He extends a hand, narrow eyes meeting his.
“Take a seat.” The order sends a shudder down Rafael’s spine.
He sits, fingers gripping his thigh.
The man—who Rafael can only assume is a VitaCorp executive—glances down at the holopad on the table. When he finally looks up, his tone is flat. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“No,” he says truthfully.
“I see.” The man steeples his fingers. “My name is Miles Sims. I’ll be asking you a few questions. Some mayfeel intrusive, but it’s important that you answer honestly. VitaCorp has a zero-tolerance policy for dishonesty.”
Rafael swallows. “Okay.”