Camille vanished. No calls. No pings. No cryptic tweets about elevation or disruption or “the feminine rise of tech power.” Just...gone. Like she’d melted through the floor the moment the boardroom lights dimmed. Ezra too. His access badge deactivated, his desk cleared out like he’d never touched our network or stared at me with those too-calm eyes.
HR acted confused. IT acted confused. The building security logs, however, were not confused. Last entry: Camille Greer and Ezra Carmichael—timestamped five minutes before Ryan slammed the boardroom door behind him. Direction: basement exit. Destination: redacted.
Scarlett Farnsworth, meanwhile, was unraveling one curled hair strand at a time.
I barely registered being walked to the car. I think I said something to Ryan. I think he said some
