Chapter 5: Fine Lines and Fire Alarms
Maya's second day at StoneArc Innovations began with a paper cut, a near-collision with a rolling chair, and a passive aggressive "Welcome Back" mug someone had left on her desk. She didn't remember anyone offering it.
She ignored it.
She was here for information. Answers. Not to sip overpriced coffee and get flustered because her boss had cheekbones sharp enough to file court papers with.
Elijah Grant didn't acknowledge her arrival. Not at first.
He sat at his desk, suited, composed, eyes locked on the screen like it owed him money. Maya lingered at the doorway until he gestured barely to a stack of digital reports.
"You'll help organize those," he said, voice low but clipped. "Tag and sort. Categorize according to internal priority codes. Don't interrupt unless you're on fire."
"Got it," Maya replied, just as flat, just as neutral.
The man barely blinked. No warmth. No eye contact. No charm. And still he was magnetic in the most irritating way.
She sat across from him, eyes skimming unfamiliar files while her other mind stayed alert for names, hints, breadcrumbs. Anything.
Elijah didn't look at her the whole hour. But when she cleared her throat to ask a question, he passed her a sticky note with the answer already written on it.
Efficient, she thought. But why does that feel like a trick?
At Riverside University
Memorial day
The next day morning eliana was greeted with smirks and whispered nods as she crossed campus. She pretended not to notice but her friends noticed everything.
"There she is!" Zara called. "Queen of the Pool Party!"
Nina snapped a selfie with her. "Eliana Grant, breaking ankles and egos!"
"I literally didn't do anything," Eliana muttered.
"Exactly," Zara grinned. "And Savannah managed to humiliate herself trying to make you the joke. That's a talent."
Eliana groaned. "I don't want drama. I just want midterms and peace."
But peace was not a campus currency. Word had spread. Fast.
Jace approached her between lectures, walking with that kind of relaxed confidence that made others get out of the way. "Hey," he said, as casually as someone ordering pizza. "You good? After... you know. The punchbowl incident?"
Eliana gave a tight nod. "All limbs accounted for."
Jace smiled actually smiled and walked with her toward the quad.
From the corridor, Savannah watched with venom in her lashes.
Later that afternoon, as students gathered for a club event near the library steps, Savannah struck. A well timed trip. A deliberate spill. Eliana stumbled.
But Zara caught her elbow. "Oops," she said with a sharp smile. "Clumsy people should wear signs."
Nina followed up. "Or cones."
Savannah's smirk twisted, but before she could snap back, Jace walked up.
"Any problem here?"
"Nope," Zara replied, brushing imaginary lint off Eliana's shoulder. "Just some bugs buzzing."
Savannah looked around but too many eyes were on her now. Jace's gaze stayed fixed on Eliana.
"You alright?" he asked her.
Eliana looked at him, then the crowd, then her sneakers. "Yeah. Just done with insects."
By the next hour, rumors had legs: Eliana and Jace? Are they dating? He totally defended her a girl whispered to her friend
as Savannah walk away awkwardly.
Zara nudged eliana in the dorm hallway. "You're basically a Wattpad chapter."
Eliana snorted. "Great. I always wanted to be fiction."
Nina giggled. "Just give him a green light. Jace looks at you like you're a limited edition."
Eliana shrugged off the pressure. She didn't want complications. She wanted grades. Control. But sometimes... maybe...
No. Not now.
Evening fell. The memorial was quiet.
No visitors. No event. Just three people who remembered someone the world had long forgotten.
Elijah entered the house just before dusk, tie slightly loosened but posture still tight. Eliana arrived moments later. Mariam had already prepared the table.
No one said the word "memorial." They didn't need to.
Elijah stared at the small framed photo for a second too long. Then he set down a candle. "Don't let me forget to take care of the car this week," he murmured to Eliana.
"Already scheduled it," she replied.
They didn't talk about grief. But it sat at the table with them, quiet and steady.
Maya's apartment was too small for secrets and too loud for comfort.
Her upstairs neighbor appeared to be practicing bowling at 9 p.m. sharp. The faucet in her bathroom shrieked when turned too fast. She tossed her keys on the counter and opened her laptop.
You're right thank you for pointing that out. Here's a revised snippet to slot into Maya's apartment scene that clearly and subtly explains why she chose to live in such a modest place, despite being wealthy:
Maya shut her apartment door behind her, deadbolt clicking in place.
The space was minimal and clean intentionally so. She could afford better. Much better. But the tiny, dim apartment in a forgettable building on a forgettable street was perfect camouflage.
Her forged identity wouldn't survive luxury.
No one questioned a low-level assistant living somewhere like this. It kept her under the radar. Anonymous. Safe.
She'd copied a few harmless files onto a flash drive earlier that day. Nothing illegal yet. Just... research. Patterns.
The files were vague. Sanitized. But a few internal tags stood out: "Legacy Access," "Restricted Vault: 89-Delta," and one name she hadn't seen before Alfred Knox. She jotted it down.
Halfway through organizing her notes, her lights flickered.
Then her screen froze.
Then static.
She stared.
The system rebooted itself. Once. Twice.
She slammed the lid shut and looked around.
Nothing. No cameras. No movement. Just a kettle she never used and the bowl of cereal she forgot to eat that morning.
She let out a breath.
"Okay," she muttered. "Don't be paranoid. Not yet."
And still something in the air felt off.
She grabbed a hoodie, double-locked the door, and spent the rest of the night working from a backup phone in her bathtub, just in case.
Great, continuing from where we left off:
She glanced at the screen again.
Still blank.
Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, then slowly backed away. "Not today," she muttered, snapping the laptop shut. Whatever that flicker was it didn't feel accidental.
She moved to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, taking small sips while her mind raced. Knox. That was the only new thread today. A name attached to a project Elijah had signed off on two years ago. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
The walls of her apartment groaned with the shift of old plumbing. She turned on some low music, just enough to mask the silence, then stared out the window.
The city below blinked with lights.
And somewhere in those lights sat a truth she'd promised herself she'd uncover.
Even if it meant deceiving the man she was starting to understand more than she wanted to.