She hit the button for the ground floor. We stood there listening to the elevator's cheap music—some royalty-free jazz that felt like it wanted to die. Amelia fixed her hair in the mirror. Her glasses sat perfectly on her face, sharp and neat. Her pencil skirt hugged her hips so tight it was almost unfair, and her white shirt looked like it was giving everything it had to keep her chest contained.
I rubbed my eyes and yawned. Emilia, the mole, the missing phone—none of it was letting me sleep.
"So," Amelia spoke up, still staring at the mirror. "What's your take on the mole? Any theories?"
"No idea," I muttered. "I just hope we catch them before everything goes to shit."
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Same here."
The doors opened. She stepped out, gave a short little nod, and headed toward the lobby exit. I turned right and walked toward the security office.
Camera hanging above? Good. That one's pointed straight at the door. Whoever went in would be on that feed.
