Page 69 of All The Pretty Little Lies

I gesture to the empty slots. "I mean, they're gone. Positions 4 and 5 on Rack 7, they're empty."

Zaire's face contorts with disbelief and frustration. "No, that can't be right. Maybe we got the location wrong. Check again, Alex."

We carefully replace the rack and close the tank, the soft hiss of escaping vapor filling the silence between us. I shed the gloves, tossing them to the ground. The cold air clings to our skin as we hurry back to the reception area, our footsteps echoing in the empty hallways.

I slide back into the chair, my fingers dancing across the keyboard with renewed urgency. The blue glow of the screen illuminates our faces, casting eerie shadows across the room. I pull up the file again, double-checking every detail.

"Look," I say, pointing to the screen. "It's right here. Tank B3, Rack 7, Positions 4 and 5. That's exactly where we looked."

Zaire leans in, his eyes scanning the information. I can see the muscles in his jaw working as he processes the implications. "Fuck," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "How is this possible? Where could they have gone?"

"I don't know, Z," I reply, scrolling through the file for any additional information. "There's no record of a transfer or...wait, what's this?"

I click on a small icon at the bottom of the page, and a new window pops up. It's a log of access to the file, showing who viewed it and when. My eyes widen as I scan the list.

"Zaire, look at this," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Someone accessed this file three days ago. Someone with high-level clearance."

Zaire's eyes narrow as he reads the name. "Dr. Ivanov? Who the hell is that?"

I'm about to run a search on the name when a sound from outside freezes us both in place. It's the unmistakable crunch of tires on gravel, followed by the soft thud of a car door closing.

Zaire and I lock eyes, panic flaring between us.

"Shit," I hiss, my fingers flying across the keyboard. "We gotta go."

I pull out a thumb drive from my pocket and start downloading everything I can. The progress bar crawls across the screen, each second feeling like an eternity as the sound of footsteps grows closer.

"Come on, come on," I mutter, willing the files to transfer faster.

Zaire moves to the window, peering through the blinds. "Local police by the looks of him," he whispers. "He’s got a flashlight out like he’s doing his rounds.."

My heart hammers in my chest as I watch the progress bar. 95%...96%...97%...

The footsteps are right outside now. I can see the beam of a flashlight sweeping across the parking lot through the gaps in the blinds.

98%...99%...

The door handle jiggles.

100%.

I yank the thumb drive out, barely remembering to shut down the computer. Zaire is already at the back door, gesturing frantically for me to follow.

The cool night air hits my face as we burst out of the back door, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My fingers are still clenched tightly around the thumb drive, the weight of the information it contains feeling impossibly heavy.

We sprint across the parking lot, our footsteps echoing in the quiet night. The moon hangs low and full in the sky, casting long shadows that seem to reach for us as we run. My lungs burn with each breath, the taste of fear metallic on my tongue.

Zaire leads the way, his movements fluid and purposeful, like a predator on the hunt. I follow, trying to match his grace but feeling more like a lumbering bear in comparison. The gravelcrunches under our feet, each step sounding like a gunshot in the stillness of the night.

We reach the car, and Zaire practically dives into the driver's seat. I scramble in beside him, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The engine roars to life, and we peel out of the parking lot, tires squealing against the asphalt.

As we speed down the empty streets, the reality of what we've just done begins to sink in. We broke into a medical clinic. We stole confidential patient information. We uncovered a secret that could change everything.

"We need to call Oz," Zaire says, breaking the tense silence. His voice is tight, controlled, but I can hear the undercurrent of worry.

I nod, fumbling for my phone. My hands are shaking slightly as I pull up Oscar's contact, the blue light of the screen harsh in the darkened car. I hit the speaker button, and it starts to ring.

One ring. Two. Three. Each one feels like an eternity.

---