Chapter Four
Traffic was heavier than usual this morning, and I’m already off my rhythm as I rush through the rows of cubicles on the way to my office. My travel mug wobbles in my hand when I see Tessa’s empty desk.
She’s always early. Not eager, exactly. Steady. Pours coffee before her computer boots up. Sets her chair to the same height no matter what shoes she’s wearing. Wears her badge on a pink lanyard, not the standard-issue blue like everyone else.
At ten, I close my office door and send her a text message.
Everything okay?
At 10:30, with the message still unread, I check the internal calendar.
No leave planned. No training. No off-site meetings.
At 10:43, Claire, our Assistant Director, emerges from her office, followed by two security officers I don’t recognize. Their uniforms are…off. A dark blue rather than GSD’s usual gray. But their badges are in full view, as they turn toward the row of cubicles where Tessa sits.
That’s when I finally move. My thoughts misfire as I reach the end of the aisle, refusing to line up the way they should.
Tessa looks from one officer to the other, her brows pinched together, eyes shimmering. She’s still wearing her coat, but her bag lies half-open on the floor.
One of the men leans closer, his voice too quiet for me to hear. I recognize the posture. Polite and non-threatening, but firm. Authority that expects to be obeyed.
“I’m fine,” Tessa says. Her voice carries more than she probably intends. “I don’t need—”
The officer lifts a hand. “This is just a formality, Ms. Hale.”
She closes her mouth, and her fingers curl around her bright pink lanyard, then loosen again.
Claire steps forward, tucking a lock of graying hair behind her ear. “Tessa, I’m sorry, but you’ve been placed on medical leave. Effective immediately.”
The apology and Claire’s soft tone make her words hurt that much more.
“For what?” Tessa asks.
“Occupational Health requested the review,” Claire replies, even more gently now. “They’ll follow up with you directly.”
Occupational Health? Why are they involved?
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Tessa turns to Claire. “Tell them. Please?”
“I know you didn’t, dear.” Claire gestures for Tessa to pick up her bag. “These things always sound scarier than they really are. I’m sure you’ll be back to work in no time.”
Tessa peers over one of the officer’s shoulders to meet my gaze. “Raine?”
“It’s probably nothing,” I offer. “An ergonomic assessment left unfinished or overtime logged incorrectly. Text me once you’ve talked to Occupational Health.”
She nods, trusting me like she has so many times before.
The officers flank her, close enough to guide without touching, and one picks up her bag before they head for the rear elevator. I watch them the whole way down the aisle.
Tessa’s hands hang at her sides, empty.
She always carries something. A notebook. A jacket. That silly ceramic mug she stole from Ops and never gave back.
But now…there’s nothing. Just her and two security officers in a white-walled elevator.
Only when the doors slide shut and the elevator starts to descend do I realize my own hands are clenched hard enough my nails are digging into my palms. I force myself to loosen them one finger at a time, using the ache to steady me.
Sometimes, pain can be useful.
I don’t have language yet for what I’m feeling. So I do what I always do—set it aside and keep moving.
Back in my office, I close the door and pull up Tessa’s personnel file.
Her credentials are already inactive, her status listed as Pending Medical Review, with a time stamp less than two minutes ago.
The speed makes it clear this wasn’t a sudden or routine decision. No one updates credentials that quickly.
I look over Tessa’s last two weeks of activity. Not because I think she did anything wrong. Because I want to know if someone else does.
The log is ordinary. The kind of work that fills most weeks. Cross-checks. Summaries. Small cleanups meant to catch errors before they matter. She was efficient, getting through her queue every day, even working ahead a little.
There’s nothing to indicate a health issue or the need for a security escort out of the building.
Then, one line stands out in her file.
Compliance review requested.
My breath catches before I can stop it. That status was logged two days ago. The same day Tessa brought the medical file to my attention.
I copy the timestamp and paste it into my private note without commentary.
The screen refreshes on its own. A code appears in the corner of the pane for all of two seconds before disappearing again.
RJ-3.
That’s not a label. It’s a trigger. One that just noticed me.
I pull my hands away from the keyboard, pressing my thumbs together until my pulse settles. Ellen’s words come back to me.
“Don’t take risks. You’re useful where you are, Raine. Stay that way.”
For now, I’ll leave it alone. Do my job. And hope I hear from Tessa soon.
Right before lunch, Claire calls me into her office.
She doesn’t offer coffee. Odd. She always offers me coffee.
I take a seat, crossing my legs with my tablet balanced on my knee.
“Raine,” she says, pushing a stack of folders aside with a smile, “I want you to hear this from me first. Tessa’s taking a month of medical leave. She’s been under a lot of stress lately, and GSD takes the health of its people seriously. You don’t need to worry. She’s getting the care she needs.”
The guilt hits the center of my chest, settling under my ribs with a low, shallow ache. I should have noticed Tessa was under strain. Spotting inconsistencies in data is easy. Human variables are harder. My thumb drifts to the edge of my ring, the rough texture helping me focus on what to say next.
“I hope Tessa’s okay. She loves this job. And she’s good at it, too.”
Claire studies me for a moment, then nods. “She is. She’s lucky to have you as a mentor.”
I don’t know what to do with the compliment, so I focus my attention on Claire’s shoulder. Safer than making eye contact, but close enough Claire doesn’t notice.
“We’re reshuffling some assignments this afternoon. Temporarily. Since we’re down an analyst until Tessa gets back.”
“All right.”
She taps her keyboard a few times, and her printer whirs to life. The smooth, practiced sound of paper sliding into the tray fills the pause she doesn’t.
“There’s a short-term need at the Portland field office,” she says, handing me the printout. “Systems support and training. Two or three days. Your skill set fits what they’re looking for.”
Portland is far enough away I won’t be home tonight. I don’t like hotels. The sheets are always too scratchy and the pillows too firm.
“I’m not field-certified anymore.” I touch my right shoulder out of habit. There’s no pain, but my heart rate spikes anyway.
“This isn’t fieldwork,” Claire replies. “The Portland analysts are falling behind on their deliverables. That’s why they want you down there.
The process improvements you’ve implemented since you joined Systems have made us twenty percent more efficient.
If you can do the same thing in Portland, they’ll catch up in no time.
“All the details are on the form,” she continues. “They need you there before the end of the day. Will that be a problem?”
I glance down at the printout. The assignment is already approved. Travel authorization, lodging, and per diem are all in place.
“What prompted the request?” I ask.
Claire shrugs, then shakes her head with a soft chuckle. “The director probably got raked over the coals after last quarter’s numbers came out. If you need anything while you’re down there, give me a call.”
“Okay. You can let them know I’ll be there by four.”
I bring only what the assignment calls for. Two changes of clothes. Toiletries. Phone, laptop, credentials. I leave the overnight bag in the trunk. I’ll grab it when I get to the hotel.
The Portland office is small. Older paint. Dimmer lights. The air carries a faint chemical scent, like the carpet was recently cleaned and hasn’t quite dried.
I give my name at the desk.
The receptionist checks her screen. Frowns. Checks again.
“One moment,” she says.
She reaches for a clipboard with a pen tethered by a string. I sign where she points.
A button clicks beneath the desk, and a loud buzzer sounds from the door to my left. It’s so close, it feels like it’s rattling my skull from the inside.
My shoulders jump before I can stop them. I still my hands, slow my breathing, and bring myself back under control.
“Go on through,” she says. “You’ll be met.”
The door opens to a short hallway. Two men are waiting on the other side. Uniformed. Wearing the same dark blue as the officers from this morning.
“Agent Calder,” one of them says. “Occupational Health requires a brief intake interview before all temporary assignments.”
An intake interview?
“I’m here for training and systems support,” I reply.
“We’re aware. You can get started after you complete the interview.”
The words arrive a beat late. Not because I don’t understand them, but because they don’t match what I’m expecting. I don’t let that show. Worry changes how people treat you. And once that happens, you lose leverage you don’t get back.
They don’t take me to the elevators. We pass them instead. Then a door marked Storage. Then another unmarked door.
The room they guide me into is small. No windows.
It’s colder than the rest of the building. I shouldn’t have left my coat in the car.
“Someone will be right with you,” the other man says.
Three chairs sit around the table. A clipboard is centered carefully at the far end. Paper forms. No computer.
I sit, and the door closes behind me.
Alone, I scan my surroundings. A camera’s red light watches steadily from the corner. A low, mechanical whir sounds as it sweeps the room. I look away and pull out my phone.
The message to Ellen is short. Factual.
Junior analyst placed on medical leave this morning.
Her activity log showed a request for a compliance review.
I was sent to Portland for a temporary training assignment two hours later.
This feels adjacent to what we discussed.
Am I reading too much into it?
I lock the phone and set it face down on the table. If there’s anything to worry about, Ellen will get back to me.
The metal back of the chair is cold even through my jacket. I fold my hands in front of me. I don’t know what this is yet. A department-wide review? Is someone upset that I didn’t notice Tessa was struggling?
I run my thumb along the edge of my ring to stop my thoughts from racing. Whatever it is, someone will tell me soon. Until then, all I can do is wait.