The office was unusually tranquil; one might have thought it deserted. A woman stood silently, one hand clenched at her side, the other a fist near her chest, her brow furrowed. Neither she nor the man before her spoke. He glared at her through his mask, his gaze intense.

"Sir..." she began, but a crash interrupted her. A glass shattered, shards scattering near her feet. She remained unmoving, allowing the man to unleash his fury.

"Have I given you too much freedom? Are you not listening, Rhea Moore?" he roared, his voice strained.

She straightened, lowered her head, and looked at the shards. "No, sir," she replied flatly.

"No?" He hurled another glass; it struck her forehead, blood trickling down her cheek. The warm blood, stark against her white hazmat suit, created a macabre contrast—a gruesome yet strangely captivating image.

"Don't you know you're dead? How dare you show your face in the lab, in Mike and Lily's presence? Do you want them to recognize you?" The man's rage escalated.

He was watching through surveillance cameras. Rhea's defiance, her appearance before Lily, enraged him. He feared she might arouse Lily's suspicions, jeopardizing their carefully laid plans. He grabbed another glass, ready to throw it, but hesitated at the sight of her bloody face and her cold gaze. He smashed the glass aside, the sound less forceful this time.

"We're close to our goal. Don't create trouble. If you ruin this, I can't save you!" He climbed onto a desk, towering over her. "How are you so sure Lily can do it?"

Rhea slowly raised her eyelids, blood tracing a path down her cheek. Her gaze was contemptuous. "How do you know she's not here to sabotage us?" she scoffed, her distrust evident.

"That's not your concern. Do your job! No one causes trouble under my watch," he declared, his gaze dropping to her hand. "Give me that."