The third floor was different in daylight. Sunlight through the tinted windows cast everything in amber, making the wood panelling glow like old bourbon. This time, there was no wait in the outer office. Eret led her straight to Drago's door.
"Ah, Miss Hofferson." Drago was studying something on a sleek laptop, which he closed with deliberate care. "Please, sit."
She took the same chair as before, noting how Eret positioned himself by the door. Not guarding against her escape, she realized. Guarding against interruptions.
"I heard an interesting story about last night." Drago's voice remained gentle, almost paternal. "About a security camera that could have caused problems."
"Just trying to be thorough, sir."
"Thorough." His lips parted as he tested the word. "Yes, I suppose you were." He opened a drawer and withdrew a manila folder. "You know what I find fascinating about your fighting career, Miss Hofferson?"
The question felt like a trap. "Sir?"
"Not your victories. Your losses." He opened the folder—her actual fight records, she realized, not the cover story version. "Particularly that match in Vegas. The one that ended your career."
Tell the truth about not tapping out, Hiccup had said. But Hiccup hadn't known Drago would have the real footage.
"You were winning," Drago continued. "Until the third round. Then your opponent caught you in an arm bar. The same submission you used yesterday in training, I believe."
She kept her voice steady. "Yes, sir."
"The doctors said you should have tapped out. That continuing to fight caused additional tissue damage." His dark eyes studied her. "But you didn't submit. Even when you heard the arm break. Even when your corner was screaming at you to stop. Why?"
This was the real test, she realized. Not the store last night. This.
"Because," she said carefully, "sometimes winning isn't about who's stronger. It's about who's willing to endure more."
Something flickered in Drago's expression. "And what are you willing to endure, Miss Hofferson?"
"Whatever's necessary."
He nodded, almost to himself. Then he reached into another drawer and withdrew a keycard. The kind that might open a secure room. "Eret tells me you have an eye for details. For spotting... valuable items."
"I try to be observant."
"Good." He slid the keycard across the desk. "Because I have a more interesting project for you. One that requires both thoroughness and... discretion."
She picked up the card. Plain white plastic, no markings. But she remembered Hiccup's words: You need two keys to access it: one physical, one digital.
"You'll be working with our financial team," Drago continued. "Helping to identify... investment opportunities. Like that electronics shop."
"I appreciate the opportunity, sir."
"Don't appreciate it yet." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "First, you need to understand something. This promotion isn't just about your abilities. It's about commitment." He gestured to Eret, who produced a phone—new, expensive. "Your old number won't work anymore. This one is secure. You'll be expected to answer it. Any time. Any place."
She took the phone, Understanding what wasn't being said. They'd own her schedule now. Her availability. Her life.
"One more thing." Drago stood and walked to the window. "That camera last night. The footage you mentioned." He turned back to face her. "It would have shown four people entering a store. Making threats. Destroying property."
"Yes, sir."
"But you suggested taking it anyway. Even though it would have implicated you personally, had I not... personally dissuaded the owner not to make any police report." He studied her face. "That's the kind of loyalty we value here. The willingness to... commit fully to a situation."
To incriminate herself, he meant. To burn her own bridges.
"I understand, sir."
"Good." He gestured to the door. "Eret will show you to your new office. I suggest you take some time to get... comfortable with our systems."
In the hallway, Eret led her past the gym's corporate offices to a section she hadn't seen before. The door required his keycard—different from the one she'd been given, she noted.
"Word of advice?" He paused before swiping. "Whatever you think you know about business? Forget it. The rules are different here."
The door opened to reveal a modern office space. Three people worked at sleek desks, all with multiple monitors. Through another door, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a server room.
That's what got Heather killed, Hiccup had said. The digital key.
"Your desk." Eret pointed to a workstation in the corner. "Take some time and get familiar with the software. You'll have your first assignment tomorrow."
After he left, Astrid studied her new workspace. The monitors showed various financial programs, all requiring passwords she'd be given later. On the desk, a framed photo had appeared—her winning her last amateur title. A reminder of what she'd lost. What they were offering back.
She slipped the keycard into her pocket, feeling its weight. One key down, one to go.
But as she looked around at her new colleagues—all focused on their screens, all carefully not looking at her—she wondered how many of them had started the same way. With a test. A promotion. A chance to be special.
How many, she thought, are still waiting to discover the real price of working for Drago?