POV: Dante
The report arrives in my inbox faster than I expected.
Subject: "Seraphim – Preliminary Observations (Vega)."
Not a word more. Andrade knows I hate flowery emails.
I open the document.
The first page is clean: project title, date range, a brief introductory note. "This document is not conclusive. It highlights patterns that are noteworthy and should be reviewed with more contextual information." No drama. It simply states what it is.
I scroll down.
Aurora grouped the transactions by supplier, time, and amount. She used discreet colors, just enough to keep the file from looking like a circus. On the right, a column of comments: "unusual fragmentation," "lack of justification in obs," "behavior concentrated in limited time windows."
No accusations. Just facts and questions.
I pause at a paragraph halfway down the page:
"I don't have enough information to say that there are irregularities, but the pattern of concentrated nighttime payments and the absence of comments in those cases is not consistent with the behavior of the rest of the project. I suggest reviewing who authorizes these transactions and from which terminal they are generated."
I smile, barely.
It goes straight to the heart of the problem. It doesn't try to sound clever, it doesn't hide behind technicalities. It says: "This doesn't add up, check here." In this building, that is both useful and dangerous.
I open the parallel report from one of the team's veterans. It takes them three pages to say the same thing, burying their suspicions under adjectives: "could," "eventually," "cannot be ruled out." No one wants to appear to be suggesting that someone in power did something wrong.
She still hasn't learned to be afraid of the right people.
I close the veteran's file. I leave only hers open.
I dial Andrade's extension.
"Mr. Noir," he answers on the third ring.
"The new analyst is faster than I expected," I say, without preamble.
"Vega?" He understands immediately. "Yes. I gave her just a sample of Seraphim and she's already scored almost as much as the entire team in a week. Without seeing the whole project."
I hear typing on the other end. He must have her report open, too.
"Do you trust her judgment?" I ask.
Andrade takes a second to answer.
"I trust that she sees things," he says. "And that she doesn't yet know who she should be afraid of in here. That makes her very useful... and very vulnerable."
I'm not surprised he notices.
"I want her to have full access to Seraphim," I order. "All periods, not just the sample. I also want every version of her reports to be mirrored. Two copies, on two different servers."
"That's not standard," he protests softly.
"Neither is this project," I reply. "Nor this analyst."
There is a short silence.
"Do you want me to ask her to tone down the language in the conclusions?" he adds. "Some names might... take offense."
I think of the clans that use satellite companies like Seraphim to move money. I think of the way Elías said "the air in the tower had changed." I think of how the powerful react when a human without a last name starts to see too much.
"Don't ask her to tone anything down," I finally say. "Just make sure everything she sees is recorded. If anyone deletes anything, I want to know who and when."
"Understood," he replies.
I hang up.
For a few seconds, all I hear is the hum of the building. Elevators, air conditioning, doors. The murmur of hundreds of lives working toward something they don't fully understand.
A message pops up on my screen.
Elías.
"Your tower smells different since yesterday. I like it. You should bring more surprises like that."
I clench my jaw.
The last thing I need is a bored vampire entertaining himself with my omega's scent. If he's already noticed the change, others will too as his condition progresses. And not all of them are as... restrained as he is.
I don't reply. I mark the message as read and close it.
I open Aurora's file again, the one Sofía brought earlier. I review a line I already know by heart: "generalized anxiety in treatment, functional."
Her anxiety will be a perfect alibi for anyone who wants to medicate what's coming. The symptoms of an awakening omega are easily confused with a poorly managed disorder: dizziness, temperature changes, sensitivity to smells, insomnia.
I've seen that story too many times. It almost never ends well.
I remember her in the elevator: rubbing the back of her neck, breathing rapidly, the blush rising up her neck. No language to understand what's happening to her. With no one by her side who can explain it to her.
I don't want a well-meaning, ignorant human doctor to turn her into a sedated problem.
I leave the folder on the desk and pick up the phone again.
"Sebastian," I say when he answers.
"Alpha," he greets me.
"I want discreet surveillance on the risk analysis floor," I order. Nothing obvious. Just eyes. If anyone gets too close to her, I want to know who and what they said.
I don't need to say her name. He asks anyway:
"Aurora Vega?"
"Yes," I reply. "And make sure no one approaches her on my behalf. If she notices anything strange, I want her to think it's the building, not me."
"We will," he says.
I hang up.
I return to Seraphim's report. I run my cursor over the lines she marked: nighttime payments, repeat suppliers, missing comments. She sees the right pattern, even without context. She isn't distracted by embellishments.
She's exactly the kind of mind I wanted in risk analysis.
And at the same time, she's the last person who should be peering into the rotten core of this project while she still doesn't know what it is.
I can't protect her and use her at the same time.
I can't bring her close to the fire and then feign surprise if she gets burned.
I rest my elbows on the desk, clasp my hands, and close my eyes for a moment. I take a deep breath. The smell of the city filtered through the windows, the faint trace of amber she left in the elevator, the ink from the reports.
The decision has already been made, even though I don't like to admit it: I'm going to let her continue.
If Seraphim has something that could be used against me, I'd rather she see it than my enemies.
I just hope that when she's done, she'll still be seeing numbers.
And that she won't realize yet that what's at stake is not just the project, but herself.