Return to Routine
532 Words
The next day started like any normal morning, Aveline stepped into the sleek glass building with her ID badge clipped, her blouse neatly tucked, and her hair swept into a low knot.
Polished. Collected.
Professional.
But beneath the calm exterior, she felt off-balance — not shaken, just… aware.
The scent of bitter espresso drifted from the lobby café. The same security guard nodded her in. Her heels echoed the same way on the marble floor. Everything was the same.
Except her.
She reached her desk, tucked behind the archives and strategic intelligence wing — deliberately quiet. She liked it that way. It kept questions away.
Just as she settled in, her monitor pinged.
"Conference Room 4. Immediately."
No sender name.
Her pulse ticked faster, but she rose smoothly.
She knew who was behind it.
When she entered the room,
It was Langford — her immediate superior and handler.
He didn’t look up from the tablet in his hand. “You were seen.”
Aveline crossed her arms. “It was brief.”
Langford glanced up. “Cade Langston doesn’t do brief. He remembers everything. You weren’t invisible, you were… interesting.”
She tilted her head. “Is that a problem?”
He leaned forward. “It is if you make him curious before we’re ready. Your job is to blend in. Not to glitter.”
Aveline’s expression didn’t shift, but the air around her did. Colder.
“Understood.”
Langford handed her a manila folder. “He’ll be at the Langston Foundation gala in two nights. We’re shifting timelines. You’ll attend as a media liaison under a new alias. Make him trust you. Make him talk.”
She took the folder, fingers firm. “And if he doesn’t?”
Langford looked her dead in the eye.
“Then make him want to.”
"Two days later"
prepared for the night Aveline looked at the gown she's to wear to the event .
The gown hung in soft shadow, blood-red satin folding like liquid over its hanger. It wasn’t her.
But it would be.
Aveline stood in front of the mirror again — not as herself, not entirely.
Tonight she would become Lena Marceau, a freelance journalist and rising star in the art and philanthropy circuit.
Lena laughed too easily. Lena wore heels higher than her fears. Lena leaned into secrets like they were silk-lined sins
Aveline hated her already.
She opened the folder Langford had given her, flipping through the thin dossier of her alias. Credentials. Press card. Social media profiles. A few quotes and interviews fabricated but convincing. A whole digital life wrapped in perfectly placed lies.
She memorized them quickly.
Name: Lena Marceau
Origin: Montreal, but schooled in France
Profession: Art and philanthropy correspondent for The Civic Review
Reason for attending: Covering elite charity donors and influential board members
Aveline clipped on earrings shaped like thorns.
Fitted the gown.
Lined her lips with a wine-red pencil and stepped into danger like it was a pair of stilettos.
She paused only once — staring into the mirror before she left.
"Remember," she whispered to her reflection.
“He’s not the man. He’s the mission.”
But her reflection didn’t believe her.
- Writer
