18:02 —The Stack, Floor 9
Alia hadn't meant to stay that long. But something about the way Carmen sat—half-shadow, half-glow, barefoot and entirely in her own world—was magnetic.
She stood a few feet away, watching. The dust in the Stack floated like snow caught in amber. Alia shifted her weight.
That was when Carmen spoke, voice calm and perfectly neutral—
"I know you're there."
Alia flinched.
Got caught like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. She bit her lip, mentally cursed, and walked forward with the false confidence of someone pretending she hadn't just been staring for a full minute.
"Damn. You're good."
Carmen didn't respond right away. She just turned a page in her book, eyes scanning, calm as ever. But there was something else. Something… softer around the edges.
"How are you?" she asked, without looking.
Alia blinked. It had been weeks since Carmen initiated a conversation, let alone asked her how she was doing. She tilted her head, caught off guard but trying to play it cool.
"Did you miss me?" Alia grinned.
Carmen rolled her eyes, lips twitching in what could've been a smile—or maybe just irritation at being predictable.
Alia pulled out the chair beside her and sat, folding her arms dramatically.
"I've had quite the week," she began, tone theatrical. "Started off with drills that nearly killed me. Tessa's in a full-on situationship. Zuri threatened my life twice. I may have fallen asleep on a keyboard once."
She left out everything she couldn't say—the mission, the secrets, the stimulation that cracked open her mind like an egg.
Carmen closed her book.
Not abruptly. Gently. Like she was ready to listen.
Alia noticed. And if she noticed, she absolutely didn't let it show.
"And your friends?" Carmen asked suddenly, referring to the other two stooges hanging over the bannister earlier.
Alia snickered.
"Criminals in spirit," she said. "Tessa's romantic. Zuri's nosy. I'm the glue."
Carmen looked down at her fingers for a second, then back at Alia.
"You should get some rest," she said eventually. "Tomorrow's the assessment."
Alia rolled her eyes.
"You sound like Callum."
"He's smarter than most. Don't let that ego fool you."
There was a pause.
A beat of silence where Alia could almost feel something unsaid.
Then Carmen added, voice light but firm—
"I'd like to see you rank higher."
Butterflies.
Instant, full-body flutter. The kind you pretend isn't a thing but secretly run victory laps in your head for.
"You're rooting for me?" Alia asked, mock-gasping.
"Don't get used to it."
Alia stood, tucking her hands in the sleeves of her sweater. She hesitated—just long enough to wonder if she should say something else. But Carmen was already opening her book again.
So she just smiled.
"Goodnight, Carmen."
"Night, Alia."
And she left. Soft footsteps echoing behind her, heart doing gymnastics she refused to acknowledge. Not out loud, anyway.
The moment Alia disappeared around the corner, Carmen let her smile slip.
She sighed. Leaned back against the shelves. Closed her eyes.
Still warm from conversation she shouldn't have enjoyed.
Then—
Brrrzt.
Her phone buzzed against the spine of the book she'd been ignoring.
She glanced at the screen.
Betty Grimes.
Carmen exhaled through her nose and picked up.
"Alviero."
Betty's voice was sharp, straight to the point—like always.
"We might have a problem."
Carmen straightened. Her spine coiled like instinct.
"Define problem," she said, tone already cool.
"I'm missing documents," Betty replied. "From the Vault. Not just hardcopies—traces of the digitals are gone too. Records on the old V-63 prototypes. Schematics. Partial location logs."
Carmen's brows pulled together.
"That shouldn't be possible," she said slowly. "No one even knows where those are filed except—"
"Except the four of us," Betty cut in. "I know. Which is why I'm calling."
There was a pause. A faint static hum between them.
Carmen's mind raced, eyes scanning the shelves even though her focus had left the room entirely.
"You think someone breached the Vault?"
"I don't know. But the logs are... off. Activity timestamps were edited. Access code pings are showing 'null' in the metadata. I've never seen that happen before."
Carmen's lips pressed into a thin line.
"And the weapon rooms?"
"So far, still secure. But I don't trust 'so far.'"
Carmen sucked in a breath, tugging a hand through her hair.
"Ask Callahan to cross-check the digital vault against the security servers in Vantaire," she said. "If anyone tampered with files, he'll trace the footprints."
"I already tried," Betty muttered. "He said he's busy compiling data from the last infiltration exercise. Something about a 'promising candidate.'"
Carmen rolled her eyes.
"Of course he did. I'll get on him."
"Thanks."
A beat.
"Carmen?"
"Yeah?"
"If someone's inside already... if they're deep enough to ghost the Vault... we've got bigger problems than missing blueprints."
Carmen's jaw tightened.
"I know."
Then she hung up.
---
Outside, the sky had darkened, casting an amber haze through the windows of the Stack.
Carmen stood there for a long time.
Silent.
Still.
Watching the shadows creep in like a quiet warning.Carmen stood alone in the upper deck of the Stack, fingers curled loosely around her phone, Betty's voice still echoing through her skull like a ticking metronome.
Missing files.
Weapon logs.
Null pings.
She'd seen corruption before. She'd buried it in digital soil, traced it through firewall ghosts and overwritten metadata—but not like this. Not in the Vault. And not this quiet.
The Vault wasn't just protected. It was sacred.
No one—not even Sovereigns—should be able to touch it's logs without triggering three kinds of hellfire.
So if someone had, and there wasn't even smoke?
That meant they were inside.
Already.
She finally moved, slow and thoughtful, sliding her phone back into her pocket. Her gaze lingered out the tall window facing east, where shadows from the trees of the inner courtyard flickered over stone.
The air in the Stack felt colder suddenly. Or maybe that was just her. The walls here had always held secrets. She just didn't think they'd start whispering back.
A part of her wanted to march straight to Callum's office and demand answers. Another part—older, sharper—knew that would only make him delay harder. He'd give her a puzzle piece in exchange for two more questions. He was like that. Annoyingly calculated.
And right now, Carmen didn't have the patience for games.
Not while her mind was still lingering on Alia, on her soft voice rambling about her week, conveniently skipping over certain names.
Carmen had known. She didn't have to press. Alia was holding back, the way she always did when something felt too complicated to say out loud.
Still… there was something else under her tone tonight.
Something frayed.
Carmen tilted her head back and closed her eyes, just for a second. She could still hear Alia's voice in her ears. Still picture the flush in her cheeks when she asked, "Did you miss me?"
Stupid girl.
Yes.
God help her, yes.
Carmen opened her eyes again, sharper now. Focused.
Whatever was happening in the Vault, whoever was reaching into spaces they shouldn't—that would be handled.
But not tonight.
She ran a thumb over her lower lip. Exhaled once.
And started walking again.
Somewhere, across campus, the assessment scores were being uploaded into the Rank Database.
Tomorrow, names would shift. Eyes would widen.
Allegiances would change.
And Carmen would be watching every single one.