The Heart System

She hit the button for the ground floor. We stood there listening to the elevator's cheap music—some royalty-free jazz that felt like it wanted to die. Amelia fixed her hair in the mirror. Her glasses sat perfectly on her face, sharp and neat. Her pencil skirt hugged her hips so tight it was almost unfair, and her white shirt looked like it was giving everything it had to keep her chest contained.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned. Emilia, the mole, the missing phone—none of it was letting me sleep.

"So," Amelia spoke up, still staring at the mirror. "What's your take on the mole? Any theories?"

"No idea," I muttered. "I just hope we catch them before everything goes to shit."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Same here."

The doors opened. She stepped out, gave a short little nod, and headed toward the lobby exit. I turned right and walked toward the security office.

Camera hanging above? Good. That one's pointed straight at the door. Whoever went in would be on that feed.

Adam pushed himself off the wall when he saw me coming, hands resting on his belt like he was posing for a poster. "Evan, right? Ms. Nolin told me you'd be dropping by."

"Yep."

"Alright. Come in. I'll get you started on the cameras. I'd stay with you, but I've still got rounds."

"That's fine."

He scanned his card and opened the door.

The security room was trying its best to look professional, but it wasn't winning. On the left, a large desk sat under three monitors—live feeds, recordings, software, all crammed together. A half-eaten cup of instant noodles was glued to the desk with dried sauce. A fork still stuck out like a flag. A walkie-talkie buzzed faintly next to a notebook full of messy handwriting.

On the right side of the room was a tiny bathroom. The door was open enough to see a dripping sink leaking into a stained floor tile. The single stall door was shut. A mop bucket sat in the corner like it had given up on life, and an old ladder was leaned against the wall.

The whole room smelled like the inside of a cheap microwave.

Adam pointed at the largest monitor. "Footage is here. Camera fifteen faces this hallway."

"Where are the phones stored?" I asked.

"Under the desk."

"Under?"

I crouched and stared at two wide plastic storage tubs. Blue and red. Industrial-style. Phones stacked inside like bricks. Hundreds. Each with stickers or tape labeling the owner. My own phone sat right on the top of the red crate, tempting as hell.

Adam sat at the computer and clicked through menus until the hallway feed appeared.

"There." He pushed the chair toward me. "Rewind, fast-forward, jump through timestamps—everything's on the bottom bar. Pretty straightforward. If you need me, I'll be outside."

"Got it."

He nodded once and stepped out.

I slid into the chair, cracked my knuckles, grabbed the mouse, and dragged the timeline all the way back to early morning.

The screen flickered with grey hallway frames.

"Alright," I muttered. "Let's see what the hell you did… you sneaky piece of shit."

I rewound the footage and let it run from nine in the morning. The screen showed the usual company flow—people walking past the hall, some leaving, some arriving. A woman slipped near the elevators and Adam helped her up. Nothing looked strange.

I sped the footage up. If someone went into the security room, it would be obvious. Nine-thirty… nine-fifty… ten. No one even glanced at the door. Adam came in once to count the phones, then left. That was it.

"Did I miss something?" I muttered.

I rewound and watched again, slower this time. Same result. Nobody entered. No suspicious movement. No one hovering around the door. It looked like a completely normal morning.

Alright… maybe Adam counted wrong?

I pulled the crates out and counted the phones myself. It took a little while, but I made sure each one was accounted for. When I reached the last phone, I blinked.

One-fifty-four. Exactly what the number should be.

But Nala said Adam counted one-fifty-three.

"Okay… so he screwed up," I muttered.

Just as I reached to push the crates back under the desk, I heard a soft creak. Not loud, but enough to freeze me for a second. It came from the bathroom.

The stall door had been closed when I came in. Now it was open.

I tensed and walked toward it. Before I even got close, someone shot out from behind the bathroom door and drove their fist straight into my face. My ears rang, my vision shook, and the guy sprinted for the exit.

Adrenaline kicked in instantly. I stumbled once, then ran after him.

"STOP HIM!" I yelled. "HE'S THE MOLE!"

Adam jumped so hard his hand hit his walkie-talkie. The culprit barreled past him, practically pushing him into the wall. I kept chasing, my boots slapping the floor hard as we hit the main corridor.

The guy rushed through the double doors toward the stairwell. He didn't look back. I followed him through the stairwell door and down the steps. He was fast—jumping two at a time. When he hit the last few stairs, he leaped the rest and landed awkwardly but kept running.

I tried to do the same, slipped on the icy water dragged in from boots earlier, and crashed on my side. The pain hit my elbow and hip, but I forced myself up right away and kept going.

He cut between the parked cars, his long coat snapping behind him in the wind. The snow on the asphalt was thin enough to slip on but thick enough to slow me down. I stayed three steps behind him, close enough to make out the cap pulled low on his forehead, the sunglasses hiding half his face, and the neck gaiter covering his jaw.

"Stop!" I yelled, breath already burning my chest. "You fucking rat!"

"Leave me alone!" he shouted back, voice muffled and panicked.

He squeezed between two vans. I followed the same path and clipped my shoulder against one of the mirrors hard enough to sting. He didn't slow down. Once he reached the far edge of the parking lot, he leaped over a low metal fence that separated the lot from the sidewalk. He stumbled on landing, boots skidding across the icy concrete, but he recovered instantly and kept sprinting.

I vaulted the fence right after him and landed better, but he'd already widened the gap again.

The sidewalk in front of TechForge wasn't crowded—most workers were inside. The street was a two-lane road with patches of dirty snow pushed to the curbs. Cars and buses rolled by slowly, their tires hissing in the slush.

He ran for the crosswalk without stopping. A taxi screeched as he bolted right in front of it. I had to slow down or get sent flying over the hood.

He darted into the closest alley.

I followed the trail of footprints stamped into the snow. The alley was narrow, the walls on both sides tagged with old graffiti. Dumpsters lined the left side, overflowing with cardboard and half-frozen trash bags. A few wooden pallets were stacked by a back door, covered with icicles hanging like teeth.

The smell of wet garbage and cold metal filled the space.

At the end of the alley was a brick wall—maybe ten or twelve feet high. A dead end. And the culprit was there, looking for an escape.

For a second I thought I had him cornered.

I pushed harder, boots slipping a little. "Got you now—"

Instead of panicking and backing up, he grabbed hold of a rusted metal ladder bolted to the right wall. I hadn't even noticed it at first. The ladder rattled like it was going to fall apart, but he climbed anyway. His boots hit the rungs fast, almost frantic.

I lunged and reached for his ankle. My fingers brushed the fabric of his pant leg.

He kicked down wildly.

His heel slammed into my forearm. Pain shot up to my elbow, enough to throw me off balance. I lost the grip I barely had.

He reached the top and pulled himself over the roof edge, disappearing from sight.

"Shit—"

I grabbed the ladder and tested a rung. It wobbled under just the pressure of my foot. The bolts were loose, rust creeping around the edges. If I climbed at full speed, the whole thing might rip straight out of the brick.

I cursed under my breath and climbed anyway—but slower. Careful. And that hesitation cost me his lead completely.

By the time I was halfway up, the rooftop was silent. No footsteps. No shadow passing by. He was already gone—maybe jumped to another building, maybe hid behind one of the air vents. Either way, I wasn't catching him now.

I exhaled hard, muscles tight with frustration, and stepped back down onto the wet pavement.

Steam drifted from my breath into the cold air. My heartbeat thudded in my ears. A dull ache throbbed across my cheek where he punched me earlier, and my arm pulsed with the pain of the kick.

The alley was quiet again. The only sounds were the dripping of melting icicles, the distant hum of traffic, and a garbage truck far down the street.

I stared at the wall he climbed and rubbed my jaw.

"Son of a…"

I kicked the side of a dumpster. The metal clanged loudly, echoing between the walls. Snow slid off the lid and smacked the ground in a wet heap.

The irritation settled deep in my gut. The bastard got away. Out of the building, past us, into the streets, and gone.

The mole escaped right from under my nose. No name. No face. No clue. Just a fading trail of footprints in the snow… and a headache that was getting worse by the second.

I pushed myself back toward the main street, breathing through the cold stabbing at my lungs. My jaw hurt from the punch, my ribs ached from slipping in the snow, and the worst part? I had nothing. No face, no ID, no clue who the asshole was.

Cars rolled past, headlights slicing through the falling snow. People hurried by, collars up, boots crunching. I scanned for anyone I could stop.

A woman in a beige coat was about to pass me, holding her phone in one hand. Perfect.

"Hey—sorry," I said, stepping toward her. "Can I borrow your phone for a moment? I really need to call someone. It's urgent."

She flinched a little but nodded. "Uh… sure. Here."

"Thank you." I grabbed the phone carefully and typed Nala's number.

It rang a few seconds. My heart hammered like it wanted out of my chest.

Then she picked up.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Nala! Lock the whole place down," I said immediately. "Right now. Count who's in the company one by one. Whoever is missing is the mole."

"Evan? What—what's happening?"

"He was hiding in the security room," I said, still panting. "He got away. Just do what I told you, okay? Lock everything down. I'll come to the company in a few minutes."

"Alright," she breathed out. "O-o-okay. Are you okay?"

"Yeah… kinda." I wiped the snow off my jacket, shaking my head. "Don't worry. Just do it."

"Okay. Come back safely, Evan."

"Yeah. I'll try." I handed the phone back to the woman and muttered, "Thanks," then turned and started walking.

Fucking hell… what a mess.

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