358. Missax -

“You were not supposed to find me here. But now that you have—turn to page 47.”

The lights were motion-activated, buzzing to life one section at a time, like the building was waking up reluctantly. Shelf 358-M was in the far corner, behind a decommissioned mainframe. And there it was: a notebook, just sitting there, as if someone had placed it deliberately an hour ago.

April 15, 2026. Your desk. 8:47 AM.

She was sitting on top of a filing cabinet I could have sworn wasn’t there a moment ago. Grey coat. Dark hair. No older than thirty, though the file stretched back fifty years.

I laughed. Then I turned the page.

She reached into my pocket—I hadn’t seen her hand move—and pulled out my access badge.

And somewhere behind me, in the dark of sub-basement three, a chair moved three inches to the left. 358. Missax

She smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes, but it didn’t have to. It reached something else. Something behind them.