The morning felt… off.
Not in any obvious way—there were no sirens screaming down the street, no power outages or panicked emails waiting in her inbox. But something about the sunlight seemed too sharp, too loud. Like the day itself was watching.
Iris stepped out of the rideshare, heels clicking on the pavement with military precision. Her pace was steady, professional. Unbothered. The kind of walk meant to tell the world: Nothing happened. Nothing to see here.
Except everything had happened.
And she was still trying to piece it together.
She passed through the building's main doors, nodding at the receptionist as if it were just another Wednesday. Inside, the lobby buzzed with life—coffee cups in hand, gossip in the corners, soft footsteps on polished floors. Normal. Almost aggressively normal.
But as she walked, she couldn't help but notice how the shadows pooled in the edges of the marble, how the hum of conversation quieted ever so slightly when she passed. Or maybe that was just her imagination.
Her reflection caught in the mirrored elevator doors. Her expression gave nothing away, but her eyes… they searched. The elevator pinged open. She stepped in.
Habit. Muscle memory. She hadn't even checked which floor she hit.
The doors were almost closed when a hand shot in to stop them, parting the polished steel with effortless timing.
Marek.
He stepped in with a raised brow and a look that cut straight through her carefully curated stillness. The kind of look a predator gives when it sees a flicker in the mask.
He didn't press a button.
He didn't have to.
The doors remained open for just a beat too long. And then—his voice, smooth and quiet, curled into the space between them.
"Seems you've seen a ghost."
Iris didn't flinch. Not externally. Her lips pulled into a slight, practiced smile. "More like… didn't get enough sleep. Ghosts don't usually bring reports and caffeine crashes."
Marek tilted his head, amusement dancing at the edge of his smirk. "That right? 'Cause you look like someone who heard one whisper your name."
The elevator finally began to move.
Iris chuckled, airy and effortless, but her grip on her bag tightened just slightly. "Maybe I just ran into one of the chairman's moods. Those are pretty haunting."
Marek gave a soft hum of agreement but said nothing else.
As the elevator neared her floor, the silence between them thickened—comfortable for him, suffocating for her. She adjusted her jacket as the doors slid open, stepping out before they could fully part.
"Later," she said over her shoulder, a touch too fast, too light.
She didn't look back.
The doors closed behind her, cutting off whatever knowing look he might've worn. Her pace quickened down the hallway. The air felt thinner here—like the walls themselves had listened in on something they weren't supposed to hear.
Her hand brushed her blouse unconsciously.
No blood today.
But the stain still felt fresh.
The elevator hummed softly as it climbed, the fluorescent lights above casting a pale glow across Marek's sharp features. He stood still, hands casually in his pockets, but his mind wasn't idle.
There was something in Iris's walk—her eyes too alert, the kind of alertness that came from brushing too close to the edge of something dangerous. He'd seen that look before. Not in analysts. Not unless they were about to break.
The elevator opened on the executive floor. Cool air greeted him, scented faintly with cedar and the sterile hum of order. The hallway was immaculate, silent. Aldrin's office stood at the end—doors half-open like an invitation or a challenge.
He stepped in without knocking.
Aldrin stood by the window, a glass of water in hand, dark eyes fixed on something distant—maybe the skyline, maybe a thought.
"Was wondering when you'd come," Aldrin said, not turning around.
Marek shut the door behind him. "She's jumpy. Real jumpy."
Aldrin gave a single nod. "She has reason."
Marek crossed the room, settling into one of the chairs opposite the desk without waiting for an offer. "She said something?"
"No," Aldrin replied, finally turning. "Didn't have to."
A beat passed. Marek studied his friend, not just his words—but the slight wear in his voice. Aldrin rarely showed weight. Today he wore it like a second coat.
Then the Chairman sighed, setting his glass down with a deliberate clink. "Ainsworth was shot last night."
Marek blinked. "...He's alive?"
"Barely," Aldrin said. "Through-and-through, shoulder. Lost a lot of blood. He was already at the scene when we got there. Whoever did it knew how to cover their trail."
"And you just happened to stumble across him with the intern?" Marek raised a brow.
Aldrin's eyes narrowed slightly. "She wasn't supposed to be there."
"She wasn't supposed to be in a lot of places, apparently," Marek muttered.
Aldrin didn't argue. He picked up a folder from the edge of the desk—thick, unmarked—and set it gently in front of him. "He was tracking something… off. Something he didn't trigger. Something that mimicked him."
"Imitation?" Marek asked.
"No," Aldrin replied. "Intelligence. Something adaptive. Calculating. And it led him there."
Marek leaned back in the chair, eyes scanning Aldrin's face. "And she saw all of it?"
"Enough." Aldrin's voice was flat. "More than she should've."
"And now what? She's in?"
"No," Aldrin said. Then, after a pause: "But she's no longer out."
Silence settled again, but this time it carried a mutual understanding.
Marek finally stood. "You want me to keep eyes on her?"
"No," Aldrin said again, but with less certainty. "She's not a threat. Not yet. But if she starts digging…"
"I'll be there," Marek finished for him.
Aldrin nodded once.
Marek turned for the door but paused just before opening it. "Just outta curiosity… what was Ainsworth tracking?"
Aldrin looked back to the skyline, voice quiet. "A ghost."
The whispers began before she even sat down.
"… Did you hear? Iris and the Chairman?"
"No way. Not that kind of relationship, right?"
"I heard she's not just his intern. Something more… secret. They've been together a while, actually."
"Come on. They said she was just helping with some logistics, but I saw the way she left with him yesterday. No one just gets in his car, right?"
"I bet she's his… hidden project, you know?"
Iris kept walking.
Her heels clicked sharply against the floor, a steady rhythm, though it didn't seem to drown out the whispers. The entire office felt alive with this new narrative forming around her, spreading like wildfire.
Her desk felt farther than usual. She had just enough time to power up her computer, but the lingering stares followed her every move.
Her hands, however, moved methodically, her fingers tapping the keyboard with practiced ease, despite the tightness in her chest.
She swiped the mouse to open her inbox, hoping for something to distract her from the constant sense of eyes on her. But instead, her email pinged with an unread message—anonymous, of course.
Subject: New Recruits
"Iris Maren. More than just a regular analyst, huh?
How long has it been going on?
It's cute how they're keeping it on the down-low, though... Classic Aldrin."
She stared at it. A secret relationship? With Aldrin? The thought almost made her laugh—if it weren't for the fact that everyone seemed to believe it.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Should she delete the message? Should she ignore it? It wasn't like she could just explain away the situation without feeding into it.
She paused, hand stilling above the delete key.
What was really happening here?
Later, in the breakroom.
She found herself pulling her tea from the microwave, her hands gripping the warm mug as she took a sip, hoping the steam would calm her nerves. The door opened behind her, and a few of the leads from compliance strolled in, chatting quietly amongst themselves.
"... She's got to be more than an intern."
"Think about it. Aldrin's got a thing for people who can keep a low profile, don't you think?"
"Doesn't seem like the 'office romance' type, though. But, hey… what do I know?"
Iris set her mug down, trying to focus on the task at hand—making her tea, not listening. Not paying attention to the idle talk that seemed to circle her like vultures. But she could still hear it, lingering in the air like an unspoken truth.
"... They were together yesterday, and everyone saw it."
"That's what I'm saying."
She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction. She kept her voice steady as she murmured, "You guys are going to burn through that gossip mill with nothing to show for it."
Marla, who was stirring her coffee at the counter, smiled like she knew more than she let on. "Oh, I'm sure someone will figure it out soon enough."
Iris clenched her jaw, taking a deep breath before walking out, leaving the murmur of the breakroom behind her.
Back at her desk, her inbox pinged again. Another message, but this one was forwarded by the same anonymous account.
Subject: Just curious...
"Is it true? Did Aldrin get a thing for his analysts? Or is Iris just that good at keeping him intrigued? 😉"
Iris didn't even bother opening it. She just hit delete.
But it was impossible to escape the sensation that something was building around her. The office's gaze. The gossip. All of it creating this image that she couldn't seem to shake off. No matter how innocent her actions, it felt like everyone was suddenly watching her every move.
The question wasn't whether Aldrin had a secret romance. It was whether she had become the center of an office mystery that no one could stop speculating about.
With a heavy sigh, Iris looked up, only to see Marek walking by, his gaze lingering on her for a second before moving on. She felt the weight of his unspoken words as much as she heard his casual tone from earlier.
"You okay?" he asked, not quite stopping but still giving her a glance.
"Fine," she replied, keeping her voice steady. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He chuckled lightly, as though he knew exactly what she was dealing with but wouldn't say it out loud. "Just checking in."
"Thanks for the concern," she said dryly, before turning back to her screen.
Her mind was buzzing with questions, but she couldn't get anyone to give her clear answers—not here, not now.
When the day stretched on into afternoon, Iris found herself still caught in the undertow of office gossip. But when the final encrypted message popped up—"Conference Room 3B. 6:00 PM. Don't be followed."—her pulse picked up again.
Her instincts screamed.
Something was off.
The office fell back into its mundane rhythm, but Iris was no longer just a part of it.
Now, she was the enigma everyone was trying to crack.
Conference Room 3B – 6:00 PM
The rest of the office had thinned out by now, lights dimmed and chairs left vacant like ghosts of the day's grind. Iris lingered at her desk for ten minutes longer than she needed, unsure if she was paranoid or being followed. When the coast seemed clear, she slipped away, heels whispering against the floor as she made her way to the corner conference room.
The glass walls were tinted darker than usual. A signal.
She opened the door, and there they were.
Aldrin stood by the window, arms crossed, his jacket still pristine despite the bloodstained chaos of the night before. Marek, in contrast, was lounging with one foot on a chair, spinning a pen between his fingers like this was the most entertaining part of his day.
Neither of them spoke at first.
"Iris," Aldrin greeted with a small nod, eyes scanning her like he was weighing her silence.
Marek, however, was grinning before she even took a seat. "Glad you came, Ghost Girl. You look good for someone who nearly walked through a war zone yesterday."
Aldrin shot him a sharp glance, but Iris responded coolly, sliding into a seat and folding her arms. "I've had worse mornings. Coffee was decent. Office politics, less so."
"Ah yes," Marek drawled. "The Chairman's mysterious intern disappears for hours and doesn't come back—what could people possibly think?"
Aldrin's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Iris smirked, feigning nonchalance. "I'm flattered, really. Never thought I'd cause this much speculation. Apparently, I'm your hidden lover now."
Marek's eyes lit up with unholy amusement. "Really? Hidden lover? I thought we were going with 'power move analyst.' Much more poetic."
Aldrin finally moved, turning toward them with a clipped tone. "Enough."
Iris raised a brow. "Touchy."
"You're not here for gossip," he said, voice like frost. "We brought you in because you've been involved in something sensitive, and whether it was by design or bad luck, you're now part of this. We need to make sure you're steady."
Iris leaned back in her chair, letting his words hang in the room a moment. "I'm steady. But you could've at least pretended the dating rumor wasn't that absurd."
Marek barked a laugh, utterly delighted. "You're offended he shut it down so fast?"
"I mean…" Iris shrugged with faux indignation. "Like I wouldn't date you, Aldrin?"
Aldrin's mouth twitched—but not quite into a smile. His response was dry and immediate. "That's not what I said."
"Didn't have to," she quipped.
"Don't take it personally," Marek added, still grinning. "He's just emotionally allergic. You could set yourself on fire in front of him and he'd ask if you had clearance."
Aldrin ignored him entirely, eyes returning to Iris. "Are you sure you're okay? Not just for the office's sake. For yours."
The question caught her off guard. It wasn't performative. It was quiet. Real.
She looked between them—one amused, the other unreadable—and exhaled slowly.
"I don't know what I'm in the middle of," she admitted. "But I'm still here. And that counts for something, right?"
Aldrin nodded once. "It does."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
Not quite.
But it was heavy with whatever came next.
Aldrin walked over to the end of the long table, retrieving a manila folder from the matte leather satchel he'd set down earlier. The overhead lights flickered slightly as he returned, laying it in front of Iris with a weight that wasn't just physical.
"Take a look."
She hesitated—only slightly—then flipped it open. Photos. Blurry ones, but damning. A bloodied floor. A shadow of a figure caught on security cam stills. Weapon schematics. Maps. Names.
The further she flipped, the quieter the room got.
"These were collected from the warehouse, Ainsworth's scans, some of Marek's recon," Aldrin explained flatly. "The person he encountered was a former Directive asset. One of ours. Long thought dead. Or... erased."
"A Revenant," Iris murmured, recalling the term Ainsworth had uttered the night before with far too much weight.
"A failed program," Marek interjected. "Or a ghost of one. Depends who you ask."
Aldrin leaned forward now, placing a finger on one of the pages. A data trail. Coordinates, half-burned emails. "We think there's more. Whoever they were working with has been covering tracks for years. And now someone's pulling strings again."
Iris looked up slowly. "Why me?"
"Because you saw it. You were there." Aldrin's voice was calm, almost too calm. "Because Ainsworth trusted you. Because you have a mind built for patterns."
Marek added, "And because no one would expect a quiet analyst to dig into something like this. You're useful."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Aldrin straightened, his eyes colder now. "And if you weren't?"
She looked at him, trying to read the line between threat and truth.
"What would happen if I weren't?" she asked, steady.
He didn't blink. "I'd rather not answer that."
Marek, as usual, tried to lighten the mood. "Don't take it personally. He threatens everyone when he's showing affection."
Iris shut the file slowly, her hands still on the folder.
"So… what happens now?"
Aldrin exhaled through his nose, just short of a sigh. "Now, you work."
Marek clapped his hands once, too loud for the tension in the room. "Welcome to the fun, Ghost Girl."
Aldrin didn't smile. "We find who brought the Revenant back. And we end it."