The digital clock in the bottom corner of Ryan’s monitor ticked past 15:30, the harsh fluorescent glare of the fourth-floor marketing pod offering little comfort against the heavy, growing weight of the documents tucked inside his canvas bag. Needing a brief escape from the open-plan floor—and wanting to secure his bag out of sight for a moment—Ryan stood up, grabbed the strap, and made his way down the narrow carpeted corridor toward the communal employee lockers near the service elevators. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant hum of a copier and the low murmur of two account managers discussing print deadlines by the water cooler, paying him no mind as he slipped past.
He keyed his combination into his assigned locker, the small metal door swinging open with a faint, familiar squeak to reveal his spare umbrella and a forgotten pair of comfortable walking shoes. But pinned directly to the interior panel of the door was a fresh piece of yellow memo paper, fluttering slightly in the draft. Ryan’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto the sharp, angular handwriting. The brief message was brutally direct: They know you pulled the Alexandria file. Leave the building before shift end or they lock your badge. A cold spike of adrenaline pierced through his fatigue, the proximity of the warning making it horribly clear that whoever was orchestrating the paper trail was standing close enough to watch his every move.
With trembling fingers, Ryan peeled the sticky note from the metal interior, folded it into his palm, and shoved it deep into his pocket alongside the mounting stack of impossible evidence. He slammed the locker door shut with a solid, echoing clack, spun the dial back to zero, and forced his posture to straighten into the familiar, unassuming gait of a tired marketing coordinator. Walking briskly back toward his pod, he prayed his racing heartbeat wouldn't betray him before he could figure out his next move.