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“Tell him it’s Afon. And tell him it’s about the Rymbayev situation.”

I glance at the door. It’s still closed, forebodingly so. My hand tightens on the receiver. “He’s not available at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“No, you cannot take a fucking message.” The angry rasp in the man’s voice says he’d very much like to reach through the phone and throttle me with his bare hands. “This is urgent. Get him out of whatever fucking meeting he’s in and put him on the line.”

“Sir, I really can’t?—”

“Listen to me.” His voice drops lower. “If you don’t get Lazarev on this phone in the next sixty seconds, people are going to die. Do you understand?People are going to die.”

My blood goes cold.

I set down the receiver without hanging up and walk-run to Lukas’s door. My hand shakes as I knock.

But there’s no answer.

I knock again, harder this time. “Mr. Lazarev?” I call through the wood. “There’s an urgent call for you. Someone named Afon...? He says it’s about the ‘Rumba-Eve’ situation…?”

Nobody replies.

I go back to the phone. “I’m sorry, he’s not in his office. I don’t know where?—”

But all I hear is a dull buzz.

The line is dead.

I hang up slowly. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

People are going to die.

What the hell kind of companyisthis?

People are going to die.

Should I call someone? Security? HR? The police?

But what would I even say? I don’t know shit about shit. They’d ask me what’s wrong and I’d start rambling about mysterious men in dark rooms and Roombas and steely-eyed bosses and they’d throw me in the loony bin before I could even pause for breath.

I look at Lukas’s closed door again. He needs to know about this call. Maybe I should leave a note. Something short.Urgent call from Afon re: Rymbayev. Call back immediately.

Yeah, that’s it. That’s professional. That’s what a good assistant would do.

I grab a Post-it and scribble the message. Then I walk to his door and knock one more time, just in case.

Once again, no response.

I try the handle. It turns.

The door swings open.

And I step in.

I freeze one step inside, because the smell takes me right back to the dream.His thumb pressing against my lip. His hand in my hair. “Open…”

I shudder and push the thought away.

The desk is empty. No Lukas. No sign he’s been here at all today.

Then I hear something. A soft sound. Movement. A voice?