Chapter 3 The glass cage

The hallways of NCA's executive tower were quieter than an empty church. The frosted glass and polished metal walls reflected every movement as if the building breathed alongside its inhabitants. Everything was measured, contained, beautiful... and suffocating.

Lucía walked behind the internal resources assistant, a young woman with stiff movements and a low voice who pointed out the different cubicles. Each one more impersonal than the last. No family portraits. No floor plans. Just screens, headphones, and silence.

"This is the behavioral analysis team. There are three of you. You'll share a monitoring system, although your reports go directly to management," the assistant said without looking her in the eye.

Lucía nodded. Her long-sleeved, high-necked white blouse was impeccably ironed. She wore light gray wool pants, fitted but sober, and mid-heeled heels of the same color. Her makeup was minimal, but enough to reinforce the impression of solidity. Every piece of clothing, every line of her outfit, communicated a message: "Don't underestimate me. Don't touch me."

The three team members looked up at her. A formal greeting, without enthusiasm. There was distrust in their gazes, and a restrained silence hung in the air.

"Lucía Vega, new organizational compliance supervisor," the assistant announced. "She'll be evaluating protocols and the general climate. You can report directly to her when needed."

"Pleased to meet you," murmured a red-haired woman in her fifties. Her voice was polite, but her eyes were cold.

"Pleased to meet you," repeated another, younger woman with thick glasses. He avoided meeting her gaze.

"Nice to meet you," said the third, still typing.

Lucía observed them in silence for a few seconds, then said calmly:

"I'm not here to interrupt routines. Just to understand them. We'll see each other soon for a first round of interviews. It will be individual, informal. Nothing invasive." The way each of them quickly returned to their screens was a clear response: they weren't happy with her arrival.

"They don't trust anyone, least of all someone sent from above," the assistant said quietly as they resumed their walk. "You... intimidate them."

Lucía didn't respond. Intimidation was part of her job. Although, inside, something about that reaction made her stomach turn. They didn't fear her like a leader. They feared her like a scalpel.

In the executive cafeteria, the atmosphere wasn't the best. The large windows offered a view of the gray city, crisscrossed by endless lines of traffic. The tables were occupied by small groups conversing in whispers. Lucía poured herself a black coffee. There was no sugar or milk. She preferred it that way. Hot, bitter, real.

She chose a table at the back, alone, next to a smooth concrete column. As she sipped, a murmur made her glance. At another table, at least two people were watching her. When she caught one of them's eye, he immediately lowered his gaze.

"It's started," she thought.

"This isn't a team. It's a disciplined anthill. Everyone obeys, not trusts. And I just walked in like the foot that threatens to crush everything. I've been assigned a trusted role, yes, but I don't have allies. Here, everyone looks out for each other. And me? I also look out for myself."

A subtle noise made her look up. Bruno Ortega was crossing the cafeteria. He was wearing a light blue shirt without a tie, a charcoal gray jacket, and the same firm gait that characterized him. This time, however, he allowed himself to stop in front of her table.

"Have you tried the corporate coffee yet?" he asked, his tone neutral but with a hint of irony.

"Quite similar to the general atmosphere," Lucía replied, taking another sip.

Bruno sat down without asking permission. Lucía noticed he wasn't carrying his briefcase. Just a cup in his hand and a tiny wrinkle in the hem of his shirt, as if something had upset his day.

"I heard you made a good first impression," he commented.

"Oh, really?"

"Don't get me wrong. Here, being feared is a compliment."

Lucía looked at him without smiling. There was something in his way of speaking that seemed designed to disarm her. It was... annoying.

"I'm not here to be feared. I'm here to understand."

"That sounds dangerous," he replied, lowering his voice.

There was a brief silence. The sounds of dishes, footsteps, and distant voices floated around, but between the two of them, everything became dense.

"And you, Bruno? What do you expect from my role?" Lucía asked, crossing her arms.

Bruno held her gaze. Not with defiance, but with quiet interest.

"I hope you don't break. Bright people don't last long here."

When he left, something lingered in the air.

"He speaks to me as if he knows me. As if he guessed something I don't even want to admit. I'm not weak, but I'm tired. What if he is too? What if...?"

She stood up, put down her empty cup, and returned to her office. Outside, the sky was beginning to darken, even though the day was just beginning.

Bruno returned to his office on the executive level. He closed the door with a soft click and leaned his back against it, for the first time in a long time without the urge to open his email or check notifications.

He poured himself a drink of water, even though he wasn't thirsty. He walked to the window without looking at the city. In his mind, he saw her again. Sitting at that table, her spine behind him as if supporting her. Upright. Inaccessible.

Lucía Vega.

She wasn't the type of woman one easily desired. She was more the type one thought of from a distance, like an unsettling enigma. There was something about her way of speaking, her measured words, that made him more alert than usual.

But it wasn't just that.

He had noticed the way her blouse outlined her slender neck, the way she held the cup in her left hand-with that almost elegant gesture that had nothing to do with the concrete hallways. And in her dark eyes, there was a burden that didn't match her coldness.

"I didn't come to this company looking for companionship. Much less comfort. But there's something about her that breaks through my quietest defenses. And that... that's fucking dangerous."

He took off his jacket and dropped it on the chair. He ran a hand down the back of his neck.

"It's not just her presence. It's how she walks. How her voice can sound precise without being cruel. How you can tell she's carrying something, even if she never says it. It intrigues me. It disarms me."

And for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to touch her skin. Not in the office. Not between reports or protocols. But in the intimacy of a long, honest night, where masks had no place. Where she could stop holding herself up. And so could he.

But then he shook his head, almost angrily.

"No," he said softly, like an order.

Because that was forbidden.

Because feeling was dangerous.

And because, in this place, desire was the most costly weakness.

He sat in front of the monitor. The screen shone with his reflection. He still had the face of someone who refused to think about what he had just felt.

Lucía Vega wasn't an option. She was a warning.

And yet, he couldn't stop thinking about her.