She often left the building after hours, but she rarely entered it.
She still wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to this. No—she did know. Because once Marshall had pulled back the curtain, she couldn’t unsee what was behind it.
The Syndicate. Saltykova. A murdered president. A chemical spill that hadn’t just been a headline but a calculated move. Events she’d read about, never realizing there was a pulse behind them.
He had told her enough to terrify her. But not enough to stop her.
Because she finally understood. This was so much bigger than her.
Still...she clung to one belief like a lifeline.Richard couldn’t be part of this.
He couldn’t. He’d always been decent. Abrasive at times, yes, but transparent with her, respectful of her work, genuinely invested in Summit’s mission. She refused to believe he was knowingly aligning himself with anyone capable of political sabotage or assassinations. If Summit’s systems were being used, it had to be someone above him, around him,usinghim.
Marshall didn’t argue that point—he’d only looked at her with something like pity, like he’d seen too many versions of her refusing to believe the good in someone could be weaponized.
And yet… he trusted her enough to tell her the truth. To let her choose.
That mattered more than she wanted to admit.
So yes, she was scared. Terrified, actually. But for the first time, she wasn’t afraidwithout purpose. She was afraid because she was right to be.
And because Marshall trusted her to be brave anyway. So she would be.
But courage wasn’t the only thing she leaned on. Not tonight. Not with danger pressed in on all sides.
Her mother always said faith wasn’t the absence of fear—it was the thing you held onto when the fear was louder than your heartbeat.
Norah whispered a small, instinctive prayer, not for safety exactly, but for clarity. For wisdom. For the strength to walk the next ten minutes without falling apart.
It wasn’t much. It didn’t feel holy.
But it steadied her enough to keep going.
Her heels made a single sharp tap on the marble. Too loud. Too obvious.
She yanked them off and went barefoot, tucking the shoes under her arm. Her pulse jumped, but her mind stayed clear.
She walked like she belonged here.
Even if she absolutely didn’t.
The lights were still on in the main lobby—security protocol—but the hallways beyond dimmed to motion-sensing strips of silver. She kept her steps light, rhythmic, passing framed awards and plaques that suddenly felt like they were staring at her. Summit’s slogan glittered in chrome lettering over the reception desk.
INTEGRITY BUILDS CONFIDENCE
The words tasted rancid now.
She reached the elevator and hesitated. She was really doing this.
With a defiant jab, she pressed the button and waited for her ride. Twenty-six floors up, she turned as though she were walking to her office. When she was sure the coast was clear, she doubled back to the server room and eyed the keypad.
Marshall’s voice echoed in her head:
"You’ll have ten minutes tops once that badge hits the server hub panel. Don’t hesitate. And don’t second-guess yourself."
She slid the borrowed technician’s badge from her pocket. It felt heavier than it should. Like treason.
Like a choice she couldn’t undo.
