After learning that Vincent never went back on a decision once he had made it, and that he had been standing right there when Leah assigned him to the janitorial department, Bryce understood there was no point arguing any further.
Suppressing the frustration burning inside him, he silently followed the man out of the room, leaving the three back.
They rode the elevator down before weaving through one bustling corridor after another. Employees moved briskly in every direction, each seemingly occupied with work too important to spare anyone else a glance.
Bryce followed silently behind the older man, his thoughts churning without pause. Despite everything else demanding his attention, one irrelevant question occupied his mind above all the others.
"What’s going on between LuminousLoom and Gemshine?" he finally asked.
"Your job is to clean, boy," he said flatly. "Everything else is none of your concern."
Bryce frowned but remained silent.
After a brief pause, the man spoke again.
"Besides, it’s all over the news. Where have you been living that you haven’t heard about it?"
Bryce said nothing.
"The world’s leading jewelry companies were selected to attend interviews with FIFA officials. The company that proves itself worthy will earn the privilege of designing and crafting the next FIFA World Cup trophy." He glanced at Bryce over his shoulder. "Don’t tell me you didn’t even know FIFA was starting soon."
Bryce had heard about that, he simply wasn’t someone who paid much attention to sports, especially football.
He knew what FIFA was.
What caught him completely off guard was discovering that LuminousLoom had been chosen as one of the companies competing for something so prestigious.
The realization left him genuinely astonished.
Designing the World Cup trophy...
That wasn’t merely another business contract.
It was worldwide recognition.
It suddenly made perfect sense why the interviewers had sounded so anxious after mentioning Gemshine.
Eventually, they reached another section of the building. Several people wearing janitorial uniforms were gathered together, chatting among themselves.
Their conversation came to an abrupt stop the moment Bryce and the older man approached.
Nearly every pair of eyes shifted toward him.
Bryce estimated there were around ten of them without bothering to count. Some looked close to his age, while others appeared considerably older. Both men and women.
"Hey," Bryce greeted quietly.
"Hello, newbie."
Several voices answered almost at the same time.
Bryce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Even here they called newcomers newbies? Apparently that word followed people everywhere.
The older man continued walking until he reached a nearby office and pushed the door open.
Bryce followed him inside.
The room wasn’t nearly as luxurious as the executive offices upstairs, but it was clean, organized, and perfectly functional.
The man settled into his chair without inviting Bryce to sit.
He pulled a sheet of paper closer, scribbled across it for a few moments, then slid it over the desk.
Bryce lowered his eyes to read it.
Pavement outside, lobby, public elevators, Mrs. Walker’s office, employee restrooms. The farther his eyes traveled down the list, the tighter his jaw became.
Every assignment sounded deliberately chosen to make his work as miserable as possible.
Cleaning outside the building.
The lobby where hundreds of employees passed every day.
Leah’s office.
The public restrooms.
Not a single area had been assigned fairly.
"I don’t think this is reasonable for one person. I..."
"I already told you," the man interrupted without looking up, "those instructions came directly from Mrs. Walker."
He leaned back in his chair.
"You must have done something to upset her."
Bryce almost laughed.
Upset her?
How?
Nothing that had happened between them had been something he had consciously chosen.
She kept accusing him of sleeping with her husband. Why was it never the other way around? Her husband had slept with him, almost willingly.
Vincent had known exactly what was happening.
Bryce hadn’t.
How, in any possible way, was all the blame supposed to fall on him?
His fingers slowly curled into a tight fist.
"My name is Molloy," the man said, finally introducing himself. "I’m the head of this department."
He handed Bryce a folded sheet.
"This is a map of the building. It’ll help you find every area you’re responsible for."
He pointed at several marked locations as he continued explaining routes, schedules, storage rooms, and supply stations.
"Jones."
The voice slipped into Bryce’s mind so abruptly that it tore his attention away from Mr. Molloy’s explanation. For a fleeting moment, he thought the older man had called his name, but Mr. Molloy continued speaking without the slightest interruption, making it obvious the voice hadn’t come from him.
Bryce frowned.
Maybe he had imagined it.
Besides...
Who would call him Jones?
Almost no one had ever addressed him by his surname.
It was always... Bryce.
Or Bry.
Or Icey.
Or some other nickname people had somehow managed to invent from his first name.
"Can you hear me?"
The voice came again, this time clearer. It was deep, composed, unmistakably Vincent’s. There was no possibility Bryce had imagined whose voice it was anymore.
What he still wasn’t certain about was whether Vincent was truly speaking to him or whether his own mind had somehow recreated the man’s voice in his head.
It sounded as though he were standing right beside him.
Too many impossible things had already happened for Bryce to find it strange that they could somehow communicate this way.
And if Vincent truly was speaking to him, he had no intention of acknowledging him.
"I’ve sent something through someone," Vincent’s voice continued. "When you receive it, open it. It looks like a bandage. Just remove the wrapping and stick it over the back of your neck."
There was no room for doubt this time. Vincent was communicating with him somehow. Bryce immediately wanted to demand what it was, why he was supposed to wear it, and since when Vincent thought he could order him around without offering a single explanation.
But he decided not to speak to him.
"Are you listening?" Mr. Molloy’s voice suddenly interrupted, pulling Bryce back to reality. "Because from where I’m standing, you look as though your mind is somewhere else while your body’s still here."
Bryce blinked and forced his attention back to the office.
"I’m listening," he replied.
Mr. Molloy regarded him skeptically. "Then tell me when each assigned area is supposed to be cleaned."
Bryce fell silent. He hadn’t heard a single instruction.
Mr. Molloy sighed in visible annoyance. "That’s exactly what I thought. I couldn’t care less how you recover everything I’ve just explained, as long as every assigned area is spotless and cleaned at the correct time."
He dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
"You may leave."
Bryce hesitated briefly before gathered the building map together with the list of places he had been assigned, and walked out of the office.
"Did you receive it?" Vincent’s voice reached him again almost immediately. "I need you to do what I asked. Right now."
This time, Bryce caught something different beneath the words. There was a faint tremor running through Vincent’s voice, as though he were struggling to keep himself under control, forcing every word out with growing difficulty.
Bryce slowed his steps.
He had no idea what Vincent was dealing with, nor could he understand why wearing whatever had been sent seemed so urgent. But one thing was certain.
He wasn’t putting it on.
Not unless Vincent explained exactly what it was, why he wanted him to wear it, and what purpose it served.