Until the contract ends.

Most people believed Blackwood Tower slept after midnight. They were wrong. The building simply changed its face. By day, the forty-story glass tower stood at the center of the city's business district like a king surveying his kingdom. Expensive cars lined the entrance. Executives hurried through the revolving doors with phones pressed to their ears. Deals worth millions were signed behind polished glass walls, while assistants rushed from one meeting to the next. At night, the noise vanished. The marble floors reflected long strips of white light. Empty offices overlooked a sea of glittering buildings beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The elevators moved only occasionally, carrying the few employees whose jobs existed long after everyone else had gone home. People like Elena Kyarshik. She stepped out of the service elevator, pushing a gray cleaning cart that had seen better days. One wheel squeaked every few seconds, a sound she'd learned to ignore months ago. A yellow mop bucket swayed gently beside neatly folded cloths, bottles of disinfectant, and rolls of fresh trash bags. The digital clock above the elevator read 11:46 P.M. Elena breathed out slowly. "One more floor," she murmured to herself. "Then home." Her voice disappeared into the silent hallway. The executive floor stretched before her, spotless enough that most people would have called it clean already. Elena knew better. There were fingerprints on the glass doors. Dust settling along the edges of framed artwork. A faint coffee stain beneath a conference chair. Things successful people never noticed. Things they expected someone else to erase before sunrise. She adjusted the sleeves of her blue uniform and began her routine. Spray, wipe, polish, move on. The rhythm had become second nature after three years of night shifts. As she cleaned, she absentmindedly straightened a painting hanging slightly crooked on the wall. "There," she whispered with satisfaction. She always fixed crooked things—picture frames, desk calendars, pens lying at odd angles, even chairs that had been pushed back unevenly. She couldn't explain why. She simply liked things where they belonged. Her brother would frequently tease her about being a perfectionist. A warm breeze drifted through the glass corridor from the building's climate system, carrying the faint scent of leather furniture and expensive wood polish. Elena smiled to herself. Rich people even made buildings smell expensive. The thought almost made her laugh. Her sneakers made barely a sound as she crossed the hallway toward the security station. Mr. Jenkins sat behind the desk. Or rather... He slept behind it. His chin rested against his chest, and his reading glasses had slipped halfway down his nose. A half-finished crossword puzzle lay beside him. His paper coffee cup sat dangerously close to the edge of the desk. Elena looked around. No supervisors. No cameras pointed directly at them. Carefully, she lifted the cup just enough to slide a cardboard coaster underneath. She nudged it farther from the edge. "There," she whispered again. "Now you won't have to explain another coffee ring." Mr. Jenkins stirred. One eye opened. "You talking to my coffee again?" he mumbled. Elena jumped before laughing quietly. "I thought you were asleep." "I was." "You still are." The old guard chuckled. "Probably." He rubbed his eyes before noticing the coaster. "You keep saving this old desk." "You keep trying to ruin it." "Habit." "Bad habit." "The only ones I have left." Elena smiled. Mr. Jenkins had worked security longer than she'd worked in the building. Everyone said he was too old for night shifts. Elena thought he was simply lonely. "You heading home after this floor?" he asked. "If I finish before midnight." "You'll catch the last bus." "I hope so." "If you miss it," he said, reaching for his coffee, "I'll drive you." Elena shook her head. "You've offered a hundred times." "And one day you'll finally say yes." She grinned. "Not tonight." "Suit yourself." He took a sip before frowning. "It's cold." "You fell asleep." "I was resting my eyes." "You've been resting them every night this week." He pointed a finger at her. "Don't you start sounding like my daughter." Elena laughed softly as she pushed her cart farther down the hallway. Small conversations like that made the long nights easier. Her phone vibrated inside her pocket. The smile disappeared from her face. She already knew who it would be. The hospital never called this late unless something had changed. She pulled out the aging phone. St. Mary's Cardiac Center For a second, she considered answering. Instead, she watched it ring until the screen went dark. Almost immediately, a message appeared. Please contact Dr. Lawson regarding Ethan Kyarshik's procedure. Elena stared at the words. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She wanted to call back. She wanted to hear someone tell her everything would be fine. Instead, she slipped the phone back into her pocket. If she called now, she'd worry. If she worried, she'd lose focus. If she lost focus... She could lose this job. And this job was paying for Ethan's medicine. Not enough for surgery. But enough to keep him breathing. For now. She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued polishing the glass railing overlooking the city. Forty floors below, headlights flowed through the streets like tiny rivers of light. Somewhere out there, Ethan was probably still awake. He always waited until she got home before sleeping. Not because he couldn't sleep. Because he worried. She remembered leaving the apartment that evening. Ethan had been sitting on the worn-out couch with a blanket around his shoulders, pretending to study biology. "You'll be a doctor before I know it," she'd teased. He'd looked up with a crooked smile. "A heart surgeon." She'd laughed. "That's oddly specific." "So nobody has to wait as long as I did." Those words had followed her all night. He was sixteen. He should have been worrying about exams, football, friends—not whether his heart would last until surgery. Elena blinked quickly. No. Not here. Not now. She'd made herself a promise years ago. She could cry at home. Never at work. She picked up another bottle of cleaner and moved toward the executive offices, determined to finish before midnight. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of tall oak doors. The boardroom. Usually, by this hour, it was dark. Tonight, a thin line of warm light slipped beneath the doors. Elena frowned. That wasn't normal. According to her cleaning schedule, every executive meeting had ended before nine o'clock. She glanced at the clipboard attached to her cart. 40th Floor – Executive Boardroom – Clean and Lock. She sighed. "So much for finishing early." She wheeled her cart closer, expecting to wait outside until whoever remained finally left. Then she heard it. A man's voice. Calm. Controlled. Dangerously calm. "...this never leaves this room." Elena stopped. Her hand tightened around the cart's handle. There were at least five people inside. She could hear chairs shifting across the polished floor. Someone cleared his throat. Another muttered something too low to understand. Elena looked toward the elevators. She should leave. Come back later. It wasn't her business. She took one step backward. Then another sentence drifted through the heavy wooden doors. "The records were forged." Elena froze where she stood. Inside the room, silence fell. The kind of silence that made the air itself feel heavy. Then a second voice—unsteady this time—spoke. "We've already destroyed most of the evidence..." Elena's heartbeat quickened. Whatever meeting this was... It had nothing to do with quarterly profits. And everything to do with something far more dangerous.