BETWEEN THE LINES
1019 Words
Ava dreamt of water.
Dark. Cold. Endless.
Her father sinking into it with outstretched hands, mouthing words she couldn’t hear. Damien stood on the shore, arms crossed, watching.
She woke up gasping.
Her sheets tangled. Her heart pounding. Her body sticky with sweat despite the cold air pouring in from the cracked window.
Don’t let her repeat my mistake.
That warning lived in her bones now.
By 8 a.m., she was back inside Velvet’s Paris headquarters, the top floor of an unlisted building whose lobby displayed no name.
The security was clinical: retinal scans, heartbeat rhythm detection, biometric locks that recognized scent, not just skin.
Every detail whispered one truth; you don’t leave Velvet unless Velvet lets you.
Damien hadn’t arrived yet.
So Ava was ushered to a smaller war room, dim and silent, filled with touch screens and curved desks. The place felt like a submarine designed by a sadist.
Elyse entered moments later, her usual black suit replaced with charcoal leather.
“Luxembourg decrypted,” Ava said, voice steady. “There were traces. Someone used shell companies to move funds through compromised banks. I flagged three names.”
“You cross-checked them with the Athens project?”
“Yes.”
Elyse paused, then nodded slowly. “You’re fast.”
Ava didn’t smile.
Fast wasn’t the compliment it used to be.
Not here.
Not when everything she uncovered led deeper into shadows she hadn’t even known existed.
“Damien will want a full report,” Elyse said. “Be ready by noon.”
“And if I’m not?”
Elyse’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Then don’t be late.”
The office Damien had assigned her wasn’t much; glass walls, a single long desk, and an AI-powered assistant named VAL who responded only to voice.
Ava locked the door, sat at the terminal, and slipped on the secure headset.
The files came to life around her like ghosts.
Maps. Bank logs. Redacted memos. Surveillance photos.
Everything Ava had accessed was now categorized into a folder labeled SILK_06;the codename assigned to her.
A new folder blinked to life.
She hadn’t opened anything.
Ava’s heart stuttered.
Inside the folder: a photo of her.
Taken last night. Through her apartment window.
She clicked on it, and a message appeared:
“You’re being watched. He’s not who you think. Neither was your father.”
Ava sat frozen.
The timestamp was minutes after Damien had left her apartment.
Not who you think.
Her father?
Damien?
Both?
She ran a trace on the metadata. Whoever sent it knew how to cover their tracks. No IP. No source ID. Not even VAL could decipher the encryption used.
But the message was clear.
Someone inside Velvet had their eye on her.
And they were trying to turn her against Damien.
Or… warn her.
Damien arrived just after noon.
Sharp in a tailored navy suit. Colder than usual.
He said nothing as he entered the war room, simply gestured for her to sit.
Ava slid the tablet toward him.
“Three shell companies, all with ties to disbanded data banks in Prague, Luxembourg, and Beirut. Whoever’s rerouting Velvet’s funds is using dead infrastructure. This is intentional misdirection.”
He glanced at the file, then up at her.
“And you think it’s internal.”
“I don’t think,” she said calmly. “I know.”
His eyes narrowed.
“And you have proof?”
She hesitated.
This was the moment. She could mention the message. The surveillance photo.
But doing that would tip her hand and whoever sent it had known enough to reach her privately.
For now, she needed leverage. Not exposure.
“I traced a signature back to one of Velvet’s silent investors. Luc Martel.”
Damien’s jaw tightened.
“Martel is untouchable.”
“No one’s untouchable.”
He leaned forward. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Ava.”
She didn’t blink. “Then maybe I’m finally learning the rules.”
After the briefing, Ava stepped outside for air. The rooftop terrace was cold and mostly deserted, save for a barista prepping espresso for someone richer than God.
She wrapped her arms around herself, her mind spinning.
Her father had lied. Or half-told truths.
Damien had secrets. Possibly motives she hadn’t scratched.
And someone inside this fortress of information was sending her warnings in the dark.
She stared out over Paris, over centuries of stone and secrets.
There was no safe place here. Not anymore.
She was no longer just a strategist or a daughter.
She was a pawn.
No.
A piece.
And the board was shifting beneath her feet.
That night, she stayed late.
Most of the staff had gone, but Damien was still somewhere inside the building, locked in a meeting that Elyse described as “need-to-know.”
Ava took the opportunity to probe deeper into the SILK_06 folder.
She decrypted the next hidden layer using a pattern her father used to teach her at night, as a bedtime game; prime numbers in Fibonacci sequence.
The screen flickered.
A recording played.
Her father’s voice.
Static-ridden. Cut in places.
“Velvet is more than a network. It’s a machine built on prediction, control, and the illusion of choice. They believe in designed chaos. They don’t follow the world. They steer it. And if you’re hearing this, Ava… it means I failed. It means you’re inside. God help you.”
The video cut out.
Ava stared at the blank screen.
No tears came.
Not yet.
Only resolve.
Damien wasn’t the architect. Not fully.
But he was complicit.
And now, Ava knew what she had to do.
Not survive Velvet.
Expose it.
She left the building just before midnight.
Not through the front.
Through a back maintenance corridor marked for “sanitation drones.”
Her phone vibrated as she stepped into the alley behind Velvet HQ.
No caller ID.
Just a text:
“We need to meet. One hour. Pont Neuf. Come alone.”
She stared at the message.
Cold air pressed into her lungs.
Whoever was sending the signals wasn’t done.
And if they had the answers…
She was done waiting.
- Writer
