Mr E didn't care about Thomas's deductive genius; he saw a way to look good to the Regional Directors by "innovating" a broken department.
"I see," Thomas said, bowing his head. He knew when to stop pushing. If he acted too eagerly for classified data, the "Wolf" would smell the scent of a mole on him. He had to look like a diligent, slightly ambitious D-rank hero, not a man hunting for the world's most dangerous secrets.
"Good," Mr E said, his silver eyes scanning the three juniors: Thomas, the shivering Ramos, and the unnervingly calm Lucy. "Now, it is time to set the first rotation. Your lives for the next seven days are decided."
Thomas glanced at Lucy. She was staring at Mr E with an expression of rapt attention, but her fingers were tapping a strange, irregular rhythm against her thigh. It was a code—or a nervous tic.
Either way, Thomas realised that the race for the Inner Vault had officially begun, and he wasn't the only one at the starting line.
