HANNAH’S POV:
We sat on the warehouse floor with our backs against the worktables because neither of us made any move toward the chairs and I think we both understood without discussing it that the floor was the right place for this conversation. There is something about sitting on the floor with someone that takes the formality out of things in a way that sitting across a table does not.
I had given Maya my coffee and gone to make myself another one from the kitchen area because she needed it more than I did and she had taken it without even the usual polite protest which told me she genuinely needed it. The morning light was coming through the high windows and the warehouse was still and quiet because the team was not due for another ninety minutes.
“It started about three months before the fire,” she said, curling both hands around the cup. “Small things at first, some information appearing in places it had no business being. A supplier we had contacted confidentially somehow knew the exact details of a conversation that had only happened in this building between you, me, and Lucas. A buyer who should not have had any reason to ask about the collection’s creative direction was asking questions that were too specific to be of casual interest.”
I was very still. “You noticed all of this before the fire.”
“Yes,” she said. “I started writing it down. Keeping a record with dates and details and who could have known what. I did not want to come to you or Lucas without something more concrete because I knew how it would sound if I was wrong and I knew how focused everyone was on the collection and I did not want to pull the whole thing sideways over something I might have been reading too much into.” She looked at her cup. “I needed to be sure.”


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