Page 172 of Obey

Access Revoked

I found Elias in the kitchen this morning, staring out the window at the fog-draped city, coffee untouched beside him.

He didn’t turn when I came in, didn’t greet me. When I brushed past him to get to the espresso machine, he flinched; a barely perceptible tightening in his shoulders, but it was enough.

The launch is six days away, and it’s been nearly a week of this shit.

No fights, no sharp words.

Just a hundred tiny moments of avoidance that feel louder than any argument.

During work hours, Nate’s office door stays shut longer than it opens. Elias’s heavy gaze follows me through rooms, weighted with an unspoken sorrow. Jace suddenly appears whenever I’m about to walk past one of them, intercepting my path with a flirty grin as he steers me in the opposit direction.

I’m not stupid, I know something happened and I refuse to be left in the dark anymore. Especially when the very men keeping me there are the same ones who preached about communication and honesty.

The city’s still half asleep when I reach the fourteenth floor of SOLAÉ.

Nate’s office is dark. The motion sensor flickers on as I push the door open, illuminating his world, perfectly controlled and untouched.

Doubt flickers, and I almost lose my nerve. Then I remember Adrian's words to Jace: You think those men tell you everything, Sloane? Why don't you ask Nathaniel what he's hiding from you?

Fine, if they won’t tell me, I'll find out on my own.

Walking over to his computer, I wake the screen and enter the administrative login he gave me when I first started. The monitor unlocks with a low chime, and to my surprise, a file is already open on the middle screen.

My name sits across the top of the document in bold red letters: Sloane Harper - Subject Activity Log. I scroll. It’s a list of my movements, not just at SOLAÉ, but outside the building as well.

My hand is unsteady on the mouse.

March 12: 9:47 AM. Subject exits penthouse. Followed to Trey Donovan’s apartment, where she stayed until 11:15 AM, and then they went to brunch. Duration: 2 hours, 43 minutes.

March 14: 2:22 PM. Subject purchases coffee at Philz Coffee, Market Street. Duration: .23-minutes.

March 16: 7:15 PM. Subject receives call from unknown number. Duration: 4 minutes, 11 seconds. Number traced to a phone in Louisiana. Call content: unavailable.

Under the PI report is another document, this one clearly written by Nate; tight, clinical bullet points pulling together everything the company had found. Internal logs. Access records. Trace results. A timeline of suspicious activity all laid out in his precise language.

I skim the summary, my stomach dropping lower with every line. I don’t need to understand the technical details to recognize its shape.

They think I stole files out of SOLAÉ.

Metal scrapes against metal as the door to the office swings open, and my head snaps up as someone enters. His voice slices through the air before I can look up.

“You want to tell me what you’re doing at my desk, Sloane?”

Nate stands in the doorway, suit jacket missing, tie loose, eyes flat in a way that doesn’t belong to the man I told I loved days ago.

For a foolish heartbeat, I wait for his expression to soften with affection.

It doesn’t.

His attention cuts from me to the open file, then back again. Guilt settles over his features before it's quickly replace by suspicion

“I was trying to figure out why two out of the three of you have spent the last few days avoiding me like I’m contagious.” My voice comes out level, betraying none of the chaos inside me.

“So going through my computer after hours was the route you chose?”

A laugh slips out of me, as I push away from the desk. “I have administrative access to this computer, Nate.”