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I removed each item and placed it on the floor while Talia’s irritation grew visibly with every piece.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, her voice tight with restrained anger.

I did not look up from the contents of her bag. “No.”

She folded her arms across her chest, a sharp, defensive motion. “You know, where I come from, men don’t go looking through women’s purses.”

“I am no man,” I said flatly, still sorting.

“Well, you look thrilled,” she shot back, sarcasm edging each word.

“I am searching.”

Her breath hitched audibly. “I noticed.”

Near the bottom was a small container.

Her posture changed when I reached for it.

I noticed.

Inside was an old identification card, a bracelet, and a printed photograph, faded and damaged.

Earth possessions.

Nothing operational.

I returned them to the container more carefully than necessary.

Her expression shifted.

I ignored that too.

There was no classified material in the bag.

I looked up. “Where is it?”

She threw both hands into the air. “Where is what?”

“The data.”

“I don’t have any data.” She said it slowly, like she was explaining to a child.

“You accessed restricted records.”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No shift in her posture.

“What did you copy?”

“Nothing.”

“What did you transmit?”

“Nothing.” Her voice climbed on the second syllable.

“To whom did you speak?”

“My supervisor.” She dropped her hands and gripped the strap of her bag.