It started innocently enough. A simple "accidental" bump in the corridor. Ava, dressed sharply in a navy blazer and cream trousers, clutching her laptop and muttering about a conference call. Zach, on the other end of the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, pretending to inspect a painting he had already passed five times that morning.
The staff watched from behind corners and under staircases like highly trained agents.
"Target A and Target B within proximity," whispered Charles into a spoon like it was a walkie-talkie. "Adelle, do you copy?"
"Ready," Adelle replied from her position halfway down the hall, innocently dusting a vase that didn't even have dust.
She waited... waited... waited until Ava was precisely three steps away from Zach—
And then "accidentally" dropped her feather duster right in Ava's path.
Ava yelped, stumbled sideways——and Zach, in some deep-seated hero instinct, moved to catch her. Except he misjudged the distance. And the speed. And the situation.
