Evening

Sophie sat by the fireplace, a worn leather folder in her lap. Inside were printouts of PulseWire’s screenshots — the same ones Camellia had input into their digital calendar the night before the brunch.

There were two time stamps. One when Camellia created the entry. And another, a mere hour later, when someone copied the file and forwarded it through an internal email.

To an unregistered burner account. It was confirmed. Camellia’s login had triggered both actions.

Alexander sat beside her, brows furrowed.

“She’s scared,” he said. “Maybe she was blackmailed.”

“She could’ve come to me,” Sophie whispered. “I told her that i’d protect her.”

“Sometimes fear isn’t logical.”...