She went to work.
Her questions were neutral in tone and invasive in substance. Who knew the legacy architecture existed. Who had ever been granted transitional access. Who understood the difference between archived systems and dead ones. Who knew Sera’s habits well enough to test without tripping alarms.
At one point Lily proposed a theory that would have made the deletion look cleaner than it was. She framed it as a possibility, almost generous, the kind of explanation that let people off thehook.
“If the archive flag tripped first,” Lily said, fingers still, eyes intent, “then the system could have auto-scrubbed the remainder. It would explain the partial absence.”
Sera didn’t bristle. She didn’t rush. She tilted her head slightly, considering it as if it were a genuine option rather than atest.
“It would,” she agreed. “If the residue didn’t contradict it.”She tapped the screen. “An auto-scrub wouldn’t hesitate here. It wouldn’t leave this delay or this verification ping. That pause means a person was watching the process, waiting to see if it worked beforestepping away.”
She glanced up then, just long enough for Lily to see the certainty in her eyes. “Systems don’t check their work. People do.”
The exchange was professional. And revealing. Lily wasn’t just confirming facts. She was testing how Sera thought under pressure, how she handled being challenged, whether she folded or sharpened when pushed.
Sera answered every question without hesitation. Calm. Precise. But Alaric could hear the strain now, the careful modulation of someone who knew exactly what was at stake and refused to let it show. He watched the way she held herself still while Lily worked, as if any unnecessary movement might expose something she couldn’t afford to giveaway.
Without meaning to, he moved closer. Close enough that if Sera leaned back even slightly, she’d touch him. Close enough that the faint scent of her skin threaded through his awareness, grounding and distracting at once. He hated that proximity made him want things he couldn’t afford.
At one point, his hand lifted and almost settled at her waist.He stopped himself and the denial costhim.
Sera noticed. Of course she did. The absence hit her harder than the touch would have. He saw it in the fractional hitch of her breath, the tightening of her fingersaround the tablet as if she were bracing against something that wanted to pull her off balance.
Lily straightened slowly, one hand braced on the table.
“This wasn’t automated,” she said. “It was human-initiated. Purposeful. And it required proximity. Someone physically close or personally trusted.”
Sera went very still.
“And it doesn’t appear to be you,” Lily added, her voice gentler. “No proof, but that’s my feeling.”
The relief lasted a heartbeat.
“If it wasn’t you, whoever did this,” Lily continued, “was close enough to know how you work.”
Sera’s gaze dropped to the tablet, then lifted again. Alaric recognized the look instantly. Not confusion. Recognition. The moment a threat stopped being abstract and started wearing a familiar shape.
“That includes timing,” Lily said. “Not just access. Whoever did this knew when you’d be distracted. They knew what normal noise looks like in your world.”
Sera’s breath caught. This wasn’t about systems anymore. It wasn’t even about access or architecture. It was abouthabits. About trust. About the small, ordinary routines that made a day safe until someone learned them well enough to turn them into a weapon.
“If it’s who I think, then this wasn’t someone just brilliant,” Sera said quietly. “It was someone frightened.” She lifted her gaze to Lily, then dropped to the tablet again, grounding the thought in something concrete. “They didn’t optimize the deletion. They didn’t cover every trace. They just did enough to make it go away and then checked to see if it worked.”
She shook her head once. “That’s not confidence. That’s panic.”Her voice stayed even until the last word, and then something in it slipped. Not weakness. Sorrow, threaded through truth.
It landed like a reminder of Alaric’s own past. Fear had always been the most efficient motivator. He’d seen smart people make catastrophic choices when the cost of saying no built higher than the cost of doing the wrong thing. He’d built an empire on predicting that moment, on understanding exactly when the need for survival would eclipse loyalty. That knowledge had kept him alive. It had also cost him people he hadn’t meant tolose.
For a fraction of a second, he considered nottouchingher.
He cataloged the reasons with ruthless speed. Lily was watching. This was a breach of protocol, of optics, of the careful distance he’d been maintaining since the moment Sera stepped into his world. Touch would confirm something he wasn’t ready to name. It would escalate a situation already skidding toward theedge.
His body overruled him anyway.
He stepped forward without thinking. His hand closed around her wrist.The contact was innate rather than possessive, areflex born of threat assessment rather than desire. Protective, and yet, too intimate for a room this sharp with scrutiny.
Her pulse throbbed under his thumb, fast but steady. Constraint layered over fear. The steadiness startled him. She wasn’t unraveling. She was holding herself together through force of will alone, and that realization tightened something dangerous in his chest.
From Sera’s side, the grip landed as both relief and exposure. His touch grounded her, apoint of pressure that reminded her she wasn’t alone in the widening consequences. At the same time, it stripped away the last of her professional armor. There was no hiding what she was feeling with his hand there, no pretending this was justanalysis and risk management. Safety and vulnerability arrived together, inseparable.
