POV: Aurora
As soon as the glass door closed behind Dante Noir, the atmosphere on the floor changed.
Louder keystrokes, chairs moving, exaggerated laughter in the background.
I stood next to Andrade's office, my badge hanging around my neck.
"Well," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Let's get started."
"This is risk analysis," he announced. "Financial data, operational data, and sometimes things no one wants to look at. For now, you're just going to observe."
"For now." Two words that could mean everything and nothing.
I nodded.
I followed him down a hallway of cubicles, dual monitors, and half-finished cups of coffee. The hum of the machines mingled with whispers that stopped as soon as we approached.
They knew who he was. They didn't know who I was yet.
"This will be your station," he said, stopping in front of an empty cubicle.
A chair, two screens, a keyboard, a mouse, a small plant. On the edge of the monitor, a yellow Post-it note: "BREATHE."
I felt the irony in my chest.
"You'll have access to historical databases to start with," Andrade explained. "Tomorrow we'll see if we can add you to active projects. I don't want to burn anyone out on their first day."
"Except someone the big boss decided to bring in personally," I thought.
"If you have any questions, ask me," he added. "And don't move anything without saving a copy. If something breaks, I want to know how it was before."
I nodded again.
"Settle in," he concluded, and walked away toward his glass office.
I sat down. The seat was cold. I wasn't.
Dante's closeness had left a mark on my skin that wouldn't fade. Heat stuck to the back of my neck, my chest tight.
"Anxiety," I repeated to myself. "You know this. Breathe."
I leaned over to turn on the computer.
"Free advice: if Mr. Noir brought you in personally and you're still breathing, you're already off to a better start than most."
The voice made me look up.
A girl was peeking over the panel of the adjacent cubicle, half-rising in her swivel chair. Brown hair in a messy bun, headphones hanging around her neck, and a crooked smile.
Her badge read: Lina Morales.
"Hi," I managed to say. "I can't decide if that reassures me or scares me."
"A little of both is healthy," she replied, reaching her hand over the edge. "Lina. Corporate slave, human calculator, part-time drama queen."
I shook her hand. It was warm and firm.
"Aurora," I introduced myself. "New, slightly lost, and with an incomplete instruction manual."
"That's what I'm here for," she smiled. "Andrade does the serious stuff. I'll explain where to find decent coffee and which printer eats documents."
"Is it always like this when he shows up?" I asked, without naming him.
Lina twisted her mouth.
"Him, the top boss with the X-ray gaze?" she clarified. "Yes. Although yours was new. I've never seen him bring anyone in personally."
"I'm sure he was just passing by," I tried.
She looked at me as if I had just said that rain goes up.
"Sure. And I own the tower," she snorted. If you want to survive here, assume one thing: that man does nothing by chance.
The computer finished booting up. The company logo gave way to a desktop full of shortcuts.
"Did they activate your user account?" Lina asked. "Did they give you anything yet?"
"Historical data, for now," I replied. "Today I'm just observing."
"A nice way of saying 'we're testing you,'" she nodded. "Some of us were buried in the dead file for months. You've already been signed off on from above."
She pointed at the screen with her chin.
"Rule number one on this floor: never rely on the summary alone. If something doesn't add up, check the database. Rule number two: if you see something very strange, don't mention it out loud." Take notes, keep copies, breathe.
"Is there a rule three?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "If Mr. Noir asks you something directly, take two breaths before answering one."
I ran a hand through the back of my neck. The heat was still there.
"Does your head always hurt when he shows up?" I blurted out.
Lina was surprised.
"How did you know it hurt?" she frowned.
"You touched your temple when he walked into Andrade's office," I said. "And now you have the same look on your face."
She brought her hand to her forehead, almost reflexively.
"Great, I'm transparent," she sighed. "Yes, it happens to me a lot. Not just with him, but here it's stronger. It's as if the air gets thicker and my brain says, 'I've had enough.'"
"I thought it was just me," I confessed. "In the elevator, I couldn't breathe. And in Human Resources, when he came in, I felt the room shrink."
"So I'm not completely crazy," she murmured. "Good. If we faint, we'll do it as a team."
Andrade appeared at the edge of my cubicle.
"Vega," he said. "Your access to the historical databases is ready. Start with last year's records. I want to see how you read patterns. No conclusions today, just observations."
"Understood," I replied.
"If something doesn't fit, write it down," he added. "The 'why' comes later."
He left without looking at Lina.
I opened the historical folder Andrade had mentioned. Columns, dates, project codes. The language I, in theory, knew how to speak.
The heat under my skin was still there, but the numbers gave me a strange calm. Order. Patterns. Something I could control, unlike my reaction when a certain boss got too close.
"One more thing," Lina said, as if remembering something late. "If you ever get a big project, one of those with an expensive perfume name... always keep an extra copy. Sometimes things disappear."
"Disappear?" I repeated.
"Files, comments, notes," she said, listing. I'm not saying it's on purpose... but I'm not saying it isn't either.
I made a mental note: copies.
I opened the first file. As the rows filled up on the screen, I had a strange feeling: as if I wasn't the only one looking at that data.
As if, on some floor above, someone was already waiting to see what I was going to find.
Or what I was going to decide to ignore.