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I stared at her. “In what world?”

“In the world where the file was mirrored, not distributed. It didn’t go to press, it didn’t go to sponsors, and it didn’t leave internal review.” She started counting on her fingers. “Walsh saw a concept page. I saw the concept page. The intern saw a thumbnail and has already forgotten what day it is. That’s the circle.”

I looked at her.

“That’s the circle,” she repeated. “And circles can be closed.”

Somewhere in the building, a door opened and shut again. The sound traveled through the concrete and died.

“How?”

Sandra’s mouth flattened into the expression she wore when moving into communications-combat mode.

“You remove every mirrored instance from review. I lock the intern out of that queue and give him a fake emergency about naming conventions so he never realizes what I’m actually doing. Silas tells Walsh the image rights are compromised by subject sensitivity and internal approval conflict.”

I blinked. “Subject sensitivity.”

“It sounds official and irritating,” Sandra said. “Executives hate pushing when something starts sounding like liability.”

Almost.

I dragged the file tree open while Sandra leaned over my shoulder, both of us close enough now that I could smell her coffee and the sharp, clean perfume that suggested she had not planned to spend her morning doing emotional triage for the team photographer.

The file path opened.

Primary folder.

Mirrored review.

Cached preview.

I selected the file.

My finger hovered over delete.

Sandra must have seen it, because she said quietly, “Do not do something dramatic and stupid just because you feel guilty.”

I let out a short breath. “That was alarmingly specific.”

“I work with athletes and creatives. Dramatic and stupid is most of my ecosystem.”

I looked at the file name again.

Frame 187.

One stupid little line of text standing in for all that trouble.

“He asked me not to let them have it,” I said.

Sandra went still beside me.

Not visibly. Not to anyone who did not know her. But enough.

Then she said, “Good.”

I turned to look at her.

She crossed her arms. “That means he still thinks you’re someone he can ask.”