Elena's POV
When we got to the company, everything looked the same.
The glass doors. The logo. The receptionist pretending she wasn't shocked to see me.
But I felt it.
The shift.
Eyes followed me as we walked in—some curious, some guilty, a few afraid. No one spoke. No one knew what to say to the woman who'd been kidnapped, presumed dead, and now stood like nothing had happened.
Julian's hand touched my back gently, guiding me toward the elevator.
But I didn't press the top floor.
I pressed the basement.
He gave me a look.
"I want to see the records," I said. "Everything from the last six months. Visitors, deliveries, staff rotations—especially night shifts."
"Elena, we already checked—"
"No," I cut him off. "You checked for intrusions. I'm looking for patterns. Familiar names. Hidden links. She had help, Julian. She had access."
The elevator dinged. We stepped into the archives. Cold. Quiet. The hum of servers and lights flickering above.
