The office once thrummed with the polished efficiency of a well-oiled machine, but now, a low-grade tension seeped into every hallway and glass-walled room, buzzing beneath the surface like a faulty current. Lottie strode through the main floor, her heels a measured percussion against the sleek tiles, the sharp click reverberating off the glass panels. Around her, the space had morphed from a place of innovation into a quiet battleground of glances and whispers. Conversations choked mid-sentence when she passed, and the air seemed to thicken, charged with speculation. She felt it on her skin, the sting of gazes grazing across her, the hum of people shifting behind her back, the murmur of names passed from mouth to mouth like contraband.
Inside the sleek command center the team had claimed as their war room, the air was thick with urgency, the smell of overbrewed coffee and ozone from the machines mingling in the chilled air. The blinking red light on the security console threw soft pulses across the polished walls, painting the room in flickers of warning, a heartbeat of muted alarm. Mason leaned casually against the edge of the long table, arms crossed loosely, but his eyes were sharp, restless, tracking Lottie's approach with the alertness of a man who lived on the edge of trouble.
"Half the floor's already split into camps," he murmured, a smirk ghosting across his lips, though his fingers drummed faintly against the table's edge, a counter-rhythm betraying his amusement. "Congratulations—you're officially the gravity point of this place." His voice slipped through the tension like a blade honed to the perfect edge, cutting through the uneasy quiet.
Lottie arched a brow, sliding her folder onto the table with a soft, deliberate thud. The sound snapped the heads of two junior analysts nearby, their nervous glances ricocheting off her calm expression. "I didn't come here to make friends," she murmured, voice cool, laced with quiet steel. Yet her fingers betrayed a faint tension as they brushed over the folder's edge, pressing until the stiff paperboard bit into her skin, grounding her in sensation, a private reminder that even a blade needed something to push against.
Amy hurried in, the door whispering shut behind her with a faint click, tablet clutched tight to her chest. Her cheeks were flushed, and a lock of hair had slipped free from its knot, curling damply against her temple. "We're tracking at least three separate message threads," she said breathlessly, eyes flicking from Mason to Lottie, nerves flickering under her voice. "Evelyn's loyalists are stirring the pot. Rumors, accusations, you name it. And some of the junior staff are… scared." She hesitated, glancing down at the screen, fingers tightening on the edges until her knuckles paled. "They're saying you're planning a purge."
Lottie's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation sliding like a blade along her ribs. "Let them whisper," she said softly, voice cool and clipped, her fingers pressing into the tabletop until faint crescent moons bloomed in her skin. "By the time they realize what's real, it'll be too late." Her voice carried just enough that the nervous intern near the coffee machine flinched and quickly ducked his head.
Adrian slipped in then, his presence folding into the room like a shadow drawn by gravity, the faint scent of clean soap and cool air following in his wake. His gaze swept over the team, sharp and assessing, lingering on the way shoulders tensed, the way conversations hushed and glances darted to the floor. Even the sunlight through the blinds seemed to fracture, slicing the room into thin divisions of loyalty. "This fracture," he murmured low, his voice pitched only for Lottie's ears, "it's deeper than you think. Evelyn isn't just losing; she's rallying. And the damage might last longer than this battle."
For a heartbeat, Lottie let the words settle inside her like the weight of a stone, pressing into the spaces where fatigue had already started to bloom. She felt the raw edges where sleep had been replaced by calculation, where every smile cost more than she could afford. But she lifted her chin, rolled her shoulders back, the whisper of silk at her cuffs brushing her skin, a reminder of the armor she wore. "I'll deal with permanent scars later," she murmured, the corner of her mouth flicking up, eyes glinting with something fierce. "Right now, I need to win."
Leo's voice crackled through the comm, dry and edged with tension, a thread of steel hidden in static. "We intercepted private group chats on Evelyn's side. There's a sabotage attempt brewing. Nothing confirmed yet, but they're emboldened. Watch your back, Hayes."
A thin thread of unease whispered down Lottie's spine, cool as a ghost against her skin. She folded her arms, the movement precise, chin lifting in a slow, deliberate arc. "Keep eyes everywhere," she murmured, the words sliding from her tongue like a blade drawn from its sheath. "I want to know the second they move."
Across the floor, Evelyn moved like a queen in exile, every inch wrapped in polished charm, her smile a flawless curve, her laughter feather-light. But the steel in her eyes was unmistakable, the kind of sharp that left scars. She drifted from cluster to cluster, fingertips brushing against sleeves, murmured reassurances leaving her lips like smoke. Yet beneath the gloss, her foresight was splintering, jagged visions flickering at the edges—Mason's silhouette framed in shadow, Adrian's quiet watchfulness, Lottie's calm gaze cutting through the chaos. A faint tremor coiled through her fingers, hidden beneath a casually lifted champagne glass.
Behind his office glass, Robert watched everything unfold, his fingers steepled under his chin. The faint tick of his watch filled the stillness around him, the muscle at his jaw ticking once, twice, betraying the crackle of unease curling beneath the polished surface. Once the architect of this empire, he now sat at its epicenter as it fractured, the silent tremor of a fault line splitting beneath his feet.
Lottie's team circled the table, the soft scuff of shoes against tile punctuating the restless shift of bodies. Mason leaned in, elbows braced on the table, voice pitched low. "You'll need to balance this carefully. Push too hard, and you'll fracture the floor. Play too soft, and Evelyn will turn the cracks into an avalanche."
Amy, fidgeting with the edge of her tablet, lifted her eyes, voice barely above a whisper. "Some of the assistants… they're scared, Lottie. Not of you. Of picking the wrong side." Her voice wavered at the end, the confession leaving her lips with the faint shiver of someone who knew too well what fear tasted like.
Lottie's heart gave a tight squeeze in her chest, a flicker of guilt sparking like static before resolve surged in its place. She reached out, her fingers curling briefly around Amy's arm, cool skin against warm, a grounding touch. "Tell them they're not the ones I'm after," she murmured, her voice a quiet promise edged in steel. "But tell them to step aside if they're in the line of fire."
Adrian's eyes flicked toward her, a shadow of something unreadable sliding across his face, quick and sharp as a blade's glint. "Cold," he murmured, voice edged with reluctant approval. "But fair."
In a darkened corner office, Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut, the cool bite of the desk's edge digging into her palms. The visions came jagged now, a stuttering rush—Adrian's profile, Mason's smirk, the glint in Lottie's eyes. Her breath hitched, sharp and shallow, nails biting crescents into the lacquered wood. "No," she whispered, the word scraping raw against her throat. "This isn't over." She shoved herself upright, spine snapping straight, and smoothed her hair back with a flick of fingers too tight, too fast. A perfect smile slid into place as she swept into the corridor, the sharp crack of her heels cutting through the hush.
Back in the command center, Leo's voice snapped through the comm, crisp, electric. "Media's picking up the whispers. Stories are running about the 'split at the top.' We're on the edge of a PR mess."
Lottie drew in a slow breath, cool air cutting against the back of her throat, her gaze settling on the pulsing red light. "Let it run," she said, voice soft but edged with something unbreakable. "Let them see we can survive the storm."
Amy caught her gaze, eyes wide, flickering with a mix of fear and fierce loyalty. Her fingers trembled where they clutched the tablet, the faintest tremor betraying the adrenaline threading through her. "You really think we can?"
Lottie's lips curved, slow and deliberate, the smile carved from the marrow of her resolve. "I don't think," she murmured, voice slipping like silk through the air. "I know."
Adrian's phone buzzed once—Leo again. He read the message, jaw tightening, his eyes sharp on Lottie's face. "They're planning something big tomorrow," he murmured, voice pitched low, the words weighted with quiet urgency.
For a moment, everything fell away—the bustle, the whispered updates, the flicker of screens. Lottie's fingers pressed to the edge of the table, the cool metal biting faintly into her skin, her pulse beating a steady drum against her ribs. She could feel the eyes on her, the unspoken questions coiled in the air, waiting.
Her smile was slow, deliberate, razor-edged. "Good," she murmured, voice threaded with anticipation. "Let them come."
And all around her, the office hummed with the quiet, electric knowledge that the next move would decide everything.