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CHAPTER FOUR { A Guide to Workday Secrets } ***
"AND, TAH-DAH!" Penelope declares.
You shoot up in your seat, not uttering a word as you hover over her left shoulder to read the victim's emails. She scans them as well, but it goes without being said that she is leaving the decoding up to you. It's what you do best.
Penelope clicks through each email. You sit behind your, your posture attentive yet somehow relaxed at the same time, a contrast to Penelope's nerves. Your eyebrows are knit with focus while combing through the mundane content within each message. Your usually punctual movements are somewhat dulled, frustration playing on your face as each passing second begins to feel like an eternity.
Beside you, Penelope watches the combination of struggle and defeat rising in your expression with growing concern. She knows your efficiency, the seamless precision with which you tackle tasks, especially in the realm of decryption. Have you really reached a dead end?
Your hesitance is out of character. You're usually so confident, borderline cocky even, but you're good at what you do, so you get away with it. Penelope can't shake the feeling that this behavior stems from something much greater, much darker, than just fatigue.
Your eyes dart back and forth across the screen as you battle to regain your rhythm. The room around you hums softly with the machinery and the faint murmurs coming from outside of Penelope's lair. As people converse not far outside of the door, their voices grow louder.
You turn sharply, startling Penelope. "Woah. You alright, sugar?"
You feel bad for causing her to jump. She watches you with wide eyes. "Yeah." You breathe. "Sorry, can you close that door? I just need to focus."
Slowly, Garcia nods. She strides toward the entryway, gently pulling it shut and glancing back at you as you return to the computer.
"There we go..." She hums. "Door's closed."
"Thanks." You breathe, your voice slightly upbeat.
She smiles faintly. "No problem, doll. Just let me know if you need anything else."
She watches as you run your eyes over the same email multiple times. She can't tell what's going on behind your eyes. Your gaze is fixed on the screen—a seemingly innocuous thread titled "Meeting Minutes: Quarterly Review." Your eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing her features. Without realizing it, your fingers trace the outline of the characters on the computer, searching for patterns that seem to dance just out of reach.
