Chapter 4 Internal rules

The lighting in the orientation room was white, almost bluish, like that of a medical ward. Lucía sat among five other new employees, each isolated within their own silence. Protocol dictated that every new member should receive a session on "rules of coexistence." But it wasn't a simple welcome talk: it was a reminder of who was in charge, and how.

A high-pitched woman, with hair so polished it looked like plastic, spoke to them for almost 40 minutes. The presentation was clear, effective... impersonal to the core.

"NCA does not permit personal ties between employees that interfere with institutional objectives," she said without flinching. "That includes romantic relationships, meetings outside of work hours, and any form of unauthorized contact."

Lucía blinked, her expression unchanged.

"Any behavior that denotes favoritism, affection, or closeness outside of operational channels will be reported and sanctioned with immediate disciplinary action," the woman added, turning a page in her manual. "This is not a suggestion." It's an internal security rule.

Lucía:

"The word affection appears next to risk. It's not about ethics. It's about control. Love is a threat here. Emotions can't creep in, can't contaminate efficiency."

She looked around. No one seemed surprised. Some even nodded naturally, as if that rule had always been part of the air. As if they'd never thought of hugging someone in this building. As if love were a virus.

Later, back in her office, Lucía shut herself behind the frosted glass door. Outside, the sounds were minimal: clicking keys, muffled footsteps, the distant tapping of the HVAC system. She took off her shoes to stretch her feet under the desk and closed her eyes for a second. Then, someone knocked.

"It's me," said the deep voice from the other side.

Bruno.

Lucía quickly adjusted herself, putting her shoes back on, and said calmly:

"Come in."

Bruno entered with his usual discretion. He was carrying a folder, but his face didn't look like that of someone coming on administrative business.

"They asked me to give you this," he said, placing it on her desk. "The new protocol for analyzing atypical behavior."

Lucía nodded and took the document. But he didn't move. He remained standing in front of her, silent.

"Everything okay?" Lucía asked, without fully raising her gaze.

Bruno sat down, uninvited. There was something odd about his expression, as if he were hesitant to speak or remain silent.

"You knew about politics?" he finally asked.

"Which one?"

"The one about... personal ties. Relationships between employees."

Lucía looked at him. She didn't smile. She didn't move.

"Yes. They mentioned it this morning. Clear enough."

Bruno nodded. He paused for a long time, crossing one leg. Then he said:

"I'm not sure I fully understand." Can a conversation outside of work be construed as a misconduct?

"It depends on the context," she replied tersely. "But yes, technically."

"So, for example... this."

"This?"

"Our conversation now. Is it part of something work-related?"

Lucía held his gaze. Something thick and unspoken slipped between them.

"If you're asking me if this is inappropriate, the answer is no," she said firmly. "Until now."

Bruno narrowed his eyes. He leaned slightly toward her, not invasively, but sincerely.

"What if at some point it was?"

Lucía didn't answer right away.

Lucía:

"This is exactly what shouldn't happen. These kinds of pauses, these kinds of questions. I know it. But your voice is calling me to the edge. And part of me... wants to fall."

"Then we should avoid it," she replied, her voice firmer than she felt. "For our own good." For yours.

Bruno nodded. But he didn't seem convinced.

Bruno:

"If this is a game, I don't want to win it. But if it's a war, I don't want to lose it either. All I know is that his voice is dragging me toward something I thought I'd forgotten. And that's much more serious than a written rule."

"See you," he said finally, and stood up.

"Yes," she said, without looking.

The door closed. Lucía exhaled deeply.

Lucía watched Bruno through the glass. He was standing, speaking to someone in a low voice, his posture combining authority and weariness. His jacket was unbuttoned and a dark gray shirt outlined his broad shoulders. There was something unexpectedly patient about his listening. And about his gestures, something... human.

He returned to his desk and looked down at the report he had open. He didn't read anything. His mind was already elsewhere.

"Bruno Ortega. In-house counsel. Executor. Silent, efficient, almost invisible to most... except me."

She'd analyzed him almost unintentionally. His pauses. His body language. The subtle ways he avoided contact, yet sought it out at the same time. There was something about him that didn't fit the perfect NCA mold. Something broken, or perhaps too intact. She didn't know which of the two attracted her more.

"There's a crack in him. I sense it. But I don't know if it's an entrance or a warning."

It wasn't a romantic illusion. Lucía didn't fantasize about redemption. She wasn't that kind of woman. But... she had begun to imagine something else.

The scene formed itself, like a fleeting thought that became increasingly clear: an ordinary, late night. The dim office lights. He entering her office, closing the door without a word. Their gazes meeting without needing to explain. And she... for the first time, giving in.

No strategies. No defenses.

Just skin and breath, desire and relief. Silence. Refuge.

"Breaking the rule isn't just an act of insubordination. It's a cry. A need. How much longer can I hold this ice?"

But then, like a whiplash, the voice of the woman from Human Resources returned to her mind:

"All emotional ties will be punished. There are no exceptions."

Lucía pressed her lips together and forced herself to return to the present. She closed the unread report and stood up to pour coffee. The same old ritual. The discipline that kept her intact.

But it wasn't intact anymore.

Now she knew what it was like to imagine it. And that... that was a step towards the edge.