Melissa slipped out into the corridor and pulled her office door shut behind her. The latch caught with a soft, final click. Inside it, Vincent Vale was still going through the files.
She had left a dead man alone with everything CGI held on Abram Nadez and she had done it without arguing.
Why is he so obsessed with him?
She knew part of it. Abram had been involved in his death, and men who die badly come back carrying the details. But that wasn't the whole of it. There was something underneath, older and heavier, and Vincent had never once offered it to her. The borrowed face had given her nothing but the request and the certainty that the request would be met.
That's his business.
She started walking. The corridor stretched ahead under the same indifferent administrative lighting it had always used. The floor was polished enough to hold her reflection in broken pieces as she moved.
But it's Bram. He's one of the reasons I'm still breathing.
