Lucian came back forty minutes after he left.
He didn't knock. He didn't have to. She'd heard him in the corridor — his footfall specific, the particular cadence of a man who'd spent years learning how not to be heard and occasionally chose not to bother.
He set the tablet on the desk in front of her.
She looked at the screen. Then at him.
"Ghost account," he said. "Embedded in De Luca's internal routing infrastructure. Created fourteen months ago."
That was before Leni. Three months before, by her estimate.
"Predates her," Raven said.
"By a quarter year. Whoever built it understood the architecture from inside. Not a workaround. A door, built to look like part of the wall."
Vincent hadn't moved from the window since Lucian walked in. He was watching the courtyard below — or appeared to be. She'd stopped assuming Vincent's sight lines matched his body orientation three weeks ago.
