The Risk Division interface blinked to life.
Jonathan sat at his desk, posture relaxed, fingers hovering above the keyboard. The screen displayed a matrix of risk flags, asset tiers, and override protocols—an evolved version of the prototype he and Eli had built together in the final months before his health declined.
He remembered the late nights. Eli hunched over the terminal, arguing about ethical flags. Jonathan sketching override logic on napkins. The system had been their last collaboration—before the betrayal.
Now it was live. Public. Institutionalized.
And Jonathan pretended not to understand it.
Lena stood beside him, tablet in hand.
"Okay, Jonathan. Let's start with Tier 2 asset tagging."
Jonathan squinted at the screen. "Which one's Tier 2 again?"
Lena pointed. "The ones with amber highlights. You tag them using the dropdown menu, then route them through the compliance buffer."
Jonathan clicked the wrong menu.
Lena frowned. "No, that's Tier 3."
"Sorry," Jonathan said. "Still getting used to the layout."
She watched him closely. "You've never used Rainescorp's system before?"
Jonathan shook his head. "I've read about it. But never hands-on."
She leaned in. "You seem… comfortable."
Jonathan smiled. "I learn fast."
She didn't respond.
By midmorning, he had "accidentally" misrouted three assets, flagged a Tier 1 as Tier 4, and asked the same question twice.
Lena noted everything.
But when she tested him on legacy override logic—he answered perfectly.
"Wait," she said. "You knew that protocol was deprecated three years ago."
Jonathan shrugged. "I read the archives."
She narrowed her eyes. "Most of the archives aren't public."
Jonathan smiled. "Some are. If you know where to look."
Lena didn't speak for a moment.
Then she tapped her tablet. "Let's take a break. Cafeteria's on Floor 12."
The cafeteria was a glass-walled space overlooking the city. Employees clustered in groups—executives in tailored suits, interns in mismatched blazers, assistants with tablets balanced on trays.
Jonathan entered alone.
He scanned the room.
Eli sat near the window, alone, scrolling through his phone. His posture was rigid, his suit minimalist, his expression unreadable.
Jonathan picked up a tray—rice, grilled vegetables, black coffee—and walked toward him.
Eli didn't look up.
Jonathan sat beside him.
"Mind if I join you?"
Eli glanced sideways. "Trainee?"
"Jonathan Raines."
Eli froze.
Jonathan extended a hand.
Eli shook it slowly. "That's… quite a name."
Jonathan smiled. "I get that a lot."
Eli studied him. "You're not related to the founder?"
"No."
"You know he died six years ago."
Jonathan nodded. "I read the museum plaque."
Eli's eyes narrowed.
Jonathan picked up his coffee. As he sipped, his thumb tapped against his index finger—soft, rhythmic, unconscious.
Eli stared.
The tic.
The same one his father had used during board meetings. During arguments. During bedtime stories.
Eli's heart skipped.
Jonathan noticed the silence. "Something wrong?"
Eli blinked. "No. Just… déjà vu."
Jonathan smiled. "Happens."
Eli looked away.
After lunch, Eli returned to his office.
He sat at his desk, staring at the screen.
The trainee's face lingered in his mind. The name. The posture. The tic.
He opened the legacy archive.
Searched: "Jonathan Raines – Behavioral Patterns"
A video loaded. Boardroom footage. His father tapping thumb to index finger while discussing override logic.
Eli paused the video.
Same rhythm.
Same hand.
He leaned back.
"No," he whispered. "Impossible."
He opened the trainee's file.
No résumé. No credentials. No references.
He frowned.
Then he smiled.
"Coincidence," he said. "Just a name. Just a tic."
He closed the file.
Comforted.
Wrong.
Back in Risk Division, Lena resumed the training.
"Let's try compliance routing."
Jonathan misclicked twice. Then corrected himself.
Lena watched.
"You're adapting fast."
Jonathan shrugged. "It's intuitive."
She leaned against the desk. "You know, I ran a facial scan earlier."
Jonathan didn't flinch. "Find anything?"
"No match. But your bone structure resembles the founder's early career photos."
Jonathan smiled. "I guess I have a legacy face."
Lena didn't laugh.
She tapped her tablet. "Let's test override logic again."
Jonathan answered every question perfectly.
Lena stared.
"You're either a prodigy or a ghost."
Jonathan smiled. "Maybe both."
She didn't respond.
The day ended with a system glitch.
One of the legacy flags triggered a dormant protocol—an override Jonathan had embedded years ago.
The screen blinked.
"Welcome, Jonathan Raines."
Lena gasped.
Jonathan leaned forward. "That's… strange."
Lena stared at him.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
She tapped the screen. "System glitch. Probably a naming conflict."
Jonathan nodded. "Probably."
She didn't believe it.
But she couldn't prove otherwise.
That night, Jonathan returned to his apartment.
He cooked slowly—ritualistically.
The city glowed outside. Rainescorp shimmered in the dark.
He sat by the window, sipping wine.
The override had begun.
And no one knew.
Not yet.