Office Undercurrents

Monster or human, Monday morning still hits like a slap in the face. Precise and unavoidable.

The private elevator in Wolf Group headquarters ascends so fast it makes your ears pop.

Cold, mirrored metal walls reflect my stiff figure standing beside Sebastian's, like two unrelated statues trapped in a chrome box.

He's wearing a deep charcoal tie today, and the tie clip… it's a wolf's head, snarling, fangs bared.

That family crest motif I saw in his study. Sleek lines, but radiating a primitive, unsettling wildness.

The air in here feels thin as a mountaintop.

Silence.

A suffocating silence.

Until the ding, announcing our arrival at the top floor.

Just as the doors are about to slide open, he moves.

He turns abruptly, his tall frame practically engulfing me in shadow.

Cool fingers, strong and unyielding, clamp onto my chin, forcing my head up.

His eyes—deep, cold, carrying a warning, and something else… calculation.

"Listen, Elara Grant."

He speaks slowly, deliberately, each word frosted with ice.

"In here, you are nothing more than my temporary assistant."

"An ordinary employee, no background, entirely replaceable at a moment's notice."

"Everything that happened on that beach," he pauses, his thumb brushing almost imperceptibly against the skin behind my ear, where the scales from last night faded but left an unnaturally smooth patch, "never happened."

"You are just Elara Grant."

"Understood?"

His breath ghosts across my cheek, carrying the scent of cedarwood and something deeper… predatory.

I lower my eyelids, avoiding his piercing gaze.

"Yes, Sir," my voice is soft, pitched with just the right amount of compliance.

"As you wish."

Hidden inside my sleeve, my fingernails bite savagely into my palm, leaving deep crescent moons.

Just then—

The elevator jolts violently!

Not a huge drop, but enough to throw me off balance, stumbling backward against the wall.

Almost simultaneously, I hear it – an incredibly faint humming sound, seemingly from all around…

Like every single water pipe in this entire skyscraper just vibrated, subtly, in perfect sync with my stumble!

The feeling… is deeply unsettling.

Sebastian frowns, easily keeping his balance, a flicker of wary alertness flashing in his eyes.

He obviously felt the elevator lurch, but seems oblivious to the deeper, water-related tremor.

The doors slide open smoothly.

Revealing the bright, spacious, almost futuristic top-floor executive area.

Employees in crisp business attire move with purpose, the air thick with the smell of expensive coffee and freshly printed documents.

A nerdy-looking guy with black-rimmed glasses, pretending to adjust his tie near the elevator bank, subtly aims his phone at us.

Click.

The soft sound of a camera shutter.

I see him quickly look down, typing furiously, a gleeful, trouble-making smirk on his face.

Almost instantly, the cheap phone Sebastian had someone 'bestow' upon me vibrates in my pocket.

A new message pops up from an anonymous "Wolf Gossip Group".

It's a picture of Sebastian and me stepping out of the elevator, taken from an unflattering low angle that makes me look tiny and subservient beside him.

The caption beneath reads: [Gold Digger's first day! Bet a bag of chips she doesn't last a month?]

Sender: Jack 'Gossip Prince'.

The guy who just took the picture.

Expressionless, I turn off the screen.

A new day begins.

My workstation is tucked away in a relatively isolated corner.

New desk, new computer, but the stares following me are old, filled with scrutiny and undisguised curiosity.

"Elara, is it?"

A voice, sickly sweet and grating, breaks the relative quiet.

I look up.

It's Claire.

Today she's opted for a sharply tailored white pantsuit, making her look like a beautiful, thorny white rose.

Her smile is flawless, plastered on, utterly fake.

She's holding two steaming cups of coffee.

She places one on my desk with practiced elegance.

"Welcome to Wolf Group."

She beams, but her eyes rake over me like a viper sizing up prey.

"I heard at the gala yesterday, you're quite good at..."

She draws out the last word, her red lips curling into a mocking smirk.

"...cleaning?"

She emphasizes the word 'cleaning', dripping with insinuation.

I look at the cup she offered.

It's scalding hot.

The paper cup radiates intense heat.

But near the bottom edge, I see it – a faint, almost invisible trace of fine white powder.

Colorless, odorless, but emitting a… faint, corrosive energy signature.

Something only I can sense.

Some kind of… chemical agent?

Trying to burn me? Disfigure me?

Such a… childishly vicious tactic.

I meet her gaze, offering an equally 'sweet' smile in return.

"Yes, Miss Devereux."

I reach out, taking the searingly hot cup steadily in my hand.

"Especially," I add, letting my gaze pointedly drift over her, "things that are dirty, clingy, and just won't go away."

The instant my fingertips make contact with the paper cup—

An intense coldness radiates from my palm!

Sizzle—!

A barely audible sound, like water hitting a scorching hotplate.

The scalding coffee in my hand solidifies, visibly, instantaneously!

A thick layer of white frost blooms across the cup's surface!

The heat vanishes.

Replaced by a biting, finger-numbing cold!

A piping hot Americano transformed into… an iced Americano? In seconds?

Claire's smile freezes solid.

Shock, then disbelief, flashes across her eyes.

Nearby employees, pretending to work while obviously eavesdropping, gasp audibly.

"Oh, dear!"

A sharp female voice cries out right on cue.

Claire's assistant, Linda, carrying a towering stack of folders, gets "accidentally" bumped by a passing colleague!

WHOOSH—!

Papers fly everywhere!

White A4 sheets scatter like dramatic snowflakes, fluttering down all over the floor near my desk!

"I'm so sorry! So sorry!"

Linda exclaims in mock panic, immediately crouching down to gather them, fumbling clumsily.

But her eyes dart towards me for a split second, carrying a glint of malicious success.

I notice several sheets are labelled "North Sea Area Marine Exploration Preliminary Data Report."

Related to my supposed field of expertise?

Frowning slightly, I also crouch down to help.

My fingertip brushes against the sharp edge of a page filled with complex data charts.

Slice—

Damn paper cut! Surprisingly deep.

A single, bright red drop of blood wells up.

Plop.

It lands precisely on the data report, right onto a dense block of black ink.

And the weirdness continues.

My blood doesn't just smear or clot like normal.

The instant it touches the black ink, it… soaks in! Rapidly!

Then, the ink stained by my blood begins to… change color!

Morphing from deep black into… a strange, deep, shimmering… sea-blue!

The exact shade I saw flash in my own eyes last night!

The blue ink, stark against the white paper, vaguely forms… an outline.

Like… a trident?

My heart lurches!

Quickly, I cover the bleeding spot with my other hand, pretending to inspect the cut, shielding the transformed ink from view.

I look up, gathering papers nonchalantly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Claire standing nearby, casually adjusting her diamond earring.

The facet of the diamond acts like a tiny, perfect mirror.

Reflecting… the exact patch of the document where my blood fell.

She saw it!

She definitely saw the ink turn blue!

And maybe even the faint trident shape!

A flicker of something – startled excitement mixed with confirmation – flashes in her eyes before she schools her features.

They are definitely targeting me!

These files… scattered deliberately!

What secrets were hidden in that faked data?

The chaos subsides quickly.

Linda scurries off with the gathered files, following Claire, casting one last meaningful look back at me.

I return to my seat, facing the unfamiliar interface on the computer screen, feeling overwhelmed.

"Need a hand?"

Jack, from the next cubicle, leans over, his face alight with nosy curiosity.

"Newbie? I'm Jack."

"Thanks, I think I'm okay for now," I reply politely.

He shrugs and retracts, but his eyes keep flicking my way.

Taking a deep breath, I try to get acquainted with the workflow.

The first task involves reviewing the very data report my blood just 'enchanted'.

I force myself to ignore the already-healed, scarless cut on my finger, and the memory of the eerie blue ink.

I focus on the data.

And the more I look, the deeper my frown gets.

This data… it's wrong.

So many inconsistencies… things that just feel… off.

Especially the predictions for the tidal cycles in Sector 7.

They clash with some… vague, almost instinctive knowledge buried deep inside me.

Acting on impulse, I pick up a pen and scribble in the margin: [Predicted cycle needs +13 seconds? Verify.]

Why thirteen seconds?

I have no earthly idea.

The number just popped into my head.

Like… some ancient rhythm connected to the waxing and waning of the moon.

Shaking my head, I read on.

When I get to the seabed mineral distribution map, my heart does that weird skipping thing again!

This map…

Though labelled with modern coordinates, the layout of the supposed mineral deposits… vaguely… matches… fragmented images from my dreams… images of sunken, majestic, ancient temple complexes…

Could it be… Atlantis?

No. Impossible…

I must be stressed, hallucinating.

I shake my head again, trying to clear the absurd thoughts.

I need water. To clear my head.

Picking up the glass water cup from my desk, I head towards the break room.

On the way back, lost in thought, my foot catches on something—

"Ah!"

I yelp, the full glass slipping from my grasp!

Time slows as it arcs through the air, heading straight for the neatly stacked, crucial data files I just finished reviewing!

Gasps erupt around the office.

But the expected deluge doesn't happen.

The water flies through the air in a strange trajectory, most of it splashing onto the desktop.

But just as the spreading puddle reaches the edge of those critical documents, it… it behaves as if hitting an invisible wall!

The water flow splits in a weird way and parts automatically!

It flows around the stack of papers, diverting to either side of the desk!

The documents themselves? Bone dry!

"..."

Another wave of stunned silence descends upon the office.

Everyone stares, wide-eyed, at the impossible phenomenon.

"My god…" Jack mutters nearby, "Talk about lucky!"

"Yeah, that's like… a miracle…" someone else whispers.

Quickly, flustered, I grab paper towels and start mopping up the mess, my heart pounding like a drum.

Was that… my power acting unconsciously again?

I can't control it!

Pretending to be shaken and clumsy, I sit back down. But my peripheral vision catches something—

Linda, Claire's assistant, has reappeared near my desk somehow.

She's holding a brand-new keyboard.

While everyone was distracted by my water-spilling spectacle, she swiftly, stealthily swaps my old keyboard for the new one.

Her movements are practiced, efficient.

And just as she places the new keyboard down, I see her fingertips brush underneath the keys, releasing a tiny puff of… fine, silvery powder.

Silver powder?

What is she trying to do with that?

Later that afternoon.

While I'm still puzzling over the strange silver powder under my new keyboard (it doesn't seem to affect me?) and trying to make sense of the deeply flawed data report—

Sebastian descends upon the office floor like a thundercloud.

His face is dark, radiating a 'do not approach' aura that chills the entire floor.

All employees instantly freeze, heads down, pretending to be intensely busy.

He strides directly to Claire's workstation.

SLAM!

He throws a stack of documents down onto her desk with violent force!

It's the marine exploration data report – the one I'd marked up!

"Claire Devereux."

His voice is low, but resonates with a cold fury that freezes the air.

"Explain."

He stabs a finger at the sections I'd questioned and annotated.

"This data error."

"And this. And this predictive model…"

"How did this piece of garbage," his voice drips with contempt, "end up on my desk?"

The colour drains from Claire's face, leaving it chalky white.

She scrambles to pick up the report, forcing a semblance of calm. "Boss, this might just be—"

"Might?" Sebastian cuts her off, his tone lethal. "If this report had been submitted, do you have any idea the kind of damages we'd be looking at?"

His hand, resting on her desk, trembles slightly with rage.

I see it clearly – his fingernails seem to momentarily lengthen?

Becoming sharper, gleaming wickedly under the office lights!

As he lifts his hand, several deep, distinct scratches are left gouged into the polished surface of her expensive mahogany desk!

Like something with… claws… raked across it!

A collective sharp intake of breath ripples through the office.

Everyone is stunned, terrified by the raw, almost feral energy suddenly radiating from him.

Claire looks like she might faint, her lips trembling, unable to form words.

Just then, Linda, probably trying to deflect the blame from her boss, rushes forward from nearby.

"Boss, it wasn't Miss Claire's fault, maybe, maybe the new assistant—"

She's trying to throw me under the bus!

She hurries past my workstation as she speaks.

As if startled by the sudden accusation and movement, I jump up from my chair, "accidentally" stumbling—

My body bumps hard against Linda!

And my foot, even more "coincidentally," lands squarely, forcefully, on the small plastic vial she'd sneakily placed under my keyboard earlier… the vial containing the silver powder!

CRACK!

A sharp, distinct shattering sound!

The small vial explodes under my heel!

Fine, silvery powder puffs out instantly, like a small metallic cloud!

Most of it coats Linda's trousers and shoes!

"Oh my gosh!" I cry out, stepping back quickly, putting on my best 'I'm so clumsy and horrified' face. "I'm so sorry! So sorry! I-I'm just so clumsy!"

Linda's face turns absolutely white, her eyes wide with sheer terror!

She stares down at the silver powder clinging to her clothes as if she's just been doused in acid!

Sebastian's gaze snaps towards the commotion. It lands on the cloud of silver dust, and his eyes turn instantly glacial.

The look he gives Linda isn't just angry. It's filled with pure, undisguised killing intent.

Linda's knees buckle, she nearly collapses right there.

"Get. Out."

Sebastian grits the words out through clenched teeth.

Linda practically scrambles away, fleeing the scene as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.

Dead silence descends once more upon the office floor.

Sebastian's gaze turns to me. It's complex, unreadable.

He grabs a clean towel from a nearby empty desk – it feels strangely cold, almost icy, like it just came out of a fridge.

He tosses it to me.

"Wipe your hand," he says curtly, indicating the finger I'd cut earlier, the one that healed without a trace.

Is he… covering for me? Or warning me?

I take the icy towel, obediently wipe my finger, then dab nervously at the beads of sweat that have popped up on my forehead from the stress.

The towel is shockingly cold against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

When I lower the towel, I see it—

Where the icy fabric touched my sweat… a thin, crystalline layer has formed… tiny, glittering…

Salt crystals?!

My sweat… it's salty, yes.

But how could normal human sweat precipitate this much visible salt just from contact with a cold towel?!

My body… what is happening to my body?

Ultimately, Sebastian doesn't pursue the data report issue further in public. He issues a stern warning to Claire about oversight and storms back into his office.

The immediate storm seems to have passed, but the undercurrents in the office are now a raging torrent beneath the surface.

I can feel countless eyes watching me secretly.

Claire's. Jack's. Others I haven't identified yet.

Meanwhile, inside Claire's private office.

Linda reports, still trembling, "…The silver powder vial, she crushed it. Most of it got on me. I cleaned it off, I don't think anyone noticed what it really was."

Claire's face is thunderous, her sharp nails tapping impatiently on her desk.

"That Elara… there is definitely something wrong with her!"

She pulls up an encrypted file on her computer.

My background check.

Clean. Too clean.

The only anomaly is the seaside orphanage where I spent my early years.

The records show that around the time I was five, 1999, a rare super-typhoon hit the coast.

The orphanage was severely flooded by seawater.

All paper records from that year and prior – admission forms, medical reports, everything – were completely destroyed, rendered illegible by the saltwater damage.

"1999… typhoon… seawater…"

Claire murmurs the words, a predatory gleam entering her eyes.

"Linda, dig deeper! Find every detail about that specific typhoon! And that orphanage! I want to know everything about her!"

Later that evening, inside Sebastian's locked executive office.

The door clicks shut, sealing us inside.

Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glitters, but the lights do nothing to dispel the heavy atmosphere inside.

Sebastian sits behind his imposing desk, fingers steepled, his gaze sharp as a hawk's, locked entirely on me.

"Elara Grant."

He speaks softly, his voice a low rumble that carries immense pressure.

"Tell me."

He picks up the data report I modified, tapping a specific line I'd corrected.

"How did you know," his eyes bore into mine, "that subtle shifts in the lunar cycle affect geomagnetic activity in specific deep-sea trenches?"

"That theory," he leans forward slightly, "is something our top marine geophysicists are still in the process of verifying."

"How could you possibly know that?"

His stare feels like it could peel back my skin, expose every secret I don't even understand myself.

My heart hammers against my ribs.

I don't know.

I honestly don't know!

The knowledge… it just… surfaced! Like something I'd always known but forgotten!

I open my mouth to try and explain, but my throat is dry, constricted. No sound comes out.

In the midst of this suffocating standoff—

A sudden commotion erupts from the huge, custom-built ecological fish tank in the corner of the office!

Splash! Splash!

Water flies everywhere!

Both Sebastian and I are startled, heads snapping towards the sound!

Inside the tank, the colourful, placid clownfish…

Nemo and his little buddies…

Are going absolutely insane!

Every single one of them… is facing me!

And they are leaping, desperately, repeatedly, trying to jump out of the water!

Thump! Thump!

Their small bodies hit the polished floor outside the tank, flapping uselessly, their bright orange stark against the dark wood, like tiny, frantic distress signals!

They… they want to get to me?!

Why?!