POV: Aurora
I try to focus on anything other than my name on that table.
There are hundreds of rows, amounts, dates. I could get lost there, let the numbers overwhelm me. But every time I scroll up or down, my eyes return to the same place:
"Aurora Program – Cohort 03."
My throat tightens just reading it.
I take a deep breath. I count to four. I tell myself I have to be professional.
"If you keep staring at that line, it's going to catch fire," says a voice next to the cubicle.
Lina.
"I'm trying to ignore it," I reply. "It's not working."
She leans on the edge of the panel, cup in hand.
"Let's talk about the obvious," she says. "Your scholarship and this program are bound to be the same thing. Are you going to say anything to Andrade?"
Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn.
"I should," I murmur. "In college, they drilled 'conflict of interest' into us. And this... is a walking textbook example of that."
"Honestly, yes," she nods. "But it's also your second day. So I give you official permission to be terrified."
I smile half-heartedly.
"I am," I admit.
She glances at the screen.
"My advice: don't sugarcoat it. Tell him straight up, 'I think my scholarship comes from here.' Let him decide what to do. You just put it on record."
"What if they kick me off the project?" I ask.
Lina shrugs.
"What if they don't?" she replies. "Worse than being kicked off is someone finding out later and saying you kept quiet."
She's right. I hate her a little for that.
I close the file. I leave the Seraphim folder where it is and open my email to ask Andrade for five minutes. Before I finish writing, a notification appears in the corner of the screen.
"Subject: Brief meeting – Vega."
Andrade (1 min ago): "Vega, can you stop by my office when you have a moment? I'd like to discuss your progress on Seraphim."
My heart skips an uncomfortable beat.
"Don't tell me..." Lina begins.
"He called me first," I confirm.
"Perfect," she says. "That way you can drop the bomb in the middle of an existing meeting. Efficiency."
I'm not amused, but she has a point.
I stand up. Suddenly, my head spins a little. It's not complete dizziness, more like a ringing in my ears, like when you stand up too fast.
"Are you okay?" Lina asks.
"I just... stood up too fast," I lie.
I don't want to tell her that, for a while now, the heat under my skin has been coming and going in strange waves, like intermittent fever.
I walk to the glass office.
I knock on the door.
"Come in," Andrade says.
I enter. He points to the chair in front of the desk.
"Sit down, Vega."
I do. The glass floor is behind me; I prefer not to turn around. I feel like I'm being watched even without knowing if anyone is looking.
"I read your preliminary observations," he begins. "Good work. Concise, without unnecessary drama."
I don't know if it's a compliment, but I take it as one.
"Thank you," I say.
"The concentration of nighttime payments and the lack of comments on those transactions is exactly what we want someone like you to see," he continues. "Someone who is not yet... contaminated."
He chooses his words carefully.
"That's precisely the problem," I reply, before getting cold feet.
He raises an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?"
I swallow.
"Yesterday you gave me a sample," I begin. "Today you gave me full access. While reviewing the internal foundation's funds, I found a program called 'Aurora Program – Cohort 03'. It's the same name as the scholarship that allowed me to study and get here."
Andrade is silent for a few seconds. Long enough for me to regret saying it.
"Are you sure?" he finally asks.
I nod.
"I don't have the documentation here, but I can show you the email when you need it."
He runs a hand over his forehead.
"I understand," he says. "Technically, yes, that does constitute a potential conflict of interest. But it also makes you the person with the most reason to want this to be above board."
"Or to keep me quiet," I reply, more curtly than I intended.
He looks at me directly.
"If I wanted you to keep quiet, I wouldn't have given you full access to the project on your second day," he replies. "And believe me, this instruction didn't come from me alone."
I know what that means. "Management." Him.
"So what do I do?" I ask.
Do I continue? Do I step aside? I don't want to be dishonest with the work... or with myself.
Andrade sighs.
"Let's put it on record," he says. "I'll ask you to send me a brief email indicating that you detected this coincidence and that you consider it a potential conflict of interest. I'll escalate that to the appropriate level. In the meantime, I want you to continue. Precisely because you see things that others didn't see."
It's not the answer I was hoping for. Part of me wanted him to decide for me.
"What if they say later that I was part of this?" I murmur.
"Then your best defense will be everything you put in writing today," he replies. "There's no way to come out completely clean in a dirty system, Vega. But there are ways to avoid getting any dirtier than is inevitable."
I remain silent.
"I trust your judgment," he adds, more softly. "If at any point you feel you can't go on, we'll talk about it again. Okay?"
I nod. Not because I'm convinced, but because I don't see any other way out.
When I leave the office, the floor seems noisier than before. Or maybe it's me.
I head back to the cubicle. Halfway there, the air changes.
It's not my imagination. It's not a metaphor.
A dark smell, like storm and amber, enters my chest like hot smoke. My heart races.
"The building," Lina would have said. I know better.
I see him coming down the hall.
Dante Noir.
Impeccable suit, slightly loosened tie, the expression of someone who always knows more than he says. He talks to Andrade, who is now behind me, and to another person I don't recognize. I don't know what they're talking about. I only know that every step he takes makes my body react a little more.
I try to keep going as if nothing is wrong.
Mistake.
The ringing in my ears grows louder. The hallway seems to lengthen and shrink at the same time. I grab the edge of a cubicle.
"Vega?" someone says beside me, but the voice sounds distant.
I don't want to look at him. I don't want him to notice anything. I don't want to...
"Miss Vega."
His voice cuts through all the noise.
I look up. Dante is closer than I would have chosen. His amber eyes lock with mine, assessing me. He sees more than he should; I can feel it on my skin.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
I want to say "yes." The usual. Instead, the truth slips out halfway.
"Just... dizzy," I whisper. "I stood up too fast."
His gaze drops for a second to my hand, still clinging to the cubicle panel. Then it returns to my face.
"Maybe you should sit down," he says.
It's not a suggestion.
I nod. I don't trust my knees enough to argue. I walk the few steps back to my seat, aware of every inch of distance between us.
He doesn't touch me. He doesn't need to.
His presence is contact enough.