Maverick

The office is quiet tonight, the low hum of computers and the soft shuffle of papers filling the air. It's past the usual quitting time, yet Avery and I find ourselves alone, hunched over a stack of files under the dim light in the back corner of the room. The uneasy silence is amplified by our shared determination, though I can see the tired lines creasing the corners of her eyes.

I glance up, catching her fingers brushing through her hair as she flips through another stack of files. I wonder if she realizes how dedicated she is, how she's barely stopped since our run-in with Serena earlier today. That woman had barely disguised her veiled threat, something I can't shake no matter how much I try to rationalize it. A suspicion prickles at the back of my mind, and I know Avery feels it too.

"Avery," I murmur, "doesn't it feel like something's... off?"

She looks up, a flicker of apprehension shadowing her face. "Yeah," she replies, a slight tension in her tone. "I don't know what Serena's playing at, but it feels personal, like she's watching us specifically."

A pause stretches between us, both of us turning over the unspoken question: Why?

I feel a weight settling in my chest. Serena's eyes earlier had looked calculating, a little too knowledgeable, as though she already knew more than she let on. The unease only deepens as I realize the implications.

Shaking off the thought, I reach for a stack of files on the edge of my desk. These had been locked in a filing cabinet no one touches—files left by previous team members, remnants of old cases. I slide one out, and an odd flash catches my attention. The file is marked Personnel Documents – Confidential. Normally, these would be part of HR's locked archives, which makes me wonder why it's here.

"Avery, check this out," I call, flipping open the folder.

She steps over, her gaze narrowing on the document as she leans in. The familiar scent of her shampoo reaches me, grounding me for just a second before I focus on the paper. A series of profiles are neatly arranged in a list, along with detailed assessments—security clearance levels, personal contact information, project histories. But one file name stands out at the bottom of the page, labeled simply: Serena Dalton - Reassigned Projects.

"Strange," Avery murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "Reassigned?"

I nod, frowning as I scan the accompanying documents. "It says here that she was temporarily assigned to a high-level project, something encrypted... but there's no name, no record of what the project entailed."

Avery's brows furrow, and her eyes darken as she flips through more pages. "It says she was pulled off suddenly, with no reason given. This... Maverick, if she was involved in something classified, maybe even terminated from it, she could hold a grudge against anyone looking into similar cases."

The pieces are starting to fit. Serena's hostility, her evasiveness—it all seems to point to one thing. She's hiding something, something big enough to warrant this level of scrutiny and secrecy.

"This file," I say slowly, processing each word, "is from nearly five years ago. It's ancient history. But if she's protecting information from that time... maybe it's still relevant to what we're digging up now."

Avery's expression turns thoughtful, her fingers tracing the edge of the file as if willing it to give up its secrets. "Whatever happened, it sounds like it was swept under the rug. She doesn't want anyone finding out."

We're both quiet, each of us turning over the implications. I glance around the room, half-expecting Serena to appear, her disapproving gaze pinning us down. But the room remains empty, the shadows pooling in corners, thick with secrets. I remind myself to breathe, forcing down the sharp edge of anxiety.

After a moment, Avery pulls up a list of cases Serena handled that year, looking for any that might overlap with our current investigation. My gaze lingers on the list of personnel records, noting the names alongside Serena's. A few are marked with a bold "X," meaning they were terminated or left under dubious circumstances.

"We should look into these other people," I suggest, nodding to the list. "If Serena had something to do with their departure... maybe it's connected to whatever happened five years ago."

Avery nods, her eyes lighting up with that familiar spark of determination. "It's worth a shot." She jots down the names, her hand moving with the kind of focused precision I admire.

Hours blur as we dive into cross-referencing files and records, tracing the faint paper trail of Serena's elusive project. Each document brings us a step closer to understanding what she might be hiding, though I'm wary of how easily we're able to access some of this information. It's almost as if someone wants us to find it, like breadcrumbs deliberately laid in our path. But for what purpose?

At one point, I reach for a file at the same time as Avery, and our hands brush. It's such a small thing, just a slight press of warmth, but it lingers longer than it should. Our eyes meet, and there's something in her gaze that mirrors my own feelings—an understanding, an unspoken solidarity. In moments like these, the weight of the case feels a little lighter.

"Sorry," I say, pulling my hand away, though the warmth lingers.

She shrugs, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Don't worry. We're practically glued to these files by now."

We both chuckle, a sound that feels like a brief reprieve in the tense quiet of the office. I don't miss the way she's watching me, though, her eyes softer than usual, as if this brief laughter has pulled us back to solid ground.

But the reprieve is short-lived. Just as we're digging into another file, my phone buzzes. I glance down and feel a chill run through me—an anonymous message, with an attachment.

The message reads: Stay away from Dalton.

I look up, my pulse thundering. "Avery... I just got a message. Someone's warning us about Serena."

Her face pales, but she reaches for the phone, studying the attachment. It's a grainy image, like something pulled from a surveillance camera, showing Serena leaving a shadowed building at night. The timestamp reads from last week.

"This has to be from someone on the inside," she murmurs, her gaze sharp. "Someone's watching her—and us."

The weight of our situation hits me all over again, and I feel the same cold fear that I saw in Avery's eyes. This isn't just some office drama or a minor cover-up. This is real, and whatever Serena is hiding... someone else wants to keep it hidden, too.

"We can't let her know we're onto her," I whisper, glancing around as if her presence could suddenly materialize. "Not until we figure out who sent this."

Avery nods, her hand brushing against mine as she steadies herself. Her expression is fierce, unyielding, and something in it makes my resolve harden. I'm grateful for her presence, for her focus and strength, for the reminder that we're in this together.

"We'll find out the truth," she says softly, her voice a promise. "No matter what."

As we sit together in the silent office, surrounded by half-sorted files and lingering questions, I feel the strange comfort of her presence, the knowledge that despite everything, we're not alone in this.

Tomorrow, we'll confront the truth about Serena, whatever it takes. And if it means putting everything on the line—then so be it.