The air in the apartment had gone still, as if holding its breath. Eric stared at his phone, the message still glowing on the screen.
"Cute hideout. Wonder what else you're hiding. ;)"
Lena's eyes remained locked on the message. Cold, calculating. But underneath that, something flickered—something far less certain.
"We need to trace this," Eric said, his voice low. "If they know where we are, this isn't just surveillance. It's a warning."
Lena turned toward the window, arms crossed, her silhouette half-lit by the morning sun. "Or a game. And someone's trying to see which one of us breaks first."
Eric nodded slowly. "Then let's not break. Let's dig."
Later that morning — at a rundown noodle stall behind the finance building
Eric stirred his noodles absentmindedly as Old Black slurped his like he hadn't eaten in days.
"You ever think," Old Black began, "that you're just a piece on someone else's board?"
Eric raised an eyebrow. "You brought me here for fortune cookie philosophy?"
Old Black leaned in, voice suddenly hushed. "You ever hear of Project Saffron?"
Eric froze. The name was buried in financial audit trails, hidden in vague fund allocations. He'd seen it mentioned once in a corrupted Excel file—and never again.
"What is it?" he asked, careful.
Old Black tapped the edge of his bowl. "It's not what it is. It's who it protects. And someone in Lena's team—someone close—is part of it."
"Are you saying—"
"I'm saying be careful. The rabbit hole you're looking into? It's been dug deep. And Lena… might not like what you find at the bottom."
Across town — Executive Tower, 32nd Floor
Lena stood before the full-length window of her superior's office, outwardly composed. Internally, her pulse was climbing.
Gregory Lin, Vice President of Compliance, didn't look up from the folder in his hands.
"You've been seen with the analyst again," he said, flatly. "Not very subtle."
Lena didn't flinch. "We're conducting internal inquiries."
"You're not cleared to conduct anything, Lena. That's not your department."
She shifted her weight. "With all due respect, if someone's leaking sensitive files—"
"Then let the system handle it," he cut in. "Unless… you're afraid the system is part of the problem?"
Lena's jaw clenched. He smiled faintly.
"Be a team player, Lena. Loyalty matters."
As she left his office, the smile on his face lingered in her mind—serpentine, knowing.
And something else: she was being watched from within.
Meanwhile — A rooftop café with a view of the skyline
Sasha stirred her matcha latte lazily as a man in a gray suit slid into the chair across from her. His face was forgettable. His eyes weren't.
"I heard you've been making friends," the man said.
"Depends on how you define friends," Sasha replied, flipping her phone screen toward him. A still frame: Eric and Lena—too close, too tense—in a dark apartment hallway.
"Not bad," the man murmured. "But be careful. Get too close to the fire… you burn."
She smirked. "I'm not here to get warm. I'm here to see who's really running this circus."
"You know the rules."
"I'm not breaking them. Just bending." She leaned in, her tone colder now. "The moment Eric Chen becomes more valuable than expendable, you'll tell me, won't you?"
The man said nothing.
She stood, gathering her bag. "Enjoy the skyline. It's not always this clear."
That night — Back at Eric's apartment
A heavy silence hung between them. Lena was pacing, arms folded. Eric sat on the edge of the couch, laptop glowing.
"I've been pulling metadata from the anonymous text," he said. "Encrypted, obviously. But not government-level. Whoever this is—they're good, but they're not invincible."
Lena stopped pacing. "You think it's internal?"
"I think someone's using company resources. Burner phone routed through the corporate Wi-Fi. That narrows it down to about thirty people."
She exhaled, sat beside him. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, she said softly, "Do you trust me?"
Eric looked at her. For once, she wasn't in control. The question wasn't rhetorical.
"I want to," he said honestly. "But I don't know if we can afford trust right now."
She nodded, eyes distant. "Same."
Another pause.
Then, unexpectedly, she leaned in—just a little. Close enough for Eric to feel the warmth of her breath, the tremble of uncertainty.
"Do you ever think we're just collateral damage in someone else's war?" she whispered.
"Maybe," he whispered back. "But I don't intend to stay that way."
Their eyes locked.
She pulled away first, the walls rebuilding brick by brick. But something had cracked—no, shifted.
They weren't enemies anymore. Not quite allies. Something in between.
An hour later
Eric sat alone at his desk, poring over fragmented email logs, false sender IDs, time stamps. A pattern was emerging—irregular, but there.
Then he found it.
Buried in a corrupted metadata file, a reference string: "GLD-4025".
He ran a cross-check. A match.
Gregory Lin.
He barely had time to register the implications before a thump echoed from the living room.
He turned. The lights flickered. A shadow moved.
"Lena?" he called.
No answer.
He rose, cautiously stepping toward the hallway.
The door had been left ajar.
Someone had broken in.
And they had taken something.