The Vitamin Protocol

Elena swallowed the vitamin D supplement with a glass of water, her reflection in the hotel mirror catching her eye—hollow eyes, pale skin, the face of someone who'd been living as a corporate spy too long. Seven years of extracting trade secrets from pharmaceutical companies, and she'd forgotten what it meant to be a person rather than a collection of useful cover stories.

Her target was downstairs at the hotel bar: Marcus Chen, chief researcher at Vitalis Corp, developing a synthetic compound that supposedly cured cellular aging. Elena's handler had called it the most valuable formula since insulin. She called it another Tuesday.

She found him alone at a corner table, nursing a whiskey, watching couples sway on the dance floor. When their eyes met, something shifted—recognition, maybe, or exhaustion.

"You look like you could use something stronger," he said, sliding the drink toward her.

"I don't drink on operations," she replied automatically.

"Operations?" Marcus smiled sadly. "You corporate types are all the same. Zombie-fied by the time you're thirty. I saw it in my wife before she left. No spark left."

The observation cut too close. "My spark died three jobs ago."

"Mine too," he said. "That's why I'm leaving Vitalis tomorrow. Taking the research with me."

Elena's pulse quickened—this was easier than she'd planned. But then she looked at him, really looked, and saw someone swimming in the same deep water she was. "What if you didn't have to run?"

"What?"

"What if we both disappeared? Started over?" The words escaped before she could stop them. "I have resources. You have the formula. Neither of us would ever have to be zombies again."

Marcus studied her for a long moment. "I don't even know your name."

"Elena."

He slid a folder across the table—years of research, millions in value. "Then let's go swimming, Elena. Before we both drown."

She took his hand. For the first time in seven years, the vitamin supplement on her nightstand stayed there, untouched.