*Author's note: Hello, everyone! First, I'd like to apologize for my long absence. I stepped away from this story because I wasn't sure where to take it, but now that I have a clearer vision, I've decided to rework it for more depth and republish it. I hope you enjoy the new version!

Blume—such a successful enterprise, yet with so many underpaid employees. Unfortunately, I was one of them. Sometimes, I wondered why I hadn't mustered the courage to quit, especially with better offers coming in from translation agencies across California. But it didn't matter; I was stuck here. At this point, I was just waiting for a chance to leave Blume—for good, with no loose ends. But I knew it'd be a long time before that happened.

Staring out of my office window had become more and more mundane with each passing day. It was my third late night this week, the office now nearly empty. While other employees were off doing who-knows-what, I was stuck finalizing "high-priority" Chinese document translations that nobody else wanted to handle. The building was dead quiet except for the occasional footsteps of the security staff patrolling the halls. At least they had the decency to check in on me now and then.

I absentmindedly spun a Blume-branded pen between my fingers, staring at the screen in front of me, its brightness starting to blur my vision. I glanced toward the dark hallway and froze when I heard quick, deliberate footsteps heading my way. I jumped up, knocking my chair over, and reached into my purse until my fingers found the cold steel of my revolver.

With the weapon now gripped firmly in my hand, I slipped out of my office and into the dark corridor. The building, already eerie at this hour, felt even more unsettling. I made my way down the hall, careful to avoid making any noise. But as I reached the corner, the silence was deafening. No footsteps. No guards. Just empty hallways.

Where the hell are they? I thought. Could it be one of them? Or did they go off to investigate too? It definitely wasn't one of the night workers—they'd rather jump ship than come back here for unpaid overtime.

I approached the staircase at the end of the hall, the shadows creeping up the steps. Something large blocked my path—a lump sprawled across the stairs. A weak beam of light—probably a dropped flashlight—highlighted the scene. It was one of the security guards, a massive man crumpled awkwardly. I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. Something was definitely off, but I pushed down my nerves and kept climbing.

A faint glow caught my eye. An office light, barely visible through a sliver in the door, shone dimly ahead. I tightened my grip on the revolver, creeping closer. Each step brought me nearer until I was flush against the wall beside the door. I took a steadying breath.

Get it together, Teagan. You're stronger than this.

Drawing in another deep breath, I turned sharply, weapon raised as I burst through the door.

The light source wasn't an overhead lamp—it was coming from a computer monitor, its screen glowing eerily bright in the dark room. I inched forward, keeping low as I crept closer to the terminal. The soft click-clack of keyboard keys filled the silence. I took another step up, peeking over the edge of the equipment cases to get a better look.

A man—mid-20s, dressed in streetwear that screamed 'unsubtle'—was hunched over the terminal, fingers flying across the keys. I watched him type command after command, the monitor's interface displaying lines of code and system prompts. He seemed to know his way around the setup—no hesitation, no backspacing. He was inside the network, navigating through files like a pro.

I sneaked closer and leaped up behind him, gun aimed directly at his head. "Don't you dare make a move."

He stiffened, then slowly raised his hands, fingers still hovering over the keyboard. He turned, looking over his shoulder with a smirk.

"Damn, girl. Alright, I yield."

"Stay where you are," I ordered, stepping into the room. "One move and I'll splatter your brains all over this place."

"Easy, easy. No need to get violent." He straightened, hands still raised, his expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. "You're gutsy, I'll give you that. But you're way out of your league here."

"Funny, I was just about to say the same to you," I shot back, eyes narrowed. "Now, who are you and what the hell are you doing in my office?"

He dropped his hands slowly, folding them across his chest. "Why don't you tell me, Miss Trigger-happy? I'm not the one breaking in here with a weapon."

"I'm not here for games, asshole." I clicked the safety off, letting the sound punctuate my words. "You've got three seconds to start talking."

"Whoa, whoa," he chuckled softly, raising his hands halfway. "Easy there. I'm just... doing some maintenance work."

"Maintenance, huh?" I glanced at the screen. He had lines of code running—commands accessing employee databases, hidden subdirectories, and backdoor scripts that'd bypass security protocols. It was way too sophisticated for a simple maintenance job.

"Don't insult my intelligence. I know you're hacking into the network. So, what are you looking for?"

He tilted his head, an infuriatingly calm smile on his face. "Nothing important. Just checking on some... sensitive data."

I took a step closer, keeping my gun trained on him. "Sensitive data?"

"Yeah, you know—boring corporate stuff. Tax filings, payroll discrepancies..." He trailed off, watching my expression. "But I get the feeling you know a thing or two about sensitive data, don't you?"

"All I know is that it ain't in your best interest to be cocky right now."

I cocked my gun, feeling the familiar tension in my muscles as I steadied my aim. A single pull of the trigger, and it would all be over. Maybe this was the loophole I needed—maybe using force would be my ticket out of here. But no. This wasn't a loophole; this was reckless. I'd sworn to myself I'd left that part of me behind. Dammit, Foster. You're better than this. There's got to be another way out of Blume.

The man's eyes glinted behind his glasses, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I really wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Shut up. Or you're not walking out of here alive," I shot back, voice low and steady.

He raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking somewhere above my head. "Maybe. But neither are you."

I turned to see where he was looking when a heavy blow slammed into the back of my head, sending my gun skittering across the floor. Pain exploded through my skull, and I gasped as my jaw struck the vinyl. My vision blurred, eyes fluttering shut as the darkness crept in, dragging me toward unconsciousness.