—The subject largely refused to respond to direct questions. When she did speak, responses were vague, seemingly nonsensical, and often unrelated to the line of questioning. No coherent answers were provided regarding her connection to The Numbered organization.

During questioning, subject made indirect reference to a "him," which may indicate the presence of a higher-ranking figure within the Numbered network. This aligns with prior intel suggesting a male authority coordinating the numbered operatives.

Suggest immediate search of subject for hidden tech or alternative communication devices, as vision indicated active link with numbered members.

Additionally, I strongly recommend allowing increased access to interview materials and further exploration of communication methods among Numbered operatives. Full cooperation from the HSA in this investigation is crucial, as the Numbered organization poses a considerable threat to operational security and public safety.

Filed By: Harlan Hatter

I skim over my report to Zaman, mouse hovering over the send button as I ensure there are no typos or misinformation, and I have generally just communicated what happened in the most coherent way possible. Once I decide that it will suffice, I finally click the button, watching the loading circle on my screen swirl until finally turning into a checkmark.

Once the report has been sent, I decide to check the time. I find that it's after midnight, meaning way later than I thought it was. I haven't worked this late since the motorcycle incident a couple of weeks ago, which coincidentally also involved Three. I should probably text Lacy, even though it's likely too late.

Sure enough, a second later my lock screen is being replaced with Lacy's name, as well as a picture of her I took only a couple weeks into our relationship. I'd taken her on an ice cream date to a park and she was sitting on an old swing set. Her hair was blowing in the wind and the sunlight outlined her ethereally. I thought she looked beautiful, so I snapped a picture and added it to her contact.

Lacy's sudden call makes me jump, having not expected it, my exhaustion not aiding in my alertness whatsoever. I can already tell she will have some choice words for me, so I sigh and try to mentally prepare myself before finally pressing the green button.

"Harlan? Are you okay?" She asks me, concern in her tone. She sounds sleepy, meaning I might not be in that much trouble. This happens sometimes, and it's usually a best-case scenario when I forget to text her: Lacy falls asleep before I get home, wakes up a bit later and realizes I'm still not there, then calls me. Typically she's not conscious enough for irritation to set in, which works in my favor.

"Yes, sorry, I had to finish a report," I tell her, listening to the woman hum in reply. I log out of my computer and begin organizing some papers, cleaning up my area so I can prepare to go home.

At least I've already showered and changed out of my hero clothes, now clad in the hoodie that has my hero symbol on the sleeve and my name on the back, as well as a pair of jeans and boots. All I need to do is organize my area and grab the rest of my equipment from my locker and I'll be good to go.

"Okay, well... on your way home, can you stop and get me some apple juice?" Lacy asks me, and I frown. Apple juice?

"Like... sugar-free?" I ask her, trying to remember the last time she asked me to bring her something unhealthy.

"No, regular," she tells me, voice quiet. Before I can ask who she is and what she did with Lacy, however, she continues. "And tampons, too, please."

Okay, that makes more sense. When Lacy is on her period, she can get in her moods, which she usually takes out on me. This is fine, I'm used to it, but there is one aspect of it all that I view as an upside: the fact she finally eats what she wants. She no longer cares about what her agents or her dietary consultants tell her, she eats what she craves.

"Sure," I tell her, unable to help the improvement in my mood at Lacy doing something she wants to do for once in her life. "Anything else?"

"No," Lacy hums, and the line goes silent. I finally finish cleaning up my area and packing my bag, then stretching. I'm so tired after all the bullshit today, hopefully tomorrow goes smoother. I wait for the woman to give me any more direction, but she doesn't, and I'm sure she'll fall asleep any second if I don't hang up first.

"Alright, I'll see you soon," I tell the girl, hinting at ending our call. She hums.

"Okay. Goodbye."

We hang up a second later, so I pocket the device. I then finish packing my bag, slinging it over my shoulder and giving my area a once over. Deciding it's in a decent enough state to leave until morning, I internally plan on stopping by the locker room so I can grab my equipment before officially heading home.

Before I can, however, I hear a voice from behind myself. "Mr. Hayes?"

I jump, shocked at my inability to notice another present in the room. What kind of hero am I? I turn around in alarm, under the impression I was the only person left in the building aside from janitorial staff and a Dew other select workaholics.

I'm met with the sight of none other than Noel Wolfe, and I was not expecting to see him so soon after this morning. This morning, when I told him I wanted him to quit, in reaction to him informing me the numbered aren't nearly as much of a priority for him as they were for his father.

Interesting.

I can't even help myself from quirking an eyebrow at him, scrunching my face a bit in confusion. "The hell are you still doing here?"

Mr. Wolfe was always out of here by early evening. What the fuck?

Noel Wolfe doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he steps into the room, his polished shoes barely making a sound against the tiled floor. His sharp, tailored suit is immaculate since he hasn't just worked through the same grueling day as the rest of us.

"Good evening to you too, Harlan," he says smoothly, ignoring my question briefly. His hands are clasped behind his back, and his gaze scans the room as if cataloging every detail of my office. It's not until he finally meets my eyes that he adds, "I could ask you the same thing."

"Finishing a report," I say simply, shrugging, shifting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. "Some of us care about getting things done."

I don't even mean to say that, but the snark slips out, and I've never regretted my attitude so I do nothing to backtrack. I simply quirk an eyebrow and stare at him expectantly, wishing I'd have had some time to prepare for this interaction. How long was he standing there, anyway? Did he hear my conversation with Lacy? It's not like there was anything super personal about our conversation, except the implication that it's Lacy's time of the month, but still.

I try to respect her privacy. Being careful who knows any sort of intimate information about her is part of that, even though—once again—our conversation wasn't all that intense, and a lot of said information is public knowledge anyway. Still, leaving the adult film industry is difficult for anyone, but especially someone with Lacy's caliber of fame. She's never been treated with much respect or regard for her mental health and privacy. The least I can do is not be part of the problem.

Even if that is somewhat extreme in relation to our previous conversation, I still need to be careful from now on. Lacy has never been interested in a romantic relationship with me, and I don't have much experience in that subject, so I imagine it would take me a while to develop feelings for anyone since I've never been particularly in touch with my emotions.

Lacy's lack of interest alone kept me from ever entertaining a romance with her and therefore reaching that point, but it doesn't matter. I still care for that woman, deeply. It's difficult not to grow attached to someone you not only live in close quarters with but also sleep next to every once in a while and need to make romantic public appearances with. Also, her abuse in quite literally every industry she's ever been involved with—as well as the fact part of our agreement is her protection—has only added to how protective I am of her.

I'll need to keep an eye on Noel from now on, especially due to all the shit I'll likely talk about him in the future.

"Is that so?" Noel finally responds to my earlier comment, though he doesn't seem bothered by it.

"Mm-hmm," I reply, studying him. He's in a visibly expensive pressed suit and dress shoes with a large, knee-length coat over it all, which also appears to come from a designer brand. He has prescription glasses on now, which he didn't before, and the corner of his closed mouth is upturned.

His yellow eyes are unmoving from my own and I can't see them, but for some reason, my mind wanders to the razor-sharp teeth I know hide behind that seemingly cordial half-smile. I wonder how reminiscent that is of him as a person, because I get the sense it is. Heavily.

"Some people care about your father's vision for the company, and the threats posed to it, even if you don't." I snap.

"I'm not here to argue," Noel tells me dismissively, voice almost a sigh. My demeanor remains hostile, despite his calmness. If anything that just adds to it. "I'd simply like to have a conversation. You are aware I'm not going anywhere, and we will be working in close quarters, correct?"

I figured he wouldn't be leaving, despite my recommendation to do so. However, the close-quarters thing? I was aware of that as well, to an extent, but still. How often is he planning on seeing me? He is the CEO and technically my boss, but still. He could just as easily go through Dayanara since she and I are a team, and she's a lot easier to get along with. Maybe he just wants to be thorough, I don't know.

"Whatever. What conversation? What do you want?" I ask him, crossing my arms, acutely aware of the fact that all my belongings are packed away and I'm in the process of leaving. Can he not see that, too? Why couldn't this wait for tomorrow? "I'm kind of busy."

"You can spare a few minutes," is his reply, and I narrow my eyes. Seriously, why couldn't this wait until tomorrow? Well, maybe he just didn't want to have to call me to his office again. It's not like it went all that well last time.

"Can I?" I ask him simply, crossing my arms. His friendly, easygoing expression has a strain to it, which deepens at my words. Is he expecting my mood to somehow improve during this conversation or something? Sorry, but that won't happen. When I don't like someone, I don't like someone. That never changes, not a single person has proven me incorrect, and this guy will be no different. "Give me a reason why this can't wait until tomorrow. I have errands to run."

Well, okay, so it's only one errand, but still. I'd prefer not to keep Lacy waiting.