Chapter 4 Devil's Warning

• For one dangerous second, I think the smartest thing I can do is tell the truth.
• Not all of it. Not the part about revenge. Not the part where I want to drag his empire into the light and watch it burn. But enough truth to make him stop looking at me like I am a threat he has not yet decided how to handle.
• I do not do it.
• People like Victor Hale do not reward honesty. They collect it. Weaponize it. Store it away for later.
• So I tighten my grip on my notebook and meet his stare.
• “I was trying to find the files you asked Research Compliance for,” I say. The silence that follows is worse than shouting.
• Victor does not blink. Does not move. He does not make the mistake of looking uncertain.
• “You were accessing restricted search terms,” he says. “And you thought the best way to do that was through a terminal you are not authorized to use?”
• I force my shoulders to stay loose. “I thought being efficient might be appreciated.”
• A flicker passes through his expression. Not amusement. Not exactly anger either. Something sharper.
• “Efficiency without permission is still disobedience.”
• My pulse knocks hard once against my ribs. “Then I apologize.”
• He takes one step closer. The room is already too small. Now it feels airless.
• His gaze drops again to my notebook. I close it before he can ask for it.
• He notices that too.
• Of course he does.
• “You are very interested in things that do not concern your position, Miss Thorne,” he says.
• I hear the warning inside the words. I also hear something else beneath it.
• Concern.
• That is somehow more frightening.
• I tilt my chin. “If I’ve overstepped, it won’t happen again.”
• His eyes stay on mine so long I can almost feel him sorting through every answer I have given since the moment I walked into this building.
• At last, he steps aside.
• “Go home, Emily.”
• There is something in his voice that feels new to me. It’s not a warning. It sounds more like sadness tinged with guilt.
• It should not matter to me, but it does.
• Before I can speak, he adds, “And stay out of rooms you are not invited into.”
• I move toward the door, every nerve awake, and make it almost to the hallway before his voice stops me again.
• “One piece of advice.”
• I turn.
• Victor’s face is unreadable, but his tone is not. It is colder now. More deliberate.
• “If someone here starts asking questions about you,” he says, “do not answer them.”
• My heartbeat falters.
• Then he walks past me, leaving me alone in the file room with the faint scent of cedar and the unmistakable feeling that I have just been warned by the one man I came here to destroy.
• I do not sleep much at night.
• By morning, I have replayed every second of last night so often that Victor’s expression has become a separate problem from the rest of my life.
• He should have fired me.
• He should have reported me.
• Instead, he let me walk out.
• That means one of two things: either he wants to watch me longer, or he wants me alive.
• I do not know which possibility is worse.
• I decided not to go to the office today. But at eight-thirty in the morning, a message from an unknown number appears on my phone.
• Parking garage level B. Come alone.
• No name. No explanation.
• I gather my courage and steady myself. I have come too far to give up now.
• Alexander leans against a black car in the half-empty garage like he has been born knowing how to look dangerous without appearing to try. If I was in his place, I would be hiding behind a concrete pillar.
• When I approach, he straightens and opens the rear door.
• “Get in.”
• I slide into the backseat. He gets in beside me and closes the door. The windows are dark enough to turn the garage outside into a blur of concrete and shadow.
• “Victor caught me in the file room,” I say.
• That wipes the easy expression off his face. “And?”
• “And I am still employed.”
• Alexander studies me. “Interesting.” He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a slim black flash drive.
• “This is what you wanted.”
• I do not take it immediately. “What is it?”
• “Internal documents from a discontinued research arm. This contains budget approvals, transfer records, and trial summaries.” His voice drops. “Human trials, Emily. Off-book, off-site, and deliberately buried.”
• A cold wave moves through me.
• “How did you get this?”
• He smiles without humour. “The same way everyone in my family gets what they want. By knowing where people are weakest.”
• I take the drive.
• My fingers brush his for half a second. His hand closes over mine before I can pull away.
• “Listen to me,” he says quietly. “If Victor starts circling you, do not let him confuse you. He is very good at becoming whatever people need him to be.”
• I yank my hand back. “You seem to know him well.”
• “I know what it costs to survive him.”
• The words should sound bitter. Instead they sound personal.
• I slip the flash drive into my bag. “Why are you helping me?”
• He leans back against the seat, eyes on me. “Maybe I want to see the empire crack.”
• “That’s not enough. Because there is at least one person beside me, who gives you information about Victor's office.”
• His mouth curves faintly. “It shouldn’t concern you, Emily.”
• Before I can press harder, he opens the door.
• “Use a private device,” he says. “And if you find something with Victor’s name on it, believe it.”
• I step out of the car with the flash drive in my bag.
• It feels heavier than it should.
• I leave the place immediately before anyone can see me and walk towards the Hale Biodyne.
• When I step into the office, Victor is already inside his glass office. Sitting behind his desk. Flipping through some pages attentively like this is the last day of the world.
• The glass walls give the place an air of transparency, but there's a sense of coldness in the sterile environment.
• I set my bag down on the desk, the usual hum of the office now seeming distant, almost muffled. The reality of being here feels different today, like there’s a weight pressing down on me.
• I quickly gather my thoughts and prepare to settle in, when the intercom buzzes on my table. It’s the direct line to Victor.
• “Mr Hale, how may I help you?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
• The voice on the other end is unmistakable. Low, smooth, and dripping with calculation. “What did you do, Emily?”
• My heart races in my chest. I freeze, every nerve screaming to act, to say something clever. Have I been caught? The thought slithers through my mind, cold and immediate, as the silence stretches between us.