That night, Devandra’s headquarters loomed tall, its glass façade glowing defiantly against the dark. The building was still alive despite the late hour—staff hunched over desks, scrambling to close the month-end reports. But on a restricted floor accessible only with high-level ID cards, Lyra moved quietly, her heels removed so they wouldn’t betray her presence.

She pressed the borrowed access card—taken from one of the secretaries—against the electronic lock. A green light blinked, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. She held her breath, heart pounding hard in her chest.

“Focus, Lyra. Just a few minutes,” she whispered under her breath.

This was Devandra’s digital archive room. Not...