The eleventh floor had been abandoned after the merger, left with covered desks, dead monitors, and one vending machine glowing like an altar to processed food. Mira used her master badge. Cassian crouched, removed a panel with a coin, and reached into the dark.
He pulled out a metal capsule no larger than a lipstick tube.
Inside was a memory filament.
“Liora gave it to me,” he whispered. “She said if anything happened, I should get it to someone who couldn’t be bought.”
“And you chose a vending machine.”
“I trusted sugar more than lawyers.”
“Reasonable, but hurtful.”
He almost smiled.
Back in a records closet, Mira connected the filament to an offline reader. The file opened into a silent video from a lab camera that had supposedly malfunctioned the night of Liora’s death.
On-screen, Liora entered Lab 6 carrying no case. Three minutes later, Oren Pell, the beloved courier-witness, walked in wearing a VeyraDyne security jacket. He placed a silver case on Liora’s workstation, removed something from his pocket, and looked directly toward the camera.
Then Adrian Korr entered.
The audio was corrupted, but the image was enough: Adrian took Liora by the arm. She pulled away. Oren blocked the door. Adrian said something with the calm authority of a man ordering lunch.
The file cut to black.
Mira stared at the screen. Every official timeline was false.
Cassian exhaled. “Now you know.”
“No,” she said. “Now I know there’s a deeper file missing.”
The closet door handle rattled.
Mira shut the laptop. Cassian pulled her behind a shelf of archived tax binders. The door opened. Two security contractors entered.
“Legal’s on eleven,” one said. “Korr wants the magician separated from Vale.”
Mira held her breath. Cassian’s shoulder pressed against hers. He smelled faintly of coffee and stage smoke. The absurdity of noticing that while being hunted by corporate thugs annoyed her.
The guards left.
Mira turned, too quickly. Her face was inches from Cassian’s.
“This is not a romance,” she whispered.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it loudly.”
“I was thinking if we survive, you’ll accuse me of obstructing an investigation.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
He kissed her first, or maybe she moved first; later, neither would confess. It was brief, reckless, and entirely inconvenient. When it ended, Mira stepped back as if from evidence that had burst into flame.
“My judgment remains intact,” she said.
Cassian nodded solemnly. “Mine is completely destroyed.”
Her phone vibrated again.
The unknown sender had delivered one final message.
THE WITNESS IS NOT OREN. IT IS THE GIRL IN THE MOON CAGE.
Cassian’s face collapsed.
“My daughter,” he said. “Nell was there.”
