Lyra's POV – Admin Floor
The office light was too white today.
Lyra blinked through it, steadying herself on the counter in the upstairs bathroom. Her breath dragged slow and careful. One palm pressed to the wall, the other still cool from the sink. The worst of the nausea had passed, but it left behind a dry, bitter taste she couldn't scrub away.
Third time this week.
And this time, the scent veil hadn't caught up in time. Not fully.
She re-centered her blouse, reapplied the spray, rinsed her mouth again. When she stepped out, the hallway was empty, the almost.
"Don't panic," Talia's voice said softly from near the elevators.
Lyra froze. Talia stepped forward, tone low, boots quiet against tile.
"You left the tea untouched. Again."
"I'm fine."
"You're pale. And if you're going to keep vomiting in stall three, at least stop walking around like no one can count patterns."
Lyra didn't speak.
Talia's expression changed. She leaned in just enough. "Hensley came looking for you."
Lyra's stomach turned again, for a different reason.
"I told her you were shadowing finance for the quarterlies," Talia said. "You owe me a chocolate bar and ten minutes of truth."
Lyra managed a nod. She wasn't ready for truth. But she was grateful for the shield.
---
Strategic Wing – Afternoon
Michael handed her the project notes just after lunch. She scanned them with hands steadier than they felt.
Marketing efficiency strategy. Review and restructure proposal. Data clean-up, audience targeting, campaign redundancy elimination.
His voice stayed even. "You'll coordinate with Tim's analytics team. Dorne wants the first draft by Thursday."
She nodded. "I'll start today."
Michael's eyes lingered on her a second longer. "Don't push it if you're tired."
Lyra lifted her chin. "I'm fine."
The words had lost their weight, but still, she said them.
---
Later – Briefing Room 7C
Twelve chairs. Frosted glass. Projector humming low.
Lyra gripped her folder tight, her thumb smoothing the corner edge.
Michael sat two seats over. Tim across from him. And Cassian, already there when she arrived. Stood reviewing a printout, sleeve rolled halfway, face unreadable.
She sat without looking at him.
But when the room settled and the first slide changed, her head spun slightly. Just enough that she felt the shift behind her eyes. A cold ripple behind her ribs.
The numbers swam for half a second.
She masked it. Or tried to.
Her fingers slipped on the folder when she reached to adjust the chart. It tipped. Papers spilled.
She caught most of them.
One edge dropped under the chair.
Cassian stepped forward before she could bend.
"Here."
He reached it first. Handed it back without comment.
His gaze met hers, only for a moment.
And something flickered. Recognition, almost. Not scent. Not memory.
But movement. The way her fingers trembled before she pulled back. The sound of breath caught too close.
He turned away a second later.
But Lyra could feel it.
Not heat. Not want. Just... noticing.
For the first time, aloud.
---
Cassian's POV – Executive Wing
He hadn't spoken to her before today.
Not directly. Not since the gala, four weeks ago.
Not since that night he'd almost convinced himself was a dream.
But when her hand brushed the edge of the file, something in him stopped. A pattern. A memory. A shadow on marble and the scent of skin warmed too fast.
He didn't let it show. But he saw the way she steadied herself too carefully. The split-second breath she held.
Then she was gone, with the others. Room cleared. Nothing said.
But it didn't fade this time.
---
Theo knocked once, then entered.
"I ran the scene tag," he said, sliding a secure envelope onto the desk.
Cassian didn't answer. Just opened it.
Single still-frame printout. Timestamp. Gala night. Private elevator lobby.
She wasn't looking at the camera. Just walking past it. One hand raised to fix her hair. A shadow of another figure further behind, cut off by the frame.
Clear.
> LYRA ELMONT – ADMINISTRATIVE STAFF
Cassian stared at it. The date. The moment. The confirmation.
Theo waited.
Cassian didn't speak.
He set the envelope aside and turned back to his monitor.
His mind hadn't been wrong.
But it hadn't told him what to do next, either.
---
Lyra's POV – Apartment, Night
She curled on the couch with a ginger chew tucked behind her molars and a pillow folded under her spine.
Alexa blinked up from the windowsill, tail flicking once.
The calendar on her tablet glowed quietly. Deadlines. Metrics. One note flagged in red.
> Review Phase One Draft – Thursday Assigned by: C. Dorne
Her stomach twisted.
Not with nausea this time.
But with the quiet pull of being seen.
And the fear of what might follow