The janitor hadn’t moved from the doorway. His grin had softened into something quieter, watchful.

“You sure you want to talk, sweetheart?” he asked.

Her voice came out thin. “I don’t want trouble. If I… agree, you’ll forget what you saw?”

“Cross my heart.” He tapped his chest with mock solemnity.

“No one’ll ever know.”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the desk toward the memory of how quickly she’d lost control there already. The shame still burned hot in her stomach, but so did something else. Curiosity.

“Fine,” she whispered. “Just… keep your word.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. The smell of soap and metal drifted from him,...