Between Files and Suspicions:

Lucille signed the daily log and let out a restrained sigh.

—Another rookie for the red block… —she muttered, massaging her temples—. The Master has a fascination for collecting exceptions.

On the desk lay the letters of intent that had just arrived. One stood out:

ST Trading — 15% of the lot — $64.75

Lucille picked it up, her smile tilting slightly.

—Too generous… and too well-timed.

With a practiced gesture, she slipped the envelope into her leather briefcase —the one reserved for "private" matters. Then she looked for VostokNeft's proposal, which hours earlier had been the highest bid (15% of the lot at $64.92). It was nowhere to be found. She lowered the lamp's flap; the desk looked pristine again, as if nothing had happened.

At that moment, Eva appeared at the doorway with her notepad.

—Excuse me, Ms. Lucille. I thought everyone had already left.

—Not yet —the secretary replied, shifting her tone to her usual cordial mask—. What do you need?

—I found this percentage chart —said the young woman, showing a sheet where VostokNeft appeared at the top—. I thought maybe the official list needed updating, so I left the corresponding letter on your desk this morning.

Lucille raised an eyebrow; her voice remained pleasant, though a vein at her temple twitched.

—Ah, that. Vostok withdrew before the deadline. The version you have is outdated, dear. The list I manage is the final one.

—Understood —murmured Eva, though a trace of doubt lingered in her eyes. She turned and walked away.

When the door closed, Lucille let out a soft clicking sound, like pulling out a splinter.

—Too nosy for her own good —she whispered.

She locked the briefcase, turned off the lamp, and left the office briskly: there was a gap to cover before the Master started comparing numbers.

Privilege Manual

The red block hallway slept under an amber gloom when Veronika ventured out of her room. In one hand she held a small booklet bound in gray cardboard:

Rules and Benefits for Distinctive Staff — Red Block.

It had been slipped to her discreetly by a fellow red-ribbon girl, who only whispered, "Read it away from the halls; some parts aren't in the official version." Curious and suspicious, Veronika headed to the only place that guaranteed silence: the east wing, where metal filing cabinets smelled of old rust and faded ink.

The list of "assignable products" was peculiar: French soaps, low-dose sedatives, imported preserves, even a supposed vitamin tonic reserved for officers. "A stimulant to keep morale up… and obedience in check," she thought with a sarcastic smirk. Every item came with a code and required the Master's signature for approval.

—So our "privileges" have inventory numbers —she murmured, flipping through it—. How philanthropic of him.

Collision at the Cabinets

It was around midnight when she turned a dim corner and literally bumped into someone —filing cabinets toppled over Veronika.

—For the love of—! —Veronika stepped back, clutching the manual to her chest.

The other girl scrambled to gather the fallen files and papers.

—Sorry… —the stranger hurried to say, a blonde girl with blue eyes holding a few documents—. I was distracted, and… didn't see you coming.

Veronika eyed her warily for a moment: she wore a simple outfit, nothing like the flashy uniform of the red block, and her high ponytail swayed gently. She noticed the girl didn't have the submissive look of the usual maids, though she didn't radiate authority either. She seemed… nervous.

—Who are you? —Veronika demanded, adjusting her dress.

—Eva —the blonde replied, flashing a somewhat shy smile—. I'm the secretary's assistant. I review reports, cross-check data… nothing too important, really.

Veronika squinted, sizing her up: high ponytail, gray uniform without a ribbon, alert but friendly eyes.

—Veronika. Self-proclaimed lady of honor in this circus. —She waved the booklet—. I was studying our "benefits." Did you know we can request Belgian chocolate if we survive a whole quarter without complaining?

Eva raised her eyebrows, amused.

—Seriously? All I ever get is some black tea that tastes like mud.

—Well, you get the good stuff with this little red ribbon —Veronika joked.

Eva's eyes lit up with curiosity.

—Red ribbon? Oh, no way, you're one of the red block girls. What's it like in there? —she asked, trying to sound neutral.

Veronika scoffed theatrically.

—Depends on how much you enjoy the show. But at least it looks like they give us decent stuff. I'm still new, so I wouldn't be able to give you details.

They both chuckled, their laughter echoing through the metallic cabinets.

Late-Night Confessions

While exchanging jokes, Veronika flipped another page and frowned.

—Look at this: "NE-47" supplement for "nervous fatigue." Never heard that name… do you know it?

Eva leaned over the manual.

—Sounds like a mild sedative. The secretary keeps the pharmaceutical records in a locked cabinet. —She lowered her voice—. But I've noticed some inventory numbers don't quite add up.

Veronika raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

—Do you think it's loss, or is someone stealing?

Eva shrugged, guarded.

—Let's just say some columns don't total what they should. That's why I came to double-check figures… and play the violin when I'm done —she added, pointing to a case leaning against the wall.

—A Stradivarius? You got one in here? —Veronika smiled, genuinely interested—. You've got to play something, now!

—It's midnight —Eva objected, amused—. The walls have ears, and I don't want to get in trouble.

—Please, if the Master scolds me, I'll just say it was stress-relief therapy prescribed for privileged staff. —She waved the manual like a hall pass—. Come on, play something.

Eva hesitated for a second, but Veronika's enthusiasm was contagious. She took out the violin, tuned it with a few quiet strokes, and with a sigh, let out a brief melody: something soft, a Slavic lullaby that seemed to hide something else between the notes.

Veronika, surprised, leaned against a cabinet and closed her eyes. When the echo faded, she clicked her tongue in approval.

—I have to admit, that sounded… good. Maybe not everything's awful here. At least not all the time.

Eva's cheeks turned pink.

—It helps me remember there's a world beyond these walls.

—There is —Veronika said, putting the manual away—. And when I get out of here, maybe I'll find a better stage for you to play on.

Eva gave her a shy smile.

—I'd… really appreciate that.

They shared a conspiratorial smile. The clock struck one in the morning.

—We should go back —Eva whispered, sliding the violin into its case—. If we get caught, we'll definitely be punished.

They slipped away together, walking quietly. The mansion remained silent, unaware of the little clandestine concert that, unknowingly, had woven the first thread of complicity between the two.