Chapter 2
1192 Words
A Face in the Crowd-
Morning came too soon. Lisa barely slept, her thoughts spinning like the city’s restless heartbeat below her window. She dreamt of numbers—rows and columns that twisted into shadows, into eyes watching her from behind glass walls.
By the time her alarm went off, she was already awake.
The coffee tasted bitter, but she drank it anyway. A small armor for another day of pretending everything was fine. She tucked the flash drive into a hollowed-out perfume bottle—a trick she’d seen in a thriller once—and slipped it into her purse.
When she reached Dawson & Co., the office buzzed with the sterile rhythm of corporate life. Phones rang, printers hummed, and somewhere, a secretary laughed too loudly. Nothing about it looked dangerous. And yet, Lisa couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking through a minefield.
Maya stopped by her desk. “Hey, early again. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Lisa said, forcing a smile. “Just trying to stay ahead of the chaos.”
Maya grinned. “Ambitious as ever. Coffee later?”
“Maybe.”
The word “maybe” hung between them like a small, fragile truth.
Lisa watched her friend leave, then turned to her computer. She wanted to act normal—but a sliver of instinct whispered: don’t log in yet.
She hesitated, staring at the black screen. Then she noticed something small—a yellow sticky note on her keyboard.
Nice presentation yesterday. Be careful what you dig for.
No signature. No handwriting she recognized.
Her pulse kicked hard.
She crumpled the note, stuffed it into her pocket, and looked around. The open-plan office suddenly felt too exposed, too bright.
At lunch, she fled the building. The wind on Fifth Avenue was sharp and alive. She walked until the pressure in her chest began to ease.
That’s when she saw him.
At first, he was just another face behind a camera—a man standing across the street, capturing shots of the skyline. But when his lens turned her way, she froze.
The camera clicked. Once. Twice.
Lisa frowned. She crossed the street, heart pounding faster with each step. “Excuse me,” she called out.
The man lowered his camera, surprised. He was tall, maybe mid-thirties, wearing a navy jacket and an expression that was both calm and unreadable. “Yeah?”
“Were you taking my picture?”
He blinked. “No. I was shooting the building behind you.”
“Really? Because it looked like—”
He smiled faintly. “If I wanted your picture, I’d ask first.”
Lisa studied him. There was something about his voice—steady but rough-edged, like he’d learned calm the hard way.
She sighed, suddenly feeling foolish. “Sorry. It’s been a weird day.”
“No offense taken.” He slung the camera over his shoulder. “You look like someone who carries too much on her mind.”
Lisa almost laughed. “You get that from behind a lens?”
“Perspective helps.” He extended a hand. “Andrew Carter.”
She hesitated, then shook it. “Lisa.”
“Nice to meet you, Lisa. You from Dawson & Co.?”
Her stomach tightened. “How do you know that?”
He nodded toward the badge clipped to her blazer. “It’s printed right there.”
“Oh. Right.” She exhaled. “Sorry, I’m—like I said, weird day.”
Andrew tilted his head. “Then maybe you shouldn’t spend it alone. Ever been to Delancey Market? Great street tacos, terrible music.”
Lisa blinked at the invitation. “Are you asking me out, Mr. Photographer?”
He smiled—real this time. “Just asking you to eat something that isn’t from a vending machine.”
She hesitated, the practical part of her brain already screaming no. But another part—the one tired of secrets and quiet panic—answered before she could stop it.
“Sure. Why not.”
Delancey Market was a chaos of color and sound—vendors shouting, grills sizzling, laughter spilling through the air. Lisa couldn’t remember the last time she’d been somewhere that felt this alive.
Andrew handed her a taco wrapped in foil. “You strike me as someone who eats in front of a screen.”
“Guilty,” she said. “Deadlines don’t respect lunch breaks.”
He grinned. “I used to work in finance. I get it.”
Lisa looked up, surprised. “You did?”
“Yeah. Briefly. Then I realized I hated ties and loved daylight.”
She laughed—a small, genuine sound that felt strange on her lips. “So you just… quit?”
“Pretty much. Bought a camera, hit the road, never looked back.”
“Sounds freeing.”
“It was. Until I realized freedom’s just another kind of weight.”
Lisa studied him. There was truth behind his words, something unspoken. “What kind of photography do you do?”
“Investigative,” he said. “Sometimes freelance for papers. Sometimes… for myself.”
“For yourself?”
He shrugged. “Some stories can't be contained on paper
For a moment, neither spoke. The city moved around them—music, laughter, sirens—but they were still.
Then Andrew’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, frowning. “Sorry. Work.”
Lisa watched as he read the message, his face tightening almost imperceptibly.
When he looked back at her, his expression was composed, but his eyes weren’t. “It was nice meeting you, Lisa. Stay safe, yeah?”
She frowned. “Why does everyone keep repeating that today”
Andrew hesitated, then smiled softly. “Because you look like you just stepped into something bigger than you think.”
He walked away before she could respond.
Back at the office, Lisa replayed the conversation in her mind. Investigative photography. Stories too big for print.
It sounded ridiculous—like something out of a movie. But when she sat at her desk and saw the faint reflection of her own face on her dark monitor screen, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t entirely wrong.
She powered on her computer. The system booted slowly, too slowly. Then, before she could touch the keyboard, a message appeared on the screen:
“We need to talk. Don’t trust Porter.”
Her pulse spiked.
She looked around the office—rows of people typing, talking, completely unaware. She turned back to the screen. The message vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Lisa’s hands trembled as she reached for her purse. Her fingers brushed the flash drive hidden inside.
For the first time in her life, the safe, predictable rhythm of numbers had turned into a code she couldn’t read.
And somewhere, blocks away, Andrew Carter was sitting in a café, pulling up the same data set she had hidden—her file. The one that wasn’t supposed to exist.
He stared at the screen, expression grim. “Lisa Monroe,” he murmured. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
- Writer
