Langford’s secret

The night wrapped around them like a shroud as Jessica and Leanna slipped through the side entrance of the genetics building. The lock had been easy enough to bypass, too easy. Security was tight where it mattered, but no one had expected someone to break into the offices of a dead man.

The corridor was dim, the hum of fluorescent lights faltering into an uneven flicker. Their footsteps echoed too loudly against the linoleum, every sound magnified by the emptiness. Jessica’s pulse matched the rhythm, steady but insistent.

Langford’s office loomed at the end of the hall, its wooden frame scarred from a forced entry. The police had already torn through this place, but Jessica wasn’t interested in what they had found. She was looking for what they had missed.

Leanna nudged the door open with her foot, sweeping a flashlight across the wreckage inside. Papers lay in crumpled heaps, desk drawers yanked out and overturned, books scattered across the floor like discarded thoughts. The air smelled of stale coffee, mold, and something faintly chemical.

“They didn’t just search this place,” Leanna murmured. “They ransacked it.”

Jessica stepped carefully over the debris, eyes narrowing as she scanned the room. There was anger in this destruction. A rushed, reckless desperation.

“Someone wanted to make sure nothing was left behind,” she said.

Leanna moved to the bookshelves, running a gloved hand along the spines. “Or they were looking for something specific.”

They worked in silence for several minutes. Jessica sifted through the detritus, flipping aside notebooks filled with half-legible equations, faded lab reports smudged with coffee stains. Leanna tested the edges of the shelving for hidden compartments, her movements precise, methodical.

“Nothing,” Jessica muttered, frustration creeping in. She crouched near the desk, running her fingers along the underside. Smooth wood. Empty drawers. Then, she felt a small notch, a space where the wood didn’t quite meet.

Before she could press it, a sound echoed down the hall. A door closing. Footsteps.

Leanna froze, flashlight cutting out instantly. The room sank into darkness.

The footsteps drew closer, steady and unhurried, each one ringing against the tile like a countdown. Jessica held her breath, every muscle taut. She could hear the scrape of shoes, the jingle of keys. A security guard? Or something worse?

The handle rattled.

Jessica and Leanna dropped low, sliding behind the overturned desk as the door creaked open. The beam of a flashlight, a cone of yellow light, swept across the room.

“Damn mess,” a deep, tired voice muttered. “Could’ve just left it locked.”

The light moved slowly across the walls, pausing over the wreckage. Jessica pressed her back into the desk, willing herself smaller, every nerve screaming. She felt Leanna’s hand clamp onto her wrist in warning: don’t move.

The guard stepped further inside, boots crunching over broken glass. The beam of light swept across the floor, over the edge of the desk, then away again. He sighed, muttered something under his breath, and turned toward the shelves.

Jessica’s chest ached from holding her breath. The guard was close enough she could smell his aftershave, sharp and synthetic, mixed with the sour edge of coffee.

The flashlight lingered on the bookshelves, on the scattered papers, then dipped toward the desk again. The beam traced over the edge—closer, closer—until it caught the faint outline of Jessica’s boot.

Leanna shifted, knocking a crumpled folder from the desk. It hit the floor with a sharp crack.

The guard spun, flashlight locking onto the sound.

Jessica’s hand was already on her 1911. She didn’t draw it, too risky, but the weight in her palm steadied her. Leanna tensed beside her, ready to spring.

For one suspended second, the guard just stood there, light fixed on the far corner of the room where the folder had landed. Then he muttered, “Goddamn rats,” and bent to pick it up.

The beam swung away.

He straightened, glanced around once more, then shook his head and stepped back into the hall. The door clicked shut. Footsteps receded into silence.

Jessica exhaled, shaky and uneven. Leanna let go of her wrist but didn’t move for several seconds, as if waiting to be sure.

Finally, Jessica pressed her fingers to the notch beneath the desk. The panel resisted. Leanna crouched beside her, pulling a knife from her boot and working the edge into the seam. With a reluctant crack, the false bottom gave way.

Jessica reached inside and pulled out a single, antique 3.5-inch floppy disk. It was old, discolored from time, but the label was still legible:

“Vanguard: Prometheus.”

A cold weight settled in her stomach. Project Prometheus. The beginning.

She turned it over in her hands, studying it. “Langford hid this for a reason.”

Leanna took a step closer, and her flashlight beam hovered on the tiny, fragile relic. “And whoever tore this place apart either didn’t know about it or didn’t find it.”

Jessica exhaled. “Which means we’re one step ahead, for now,” she said, slipping the disk into her jacket. The knowledge that it could contain everything or nothing gnawed at the edge of her mind. They needed to get it to Olivia.

Leanna straightened, still listening for footsteps. “We need to move. They’ll circle back.”

Jessica nodded, but as they stepped into the hallway, the silence pressed heavier, the hum of the lights too loud. The place felt alive, watchful.

They walked quickly, retracing their steps toward the exit. Every shadow seemed sharper, every corner hiding eyes. At the stairwell, Jessica glanced back once, certain she saw movement at the far end of the corridor.

Leanna gestured toward the door. “Let’s move before someone realizes we’re here,” she said with a now more urgent tone.

Jessica nodded, but as they stepped out into the night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were already running out of time.