"Not that I saw."
"Not good enough."
Paul's patience thinned at once. "Then what do you want? A signed witness statement from the moon?"
Philip's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
"No," he said. "I want you to understand that whoever sent that message to your phone knew where we were meeting before we arrived."
That silenced all three of them.
The flickering light above the door buzzed.
Kunle folded his arms. "Right. Excellent. So we are already inside a trap and still choosing to walk farther into it."
Philip reached into his pocket and produced a keycard.
Paul frowned. "You said we'd have to pick the lock."
"I said getting in would be difficult."
"That's not the same thing."
Philip swiped the card. The lock clicked.
Kunle made a face. "I'm sorry. Do all morally ambiguous overachievers carry illegal access now?"
Philip pushed the door open. "Only the organized ones."
The corridor beyond smelled of dust, old paper, and damp plaster.
They stepped inside.
The darkness was not complete; a row of low emergency lights glowed along the skirting boards, enough to show the narrow hallway and the framed signs on the walls. ARCHIVAL SERVICES. RECORDS TRANSFER UNIT. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. The words seemed less like instructions than warnings written by people who knew they would eventually be ignored.
Their footsteps sounded louder than they should have.
Some buildings absorbed sound. This one preserved it.
Paul felt it in his chest with every step.
At the end of the corridor, a steel door stood slightly ajar.
Philip stopped there and turned to them.
"The old scholarship files were moved to Room B seven months ago after a storage leak in the central registry. The personnel records and transfer forms are in the cabinets along the east wall. Most of the newer files are coded by funding source, not student name."
Kunle stared at him. "You have definitely done this before."
Philip didn't answer.
Paul noticed.
It was not proof. But it was not nothing either.
He reached for the handle.
Philip's hand moved first, catching his wrist.
The contact lasted less than a second, but it was enough to spark a sharp, instinctive anger in Paul.
"Don't," Paul said.
Philip released him immediately. "Listen first."
Paul held his gaze.
Philip's voice dropped. "If the message was real, then someone wants us to hesitate around the second cabinet. That could mean the warning is genuine. Or it could mean that's exactly where they want your attention fixed."
Kunle looked between them. "So either don't open it, or definitely open it, or maybe burn the building down."
"Not helpful," Paul muttered.
"Accurate," Kunle replied.
Philip stepped back.
"You choose," he said to Paul.
That irritated him more than if Philip had insisted.
Because choice had become dangerous lately. Choice meant ownership. Responsibility. No one to blame afterward.
Paul looked at the steel door, then at the dim corridor behind them.
Then he pushed the door open.
The records room was colder than the hallway.
Not air conditioned cold. Windowless cold. The kind that clung to metal and paper and never fully left. Filing cabinets lined the walls in tight rows. Boxes were stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling, each marked with faded codes and years. A ceiling fan turned slowly overhead, too weak to be useful, just strong enough to move the smell of old cardboard around the room.
A single desk lamp had been left on near the far wall.
That was the first sign they were not early.
Or alone.
Paul felt Kunle notice it too. He heard the change in his breathing.
Philip moved in first, not cautiously exactly, but with that same unsettling precision that made every action of his seem considered long before it happened.
"There," he said quietly.
Against the eastern wall stood six tall metal cabinets.
The second one was already open.
Not fully.
Just enough to show darkness between the parted doors.
Kunle laughed once under his breath, without humor. "That's never a good sign in films."
"This isn't a film," Paul said.
"Clearly. In films people wear better shoes."
Paul stepped toward the cabinets.
His pulse had become strangely calm, which frightened him more than fear would have. The body should know when it was entering danger. When it didn't, something inside a person had already started changing.
On the labels fixed to the cabinet fronts, black marker had bled into white tape:
PRIVATE ENDOWMENTS
INTERNAL REVIEW
TRANSFERS
SPECIAL CLEARANCE
The second cabinet carried two labels.
The top one, older, almost peeling off:
SCHOLARSHIP BOARD / DISCRETIONARY
The newer one, fixed directly beneath it:
SEALED
Paul stopped breathing for a moment