Graphic by Samantha Rose

Devon observed his reflection outside the Devil. He had skipped out on the tie and settled on a crisp blue button-down over his slacks. He ruffled his hair. He entered the building.

Dakota sat at her desk, her lips as red as the pens copy editors used, her hair up in a perfect bun. She set her pen down to give Devon a playful grin. “Does your room not have a mirror?” she asked.

“Nah, I just like giving you a show,” he said, sidling up to her. She laughed. Devon tried to peer over her desk at what papers she had, but couldn’t manage it without breaking his neck. He instead caught himself admiring her eyes, and had to remind himself he was a detective in the midst of an investigation.

“I figured you don’t get much to do down here,” he said. “Doesn’t it get boring?”

Dakota shrugged. “I have a few books to keep me company, and oddballs like you for conversation,” she replied, smirking. Devon leaned on the counter and quirked an eyebrow in what he thought was his coy and interested expression. Dakota’s growing smile told him otherwise.

“Sure, sure, but don’t you ever want to do more?” he asked. “Like, write for the Devil or something?”

Her smile was replaced by a frown. “Eve has been talking to you, hasn’t she?” she said, pulling back and crossing her arms.

“What? No,” Devon began, raising his hands in defense. The cold look growing in Dakota’s eyes shattered his resolve. He dropped his hands and his eyes. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

Dakota groaned. She turned back to her paperwork. Without looking at Devon she said, “You know, Devon, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you or-” Devon was cut off by the receptionist. Her voice was cold and clinical.

“Guadalupe is already upstairs, second floor.” she said. “You should hurry before you’re late.”

Without another word, Devon headed to the elevator. He considered what Guadalupe had told him about being a failure of a flirt. He was glad she wasn’t there to witness the train wreck of an investigation he had just attempted. The thought of it made his cheeks flush.

Guadalupe awaited him at the entrance of the second floor in a white button-up and black skirt, looking like a prim schoolgirl. She snickered at him, and he knew the incident with Dakota was written all over his red cheeks.

“How are you always early? Do you, like, not sleep or something?” he murmured, pushing past her. She easily fell into step beside him.

“I just don’t waste time getting rejected by the receptionist on the way in,” she whispered back.

Before he could reply, a man and a woman in their mid to late twenties approached. The man was shorter than the woman but strong, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to bare his muscular arms. He had a firm, square jaw pocked by stubble. His ID card was looped through his belt loop, the name and photo tucked into his pocket.

The woman was tall and skinny, like a twig that had sprouted legs. She wore a black pantsuit with heels and had red hair cut into a bob. Her ID card was no where to be seen.

“You two the new kids in town?” the man asked, offering his hand.

“That’d be us,” Devon replied, accepting the handshake. He immediately regretted that decision when he realized his idea of a “firm handshake” was a limp noodle compared to the crushing he was receiving.

“I’m Michael Kale. I do the wellness section,” the man said, releasing Devon with most of his fingers intact. “This here’s Autumn Burton. She talks a big game, but don’t let her get to you, kids, she doesn’t do much.”

“Hey!” the woman, Autumn, protested. She pushed passed him and scoffed. “Michael is just hurt my stories get more views than his.”

Michael laughed, throwing his arm around Autumn and giving her a small squeeze. “That’s my Autumn,” he cooed, “So proud of her wittle accomplishments. How proud would you be with a degree?”

“Michael!” She shook him off. “Not in front of my proteges. Don’t you have a story to edit or something?”

Michael walked off, chuckling. Autumn shook her head. She held her fingers to her temple as though she was soothing a headache. “Before you misunderstand, let me explain. Michael likes to poke fun, but he shouldn’t with impressionable kids like you around,” she said, shifting her attention to her new interns. “I do have a degree, just not in Journalism. Working here was a freelance job that became steady. So stay in school, get your degree, don’t be me, so on and so forth.”

Guadalupe spoke before Devon could make his genius joke about skipping out on college. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Burton,” she said. “I’m Guadalupe, and this is Devon. Mrs. Wilson told us you’d be teaching us content editing today.”

“Correct, Guadalupe. Follow me, you two,” Autumn said.

Once again the two were led to the back printer room and seated at the table. A thick packet of papers awaited each of them.

“Content editing is about making the story as best, and as focused, as possible,” Ms. Burton said. “You’ve each been given four articles. Reword sentences, rearrange paragraphs and note any missing details. Then, swap. Different editors will have different pieces of advice. When you finish, we’ll go over the stories together and discuss what changes would make them stronger and why.”

“How much time do we have?” Guadalupe asked.

“Two hours. I’ll be at my desk if you need me,” Ms. Burton replied. “Feel free to work together on this.”

Guadalupe took her seat and began reading. Devon plopped down across from her, and flipped through the packet, counting the pages first. Ms. Burton exited the room. After a few minutes of scratching and working, Devon heard Guadalupe’s quiet whisper.

“I found something out,” she said, glancing at the door.

“What?” he asked.

“The stories I had access to were made private,” she said. “Whatever hole in the programming there was has been sealed shut.”

“So our one lead is gone?” Devon couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. He hunched his shoulders, frowning. Guadalupe shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I overheard Felix earlier today. Chester, the I.T. Manager, is here today,” she said. “If anyone knows what’s going on, he does.”

She returned to her work without another word. Devon mirrored her, piping up only occasionally to discuss parts of the assignment. At one point, Devon stretched and stood.

“Bathroom break,” he said. “If I’m not back in ten, assume the worst and send help.”

Guadalupe didn’t bother looking up. “Duly noted,” she said, scrawling out a paragraph of her article.

From the stapler scavenger hunt, Devon knew the bathroom was tucked away in a small enclave right of the elevator. As he passed it, he noticed the elevator ring and begin to open. He ducked into the enclave and peeked at the elevator.

Dakota stepped out. She looked around briefly before slipping into the rows of desks. Devon was tempted to follow, but feared being seen. Dakota kept glancing over her shoulder. She wasn’t meant to be there. She had no papers in her hands, no messages she couldn’t have relayed with the phone at her desk.

Devon swallowed hard. “What are you doing, Dakota?”