The air feels off. Too still. Like someone muted the world the second I walked in. That dark cloud I’ve been dragging around all week hasn’t lifted — it’s only thickened.
And then I see it.
The first red flag:
My desk.
Empty.
Not tidy. Not cleared for cleaning. Empty.
No monitor. No keyboard. Not even the dumb Elmo mug Seb gave me last Christmas.
I force myself to move, crossing the room as if I haven’t noticed, but I can feel them — the stares people think they’re hiding behind monitors and half-drained cappuccinos.
My chest tightens, ribs cinching around my lungs.
“Vi.” Seb’s voice is gentle, the only one brave enough to meet my eyes. “Hey.”
“Where’s my stuff?” I whisper. I don’t even know why I’m whispering — the question seems wrong at full volume. “What is this? Surprise yard sale?”
A flicker of a smile ghosts his lips before the solemn expression returns. “They’re bringing it back,” he says, like that explains anything.
Before I can ask more, my phone rings.
“Violet, this is Zara. Austen’s secretary.” Her voice is flat—all business. No warmth. “He’s waiting for you in Boardroom 14A. Please come now.”
She hangs up before I can respond.
The cloud mushrooms, pressing against my chest until there’s no air left.
Each step to the boardroom feels like walking to the edge of a cliff, the ground already crumbling under my feet.
I reach the door, pausing, hand resting on the handle. Straighten my shoulders. Lift my chin. Fake strength. I push the door open.
The click of it shutting behind me closes against my throat.
They’re already seated.
Austen. Devlin. A woman from HR — the same one who denied my leave request when Mom was sick. I already hate her. Legal counsel, grim-faced. And at the far end of the table: Chase.
Stone still.
Expression carved from granite.
My stomach drops.
“Violet,” Austen says, gesturing toward the empty seat. “Thanks for coming.”
I sit. Slow. Careful. Like the wrong move might snap the floor out from under me.
“We’ll begin,” Austen says, voice too even. Too calm. “You’re aware there’s been an internal investigation regarding a leak of Monarch project materials?”
He nods at Devlin, who opens a folder like he’s assembling a weapon.
“Sensitive files were accessed without authorization. Strategy notes. Architecture drafts. Internal code names.”
Austen picks it up. “The log traces the breach to your credentials. And several files were downloaded onto an external device.”
