Chapter 5.The Flag

The morning light sliced across the city like an accusation. Elara arrived before most people did, hopeful that showing up early would prove she belonged. She tried to tell herself the whispering and the locked drawers were normal bureaucracy. She tried to breathe.

Her desk felt less like a place and more like a stage. The small framed skyline photograph Adrian had placed there yesterday gleamed in the glass. She touched it for a second, a private ritual to steady her hands.

Ethan hovered at the edge of the room with his usual stillness. He did not smile. He offered a checklist. He moved like someone who had rehearsed his life in steps and outcomes. Watching him made her feel less alone, and also more exposed.

“Morning,” he said. “We have a briefing at ten. You should attend.”

She nodded, thumbed her badge reflexively, and thought of the card from the envelope. Watch the third floor. A silly card. A warning. A joke. Or not.

For an hour she pushed papers, answered questions, and filed items into folders with hands that wanted to tremble and a face that tried to look calm. People avoided eye contact now, or they looked at her with that measured curiosity that made her feel like an exhibit.

At 9:55 a.m., a bell chimed through the office. Not the kind that marked a meeting. A different tone. A low, businesslike chime that ran through the internal system.

Ethan’s head tilted. On his tablet a red notification bloomed.

“Elara,” he said, softer than usual. “Security is calling for Mr. Valcourt.”

Her pulse jumped. “Is that… bad?”

He did not answer. He looked at her in the way someone checks a map for danger. It was the same look she had seen once before. Concern. Calculation.

Adrian was already standing at the glass wall when she turned. He had been in a meeting, his posture tight against a backdrop of books and glass. He looked up and met her eyes, then stepped toward the door with that measured motion that made people straighten unconsciously.

A security officer in a gray uniform waited in the corridor. He held a tablet like an accusation. His ID was clipped to his chest. He kept his voice professional.

“Mr. Valcourt,” he said. “We detected a Level 2 security alert connected to Badge E-H-042.”

Adrian’s face remained unreadable. He didn’t speak. He didn’t flinch. He just folded his hands behind his back and waited for the officer to continue.

The officer’s gaze turned to Elara before returning to Adrian. “Badge E-H-042 is registered to Elara Hayes. The system shows an unauthorized identity discrepancy. It flagged a possible compromise.”

Elara swallowed. The words felt foreign in the air. Compromised. Discrepancy. The terminologies made everything sound like machinery, and machinery felt beyond her control.

Adrian’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He turned to Ethan.

“Show me the log,” he said.

Ethan tapped his tablet and the corridor screen lit with a feed of data. A timeline. A string of entries. A small map of the building with dots blinking like nervous pupils. There was a record of her badge swiping into the elevator earlier. There was a log entry of an access attempt to Archive Room C. There was an internal note: suspicious manual override detected at 09:12.

Adrian’s eyes moved down the list with the patience of a man reading a ledger, not a heart. Nothing in his posture betrayed panic. He simply took in facts.

“Level 2,” he repeated. “What triggered the discrepancy?”

The officer read aloud. “The system matched the badge metadata against archival identity files and found inconsistencies. The badge credentials are valid, but the identity record linked to those credentials does not match biometric cross-references. The system flagged it.”

Elara felt like someone had pushed her chest. “Biometric… cross—what does that mean?”

Ethan’s voice was neutral. “The system compares badge information with the secure identity database. If face prints, voice logs, or linked identifiers don’t match, it escalates. Level 2 requires immediate review.”

“Who processed her entry?” Adrian asked.

The question was small but it landed like a scalpel. The officer tapped the tablet. “It indicates a manual override recorded by an internal user. The operator ID shows an internal admin account. We are pulling the operator logs now.”

Adrian did not move. He looked at Elara the way someone looks at an instrument that may be malfunctioning, not at a person. That distance felt like a shield.

“You were in Archive C?” he asked.

“No,” she said. Her voice sounded thin in the corridor. “I went to my desk. I— I didn’t access anything.”

The officer checked his tablet again. “The logs indicate a temporary workstation was used to initiate a manual request. The operator confirmed badge authorization at 09:08. A human confirmed the entry. The system then recorded a physical access at 09:12.”

“Who confirmed the authorization?” Adrian asked.

The officer scrolled. A name blinked on the screen. A department account. An internal user that belonged to the Operations Desk. The same generic login that had shown the alert three days ago.

Adrian’s face hardened. Not with panic. With something colder. The quiet of a man who is counting options.

“Elara,” he said, voice steady. “Did anyone give you access? Any supervisor? Anyone from IT?”

She shook her head. “No. Ethan said he was fixing my badge this morning, but I— I didn’t authorize anything.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. He looked as if he had expected this answer.

The officer read more. “We are pulling CCTV. We have footage from Archive Room C. A human operator was recorded exiting with a file bag at 09:13. The image quality is poor, shadows and motion. We are enhancing now.”

Adrian’s lips compressed. “Enhance. Now.”

The waiting felt like a held breath. People gathered at the door, curiosity a physical weight.

On the tablet an image resolved. Grainy. A figure with a coat turned away from the camera. Hands clutched a brown folder. The face blurred. But the camera angle caught a profile that was familiar in a way that made Elara’s stomach drop.

Ethan stared. He didn’t look at her. He looked at the image like a question formed in his bones.

“Can you clear the image?” Adrian asked quietly.

“Working on it,” the officer replied.

The screen brightened. Features sharpened. For a sliver of a second the image froze on a profile. A jaw. A chin. A tilt of the head.

Ethan’s hand went to his ear. He spoke into his collar. “Cross to security. Loop the feeds on slow motion. Freeze at the profile. Zoom to the hall entry angle.”

A second camera swung to the hall. The angle showed someone entering the corridor with a bag. The view was from the side. The face turned. The lighting was poor but the profile had a small detail — a mole near the ear.

Ethan’s breath caught softly. He didn’t look at Elara. He looked at the feed, and his fingers tapped commands like prayer.

The image cleared a fraction more. The face, though not perfect, matched the system’s database of personnel.

The officer swallowed. “Database match suggests a registered identity. But the auxiliary checks do not match. The secondary biometric scan was canceled at the moment of entry. That is the discrepancy.”

Elara’s heart hammered. She pressed both hands flat against her skirt, as if she could anchor herself.

Adrian did not reach for her. He did not place a hand on her back. He kept himself distant. His voice was composed. “Who initiated the manual override on that workstation?”

The officer scrolled. “Operator log shows authorization under Operations Desk generic account. The supervising user ID is Ethan Cross.”

Every head turned toward Ethan.

Ethan’s face tightened. For the first time since she had met him, something slipped past his professional calm. He met Adrian’s eyes.

“It wasn’t me,” he said. The words had an edge. “If I’d authorized it, I would have logged the request under my ID.”

Adrian’s look was a knife. “Then who used your account?”

The team around them murmured. The officer’s tablet refreshed and a new line appeared. An IP trace. A remote terminal. The operator had switched stations at 09:06. The system recorded a connection from a floor maintenance terminal. Someone had used a shared kiosk to input a manual override.

Adrian’s hand went to the glass ledge, fingers splayed, steady. He squinted like a man setting a puzzle in order.

“Lock Archive C,” he ordered. “Security, sweep the third floor. Do not alert the public channels. Quiet review only.”

The corridor seemed to breathe out.

Ethan’s voice came low to Elara. “Go home. Lock your apartment. Leave your phone on the table. We will contact you tonight.”

“Why?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her when he answered. “Precautions.”

Her phone buzzed against her palm. An unknown number. Watch the third floor. The same message, the same sharp warning.

Adrian’s phone buzzed on the glass. He did not pick it up. He turned his face toward the skyline as if looking out might offer him clarity. He inhaled once. Exhaled.

“Her badge triggered a Level 2 alert,” the officer said again.

Silence pressed in.

Adrian’s voice was soft, controlled, final. “Who processed her badge?”

The question hung in the air like a verdict.