The night air felt colder than usual as Layla approached the parking garage where the anonymous message had told her to meet "the informant." Her breath came in sharp bursts, and the gravel crunched beneath her shoes with every step she took.
The dim overhead lights flickered intermittently, casting wavering shadows that seemed to stretch toward her like unseen hands.
Every sense screamed for her to turn around.
But she didn't.
She tightened her grip around her phone, scanning the area before moving deeper into the garage.
At the far end, near the exit ramp, a figure stood waiting.
Tall. Still.
The same hoodie, the same hidden face.
For a moment, Layla froze.
The figure spoke without turning around.
"You came."
Layla swallowed hard. "Who are you?"
The figure slowly turned, the shadows swallowing his face until only the glint of eyes remained.
"Someone who wants the same things you do," the voice rasped, low and controlled.
"Answers."
Layla's heart raced.
"You know who's behind this," she whispered.
A slight nod.
"And you'll tell me," she pressed.
The figure tilted his head, as if amused.
"Maybe."
Layla's breath hitched.
"I don't have time for games."
The figure sighed, exhaling a cloud of breath that vanished into the cold air.
"Fine," he said, stepping closer into the light.
Layla's eyes widened.
It was a woman.
Not a man.
Not a shadow.
A woman with sharp cheekbones, dark eyes lined in kohl, and a deliberate calmness that unnerved her.
"I'm Rhea," the woman finally revealed. Her voice was measured, neither cold nor kind—simply observant.
"Why should I trust you?" Layla asked, suspicion lacing every word.
Rhea's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"You shouldn't," she replied matter-of-factly. "Trust is earned."
Layla's pulse thudded against her ears.
"I don't have time to play safe."
Rhea nodded approvingly.
"Good."
She pulled out a small envelope and extended it toward Layla.
Inside, Layla glimpsed a USB drive and a printed photo.
Her hand trembled.
Rhea's eyes narrowed.
"What you're about to see will change everything," she warned. "Once you open it, there's no going back."
Layla hesitated.
"What's in it?"
"Proof," Rhea said simply. "Not gossip, not rumors. Proof."
Layla's fingers brushed the envelope before instinctively pulling back.
"What do you want in return?"
Rhea's eyes hardened.
"Information. Access. Cooperation."
"Cooperation?"
Rhea nodded once.
"Help me expose the real threats inside this place. Help me stop them before they destroy more lives."
Layla's heart hammered.
Exposing the saboteur could end careers, relationships, even lives.
But ignoring it… that would destroy her.
"I'll help," Layla whispered.
The tension between them eased slightly, though the air remained thick with danger.
Rhea's eyes flicked toward the surveillance cameras mounted on the garage pillars.
"We have a limited window," she muttered. "Once the cameras flag this interaction, they'll lock it down."
Layla's stomach twisted.
"Why help me?" she asked.
Rhea's expression didn't waver.
"Because someone needs to stand up before they all crumble."
Layla searched her eyes for emotion, for remorse.
There was none.
Only resolve.
It unnerved her—but it also steadied her.
"I'm in," Layla breathed.
Rhea handed over the envelope with a firm nod.
"Good. Tomorrow, you'll begin by securing access logs. We'll need to see who's been in and out. You're closer to the fire than you think."
Layla tucked the envelope inside her jacket, heart racing.
Before walking away, she glanced back.
"Why reveal this now?"
Rhea's eyes held hers.
"Because secrets rot," she murmured.
Back in her apartment, Layla barely slept.
She replayed every interaction, every warning, every glance she hadn't questioned before.
What if Rhea was lying?
What if she was another trap?
Her mind raced, but one truth remained undeniable—she couldn't keep running.
She needed answers.
She needed control.
The next morning, with Cole beside her, she opened the envelope.
The photograph showed Wallace entering a restricted wing late at night with someone unrecognizable—a figure shrouded in a trench coat.
The USB drive contained footage from internal security cameras: data transfers, masked faces, and encrypted files being downloaded at odd hours.
Cole's eyes darkened as he reviewed the clips.
"This isn't just sabotage," he growled. "It's systematic."
Layla swallowed.
"I knew it," she whispered. "This goes deeper than any of us thought."
Cole leaned back in his chair, fists clenched.
"We need to act fast."
For the first time in days, the two found a sense of partnership.
Layla's anxiety, once isolating, now felt less suffocating with Cole's calm beside her.
They exchanged tasks, mapped out timelines, and worked with a precision that surprised them both.
At lunch, Cole caught her staring at the laptop screen, lost in thought.
"You okay?"
She hesitated before answering.
"I'm scared," she admitted softly.
Cole's eyes darkened with empathy.
"Good," he said quietly. "Fear keeps you sharp."
A smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
"I thought fear would paralyze me."
"It does," he replied. "But only if you let it."
That simple exchange broke the ice, and for the first time in days, Layla felt herself exhale.
Late that night, as she scrolled through logs, Layla's eyes froze on a time stamp.
Two days before the scandal went viral, someone had accessed a hidden server inside the building's core.
The name wasn't Wallace's.
It wasn't Damien's.
It was a lower-level employee—a security technician whose file was flagged repeatedly, yet overlooked by the system.
Her stomach knotted.
"Someone's covering it up," she whispered.
Cole's brows furrowed.
"Then it's bigger than we thought."
The weight of the conspiracy pressed down on them both.
But instead of retreating into fear, they exchanged a look that spoke volumes.
They would face it together.
As dawn crept in, Layla's phone vibrated.
A new message appeared from the same anonymous number that had haunted her for days.
"Stop digging, or you'll regret it."
This time, the warning didn't shake her.
Her jaw tightened.
"I won't stop."
Cole, watching over her shoulder, smirked.
"That's the spirit."
But deep down, the words stirred unease.
The enemy wasn't done.
And neither were they.