Page 17 of Wells

Her photo sits in the corner of the first page, a professional headshot with neutral lighting and no expression. I pick it up and study it, waiting for whatever tugged at me in that room to surface. The flat image gives me nothing. Whatever it was, it wasn't here on paper.

I close the file and look at my screens to start a new trace on the second terminal flagged in the metadata. My fingers move across the keyboard. The rhythm settles me.

This is the work, the part I control. I don't have time to try to think about why a random woman applying for a job seems familiar. She isn't, and that's the end of that.

FIVE

Cera

The Den: A krewe builds its floats behind locked doors in a guarded den, the whole spectacle assembled in secret long before the city ever sees it roll. Some things are kept boxed and unseen on purpose, wheeled out only when you choose.

I push through the heavy glass doors, and the damp Louisiana air hits me first. In February, it sits cool on my skin instead of the summer heat that bites.

The building behind me is all glass and steel and money, the kind that makes someone like me stand up straighter on instinct.

I made it through. I just need the offer to come through and sign, and I'm employed again. A real paycheck, no more stressing about this OnlyFans stuff ending with no notice, leaving me unable to pay my bills again.

I'm grateful that my time with Midnight has allowed me to build my safety net back up, but it's time for a dependable, real paycheck.

Sandra was nice enough, warm even, after I finished up with Mr. Stone. She told me the offer would come by the end of the day if he approved. She said he can be difficult, and that he's never had someone working directly under him. I could have figured that one out just by the mere fact that he was trying to talk me out of taking the job before he even told me about the job.

I reach my car and unlock the door with a click that echoes in the parking deck. I slide into the driver's seat, and my shoulders finally unclench. I breathe in and exhale slowly through my teeth. Three interviews in, I have to get this job.

I think about Wells Stone, the man who might become my boss.

He's tall, lean, and broad through the shoulders in a way that fills a doorframe without needing to prove anything. His dark hair is somewhere between clean-cut and a little disheveled. His tailored suit leaves no question about the fact that he's a Stone, even if he's a little more rugged-looking than the typical businessman, corporate type.

In spite of his gruffness, his sharp, angular features almost make up for it. I guess if I do have to grin and bear it while working for him, at least he will be nice to look at.

My throat is still dry from the meeting. My shoulders ache from holding a professional posture for over an hour. He told me working for him wouldn't be a walk in the park. After sitting across from him, I have no doubt.

Still, it doesn't scare me off. I need this job. If for no one else, then for myself, I need to prove I can stand on my own two feet without depending on anyone. Cas and my breakup did more than break my heart. He shook my self-confidence. And this three-month job search with endless rejections hasn't helped.

I start the car and the engine hums to life. My hands stay on the wheel, but I don't pull out yet when my phone pings.

The screen glows bright against my hand. I have a new email. I click the envelope icon to open up my email. The top one grabs my attention.

Stone Intermodal - Offer of Employment - Cera Simum.

My heart speeds up. I tap the message and the text loads, black on white, formal and careful.

Dear Ms. Simum,

On behalf of Stone Intermodal, I am pleased to extend an offer of employment for the position of Data Visualization Designer. If you would like to move forward, click the link below to begin the paperwork in our secure portal.

I read it twice. Three times. The words don't change. I'm not imagining things.

The salary sits near the top, a number that makes my throat close. It's not just good. It's more than I was making at my last job.

This offer is contingent upon completion of the standard background check, security clearance, and execution of the enclosed non-disclosure agreement.

My fingers tighten around the phone, and the plastic case digs into my palm. My mind flips through the layers I built around my OnlyFans persona. Surely not. It's an anonymous account, routed through three different VPNs, with fake location tags. Then there's the whole costume, enough to make me physically indistinguishable. Nothing ties the account to my real name, right?

A wave of panic rushes through me. I've never had a second thought about a background check before, and now, suddenly, I wonder if that is something someone could find if they really wanted to.

The weight in my chest shifts, then settles.

I'm careful. I've always been careful. They would need to know where to look, and no one is looking.