Ryan kept his gaze steady and mild, offering no outward sign of the ledger pressing hard against his ribs. Behind Craig's broad, tense frame, the recessed archive door let out a sharp, muffled electronic chime—a brief, high-pitched double-beep signaling that the internal security lock had automatically engaged, permanently sealing off the historical distribution records behind a wall of cold steel. Craig didn't even turn around at the sound; his eyes remained locked on Ryan, his breath shallow as he waited for an explanation that would either clear the department or drag them both down into the audit team's crosshairs.
"I was just looking for the extra toner cartridges for the fourth-floor copier," Ryan said, pitching his voice to the flat, unassuming register of a perpetually tired marketing coordinator. He adjusted the strap of his canvas messenger bag with deliberate slowness, making sure the dense, illicit bulk of the leather-bound ledger remained safely obscured against his side. "Facilities told me the spare inventory was kept in this wing. If the server room is dealing with an audit, I can easily come back later when things settle down."
For a tense moment, Craig simply stared at him, his jaw tight with the stress of a collapsing corporate alibi, before a distant phone chimed down the hall and broke the deadlock. Muttering a sharp curse about upper management, Craig finally dropped his hand from the filing cabinet and stepped aside, gesturing curtly toward the main corridor. Ryan offered a polite, deferential nod, turned on his heel with measured, unhurried steps, and walked back toward the safety of the open-plan marketing pod, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his collarbones as he blended back into the grey hum of the morning routine.