I pull up the file metadata.
The corruption flag was applied at 03:12.
Three in the morning.
My hands tighten into fists.
“Show audit trail,” I say, voice sharp.
The system hesitates—just long enough to make my stomach twist—then displays the access log.
My clearance request. Approval. Scheduled retrieval.
Then:
Access Event: 02:47 — Vault Maintenance Override.
User: SYSTEM — Maintenance Window.
Log: Unavailable.
Unlogged.
My throat tightens.
I lean closer, scanning for any human identifier, any clearance code, any trace of who touched it.
There is nothing.
Just the blankness of administrative power.
“Of course,” I mutter, the words tasting like iron. “Of course you did it in a maintenance window.”
Footsteps echo behind me.
I spin, startled, heart lurching.
A vault technician stands near the entrance, holding a diagnostic tablet, expression wary. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, his skin sallow under the vault lighting.
“Can I help you?” he asks carefully.
I keep my voice steady. “The file I requested is flagged corrupted.”
He glances at his tablet, then back at me. “Yeah, I saw the flag. System error.”
“System error during an unlogged maintenance window at three in the morning?” I ask, and my tone is too sharp to be polite.
He flinches slightly. “Look, I just work the diagnostics. If the system says corrupted?—”
“The system doesn’t decide to hide its own access logs,” I cut in.
His eyes flick toward the recording nodes embedded in the vault ceiling. “You should—uh—you should talk to your supervisor.”
“My supervisor,” I say, voice cold, “already warned me people would come for me.”
The technician swallows, then lowers his voice. “This place has maintenance windows all the time. Sometimes logs don’t?—”
“Don’t,” I snap, and the word cracks.
