Chapter Three

Without an audience and wincing at the pinch of my damned dress shoes, I tilted backwards to sit cross-legged instead as I pondered the box. First paycheck, I was absolutely replacing the fucking things, which had only been worn once to a funeral two years ago. I longed to take them off entirely, but I figured wandering around in socks was probably frowned on, especially on one's first day.

With a sigh, I wiggled loose one of the folders, seating the edge in my palm to open it like a book before I caught myself. Right, don't look . Maybe Weaver dealt with highly classified information or something? It seemed unlikely, considering I hadn't been put through the rigors of Human Resources paperwork or a background check yet. Still, I wasn't about to chance a peek: who knew if Anderson had cameras in his office?

After shaking off a particularly tasty daydream about using said theoretical cameras to watch my new boss manually relieve some stress , I mentally smacked myself upside the head and studied the folder again. Was it my imagination, or did the folder look…pink? A glance around the room found no lighting or surfaces that would have given the drab manilla folder a pink cast, but my scan did stop on something else odd. One of the three tall filing cabinets also had a pink cast, which it definitely didn't have earlier. It was extremely faint, more of an overdeveloped photograph sort of aura, practically invisible unless I was looking directly at it.

Getting to my feet slowly, I made my way across the soft carpet and reached for the topmost drawer handle of the "pink" filing cabinet with a frown. Now that I was closer, each of the four drawers had a different intensity of pink hue, almost as if different lights were turned on inside each drawer. The topmost drawer was the darkest pink, with each level fading to a softer version. I let go of the handle and held the folder up, crouching until the colors matched up perfectly on the third drawer. Pushing the opening button with my free hand as I tugged the handle, the drawer opened smoothly on an oiled track, revealing files clearly organized by…brightness? I looked down at the tidy row that grew dimmer towards the back of the drawer, moving the folder in my hand until its glow perfectly aligned with a space in the stack. Tucking it in and wedging it down evenly, a barely audible chime sounded, more impression than actual noise.

Huh.

I straightened, crossing my arms and glancing down at the filing box on the floor a few feet away. It…wasn't glowing. Turning back to the filing cabinets, they were also the same dark wood they'd been when I first entered the office: no pink, no glow at all. What the fuck was going on? Was I hallucinating or something?

I frowned and dragged the impossibly-heavy file box across the carpet to sit in front of the cabinets. Still no glow. I prised loose another folder from the box, and this one glowed…gray? I bent the filing tab gently, not opening the folder exactly, but allowing more of its strange inner light to shine. This one was a darker color, but a brighter intensity than my first folder had been. Almost dreading what I'd find, I winced and peeked at the filing cabinets through one barely-opened eye. The cabinet on the right was definitely glowing an answering gray.

I was confused and a little scared, but I repeated the process in the name of research, locating the drawer and file placement more quickly this time. Another chime, but if the first one had been a happy ding, this one was more of a stern temple bell calling monks in for prayer.

Before I could grab a third folder, voices murmured beyond the office door, drawing my attention. I wouldn't say I was proud of the skill, exactly, but my gossip-loving ears were well-honed from years of eavesdropping at various jobs and parties. I made a show of sitting to rifle through the box again, straining to listen.

Anderson's deep tones were gently cutting off another man mid-sentence. "—and I understand that, Lawson. But you've…been more concerned…defining than observing."

The other speaker had a faster cadence, almost nervous, but emphatic. "Anderson, mine are the…difficult, I'm just saying if…can't?—"

Footfalls echoed in the hallway as another voice piped up, this one warm and, from the sounds of it, in his mid-twenties like me. "He's…more rye…companion, Law. An Argus . Trust…."

I sat up straighter as my last name floated through their conversation, which became suddenly inaudible as a heavy door closed elsewhere in the hallway. Damn . There went my unsettling entertainment. I was pouting at the files in front of me a moment later when the sudden twist of the doorknob made me nearly jump out of my skin. How the hell was a big guy like Anderson so fucking stealthy ? I kept my eyes on the box like it held the secrets to life, determined not to ogle my boss or give away my curiosity that his coworker was casually dropping my last name in their conversation. Yeah, it was on my resume, but what the hell did the guy mean by an Argus?

Anderson stepped in, quietly closing the door behind him and clearing his throat to make his presence known. I appreciated the gesture, even though my heart was still hammering from being spooked. At least it had redirected my bloodflow out of my pants, albeit temporarily.

"Two files already? Well, you've certainly exceeded my expectations, Milo. Excellent job." The praise was like being wrapped in a warm blanket and I was immediately addicted, biting my tongue to hold back a sighed Yes Sir with all the wrong motivations behind it. My serotonin-soaked brain caught up a moment later, reminding me it was literally impossible for him to know at a glance I'd put away exactly two files, unless I'd been right about the cameras.

I rubbed my thumb along the edge of the box as he sank back into his desk chair, opening a folder and reading the contents. I needed this job, and I liked it so far, but something was…off. Too many odd things were scratching at my curiosity, and for better or for worse, I'd been relentless about solving weird issues my entire life.

"Mr. Tropos?" I toyed with the edge of the newest folder I'd pulled, which glowed a yellowish-gold. Okay, so it doesn't matter who's in the room, apparently . My brain was whirring in full on mystery-solving mode, despite the rest of me bracing for an awkward Q-and-A session.

"Hm? I told you, Anderson is fine, Milo. We don't stand on ceremony here." He didn't look up from the folder on his desk, finger tracing a line, his tone distracted.

"How did you know I put away two folders?" I swallowed again, nerves buzzing like a hive of bees. The skin along my forearms suddenly prickled, even though I wasn't cold. A sense of foreboding swept the room like a thick fog, a sensation like staring down into a jagged canyon and knowing how short the fall would really be. I shuddered involuntarily, and the feeling receded like a swift tide, leaving me oddly content.

Anderson pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, closing the folder in front of him. "Ah, dammit. I was hoping to give you more time to acclimate. I don't suppose you'd believe I have cameras in here?"

I smirked, pulling the golden top drawer of the middle cabinet open and sliding the folder into place a few long moments later. "You know Sir, I might have if you hadn't asked me like that."

He answered with a soft huff of humor. "You're too bright for that, Milo. I wouldn't have hired you if you were that gullible. Now, go ahead and ask me what you want to ask me."

A million questions tumbled through my mind, only half of which were inappropriate. Okay, slightly more than half. I played it safe and nodded at the folder on his desk. "What's inside the folders?"