His illusion stared back for a second in the glass as Paul stepped through the door.
Inside, the place was loud and busy. People rushing. Files moving from one desk to another.
Phones ringing nonstop.
He sighed. "Circus busy as usual."
He swiped his card across the scanner. A green light blinked. He walked through the gate, his boots tapping over the white tiles.
Sunlight came in from the large windows, flooding the whole floor.
He reached for his pocket, thinking of calling to make things quicker, but then he saw her.
Coming down the stairs with a huge stack of files in her arms. She could barely see over them.
Her steps were fast and clumsy, almost tripping.
She reached the floor and turned left.
Two guys were standing there, chatting in the middle of the walkway.
She passed them. Stopped. Stepped back one pace. Then kicked one guy in the ankle.
He yelped.
He turned confused, and she was already glaring at him like he was the reason the world sucked today.
Before he could say anything, she shoved the entire pile of files into his chest. One slipped and fell.
The second guy bent down at once to grab it.
She started talking fast, annoyed, telling them what to do with the files. Her tone said she'd explained it ten times already.
Then, mid-rant, her eyes shifted. She saw Paul walking toward her.
She tilted her head once, quick and small, acknowledging him. Then turned back to the two guys and waved them off.
They left immediately.
She faced Paul now. Waiting calmly.
Like she already knew he'd show up.
Paul's eyes settled on her.
Reina. Nineteen, if he remembered right.
Average height, maybe an inch, maybe two shorter than him. White shirt, sleeves folded.
Black pants brushing her ankles.
Black shoes, clean and polished as new.
Round glasses sitting perfectly on her round eyes. Eyes that always carried a hint of curiosity.
Her short hair resting neatly at her neck.
He stopped in front of her.
"How's everything?" he asked.
She gave a small nod. "As you see. Same hassle work as usual."
Paul nodded back, faintly. He was about to speak, but Reina beat him to it.
"So what's this about? I don't think you called me here just to check on me."
Right on point.
"I needed to check some old files," he said, voice flat.
"And what for?" she asked.
"A random case we've been chasing for the past week. Thought I'd find something here."
Reina squinted slightly.
"About that… Hotel? The murder case? Dead body one?"
"Yeah. That one." Same flat tone.
She looked past him. Then back to him.
"Then why call me? You could've just requested access."
Paul lowered his voice. "Yeah, about that…"
He glanced to his right.
A guy walked by closely, probably heard something.Paul waited for him to pass.
Then he continued quietly. "I don't want any official record of me on this. You can do that… right?"
Reina stared at him for a moment. Long enough to show she caught every detail.
"Yeah… I definitely can."
Her eyes dropped, scanning him top to bottom.
Black shoes.Crisp black pants.Formal shirt.
Everything was clean and perfect.
Then she looked back at his face.
"But…"
Reina shifted her weight slightly, the corner of her mouth tightening.
"But…" she repeated, eyes narrowing. "You don't talk like that unless something's off."
Paul didn't react. Just watched her.
Reina crossed her arms.
"So gonna spit? About whatever the fuck is going on?" Her voice carried cautiousness. Like she was stepping onto ice without being sure how thin it was.
"Nothing you need to worry about," he said.
She raised a brow. "That ain't the answer I'm hoping for."
"It's the one I'm giving."
Reina let out a quiet, irritated breath, one she only let out when she knew she wasn't getting more.
"…Fine."
She looked around, people moving, talking, buzzing in every direction. No one was paying attention to them.
Then she leaned in, just a bit.
"I'll let you in. You can look at whatever files you want." Her eyes sharpened. "But I need to know one thing clearly."
Paul waited.
"Are you doing something that's gonna blow back on me?"
"Not unless you want it to."
Reina gave him a long, flat stare. "That's not reassuring."
He shrugged. "Didn't mean it to be."
She exhaled deeply this time, and tilted her head.
"Follow me," she muttered, turning. Her pace quickened, urgency slipping into her stride.
Paul followed behind, hands in pockets, expression unreadable as ever.
They cut through the stage toward the elevator, little away from sunlight. Reina tapped her card.
The secured door beeped and opened.
She glanced back once, then stepped in.
Paul followed.
She hit the button for the fourth floor and leaned against the metal wall.
"So," she said, glancing at him, "how's everything on your end? I haven't met anyone recently."
Paul nodded once. "Same as before. Nothing's changed."
"Sara, Simon, that dickhead Julian?"Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You can at least speak a little."
Paul blinked. His bandaged hand flexed.
"Simon's giving orders without explaining much.
Sara's following him blindly. Julian is… Julian.
And me?"
His eyes met hers. "As you see."
Reina absorbed that.
"And what about him? Anything from his end?" Reina asked.
Paul didn't answer right away.
Silence sat between them, the elevator humming faintly as it moved.
Reina kept waiting, every second started to stretch.
"Nothing," he said finally. "No calls or anything."
Reina looked forward again. Her fingers fidgeted with each other, tapping lightly.
Paul watched her, the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her jaw tightened just a bit.
"…I think I can tell you," he said.
Reina's head snapped toward him. "About what?"
"About why I'm here. And why I need your help."
She blinked, stepped a little closer. "And why's that?"
Paul's gaze drifted away from her face. Her breath brushed his neck from how close she'd stepped.
"He texted me this morning," Paul said calmly. "Told me he needed me to look into some things. Send a short description of the events tied to it."
"But…" Reina's voice trailed off.
"But why do I need your help?" Paul finished for her.
"Because he could've asked anyone directly. They'd give him the same intel. But he asked me. You get what that means?"
Reina said nothing.
"He's doing something messy on his own. He doesn't want higher-ups sniffing around. He wants it clean," Paul continued. "I thought about it, and the best person I can go to is you. And trust me, he'll owe you for helping this time."
"You're lying," Reina snapped quietly. "Alex wouldn't ask for something like this. He doesn't run things off-record."
"You think you know him better than I do?"
Paul finally looked at her gently.
"He said he'd be back in a month. And he'd stay in touch. You know that. But time's almost up and we haven't heard anything. Not a word. Not even his father knows what he's doing out there… or he's pretending he doesn't."
Reina's finger twitched.
"If you want," Paul said, "call anyone about it. Simon, Sara, Julian — anyone. They'll all say the same thing: 'Unreachable.' And after weeks of silence, he messages me for info. You think that's something he wants permanently recorded? Filed? Scripted?"
Paul looked forward again.
"If you still have doubts, call him. And I'm one hundred percent sure he'll pick when you call."
"Alright, alright," Reina said quickly. "I get it. But I'm doing this because I don't want him getting in trouble. Don't get any second ideas, alright?"
"Yeah. Sure." Paul's tone didn't change. "No second Ideas."
The elevator slowed to a stop. The doors slid open with a soft ding.
Paul stepped out first.
"And I'll make sure to mention this to him," he added casually.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Reina muttered, brushing it off as she followed him out.
They walked in silence.Only the echo of their boots stretching down the long hallway.
The ceiling lights washed everything in pale white.
Paul stopped first in front of a locked door.
Reina stopped behind him, sighing softly as she pulled a black access card from her pocket.
She slid it across the reader.
Beep.
Green light.
She glanced at him.
Paul's eyes moved away as if he wasn't looking.
Reina typed the code quickly.
Another beep.
She turned the knob and pushed the door open.
"Here," she said quietly.
Paul gave a small nod and stepped inside.
The room was pitch black.
He reached for the switch by instinct and flicked it.
Lights snapped on one by one, trailing down the ceiling in a slow line until the whole room brightened.
Metal shelves.Black boxes.Rows and rows, stacked tight. All of it quiet and untouched, like he'd walked into the memory-chamber of the world.
Paul stepped further in, eyes scanning the boxes without touching them.
Then he turned back to the door.
Reina was still standing there, shoulder against the frame, watching him like she was trying to figure out something he hadn't said out loud.
"You look tired," Paul said calmly.
She didn't answer.
"I think you should rest," he added, voice steady. "How about we meet later? I'll catch you at that restaurant down the street."
Reina looked at her watch.
Her stomach growled so faintly she hoped he didn't hear.
"Don't take long," she muttered.
"Yeah," he said. "I won't. I'll close everything once I'm done."
She gave one last nod and finally turned away, footsteps fading down the hall as the door slowly shut behind her.
Paul walked deeper into the room, footsteps soft against the tiles.
Eyes scanning. Shelves stretching left and right.
"Neomar… where is it?"
Another step. Another row. Then he stopped.
A metal shelf with a thin white tag hanging crooked at the top:
NEOMAR
He reached for one of the middle boxes, dragged it halfway out, set it on the nearest table.
Dust lifted. He flipped the lid.
Files stacked tight.
2007 — murder.
He slid it aside.
2007 — theft.
Not it.
His fingers flipped through the collection, brushing paper, searching for the missing piece.
2009 — warehouse attack.
He pulled it, opening it.
A half-page report. Sloppy handwriting.
A few attached blurry photos, broken crates, a rusted gate halfway torn off, someone's bootprint in oil.
Appeared old and random. Paul closed it, slid it back into place.
Another file.
Another irrelevant case.
Another dead end.
He moved faster.
Page.
Flip.
Close.
Page.
Flip.
Close.
His breath slipped out quietly.
"This'll take ages at this rate."
He glanced up. White lights washed his face.
He remembered Roman's expression from earlier. Pale, twitchy, ready to break.
"Guy was scared way too fast… their connection wasn't that deep."
His gaze lowered again. Stopped at the top row.
Higher boxes. Newer ones.
He reached up, pulled one down, set it gently on the floor.Dropped to his knees.
He opened it.
2018
2020
Another 2020
2023
There.
He pulled out the 2023 file. Then another one with the same year stamp. Sat down on the floor, back leaning against the metal shelf.
"This could be it."
He opened the first file.
Censored shipments. Redacted supplier lists.
A schedule with half the dates scratched out.
A signature he didn't recognize.
"Who even wrote this crap?"
He closed it. Opened the second.
A photo slipped out. Fell onto his lap.
A man. Early twenties. Loose hair. Grey jacket.
Standing near a cargo truck.
"Hm… I've seen this guy once."
His finger tapped the name printed under the picture.
"…maybe not. But the name… yeah. Rings a bell."
He skimmed the pages. Brief mission reports.
Cleanup orders in the port district. A few pages marked confidential.
His hand stopped on the last two sheets. A crooked smile pushed onto his face.
Found it.
He slid those two pages out. Folded them neatly.
Tucked them into his pocket.
The two files went back into the box. The box returned to the shelf exactly where it was. No one saw anything.
He stood. Brushed his pants and walked to the switch by the door.Lights shut off one by one behind him.
Paul stepped out and pulled the door closed.
Beep.
Red light.