Chapter 27 · Clean Lens

"That's not the file I shot." I slap the tablet flat against his chest before he can step back. "Look at it."

Callum catches my wrist instead of the tablet. Warm. Too warm, like always. "Rowan. Not now."

"Now." I twist free and shove the screen up between us. "Somebody pulled my raw card, ran it through retouch, and handed the pack board a photo that says my mark faded. It didn't fade, Callum. You know it didn't fade."

He doesn't look at the screen. He looks at me, jaw tight, like he's doing math he doesn't want to do out loud.

"Where'd you get that copy."

"I'm the archivist. I keep proof. That's literally the job you gave me so you could sleep at night." I turn the tablet so the light catches it right. The mark on my collarbone in the raw shot is dark as fresh ink, edges still raised. In the version the press has, it's smooth skin. Nothing. Clean.

"Somebody erased me," I say. "To clear your calendar."

His mouth opens, closes. "The board wanted the merger paperwork filed before the port review Friday. A live mark on record voids the new contract.