The afternoon drifted by without shape, as if the hours didn’t quite connect to one another. Lena sat in the corner of a small café in Eastbridge, the kind with high windows and dark wooden tables, its noise level a step above silence but still gentle enough to keep her steady. The drink in front of her had gone warm. She couldn’t remember the moment she stopped drinking it.

Her phone sat on the table, screen facing up. She wasn’t touching it, but her mind circled it constantly. Trent & Cole had said they would notify her in the afternoon. It was nearly three. Each minute passed with an exaggerated slowness, as if the city were holding its breath with her.

Tessa had been talking for several minutes, her expressive hands cutting through the air. Lena caught maybe half of it. Something about a coworker accidentally sending an internal memo to a client. Something about needing to “firebomb the PR inbox” before anyone noticed. None of it stuck. Tessa eventually stopped and leaned back in her chair.

You’re not listening, she said.

I’m trying.

Try harder.

Lena shifted. Her posture had tightened without her noticing. She forced her shoulders to loosen, fingers curling around the mug for something to hold onto. The pressure in her chest hadn’t vanished since she left the office tower; it had simply thinned out, waiting for the right moment to return.

You’re spiraling, Tessa said.

I’m not.

You are. Your face does this thing where it looks like you’re reading warnings only you can see.

Lena looked away. The description wasn’t wrong.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. Once. A soft, definitive vibration.

Her breath froze.

Tessa leaned forward. If you don’t pick it up, I will.

Lena reached for the phone with deliberate calm, even as her fingers went cold. The screen lit up with a notification banner.

Trent & Cole Capital: Congratulations. You have been selected…

Her pulse skipped, then steadied into something sharp and quick. Relief didn’t come first. Just clarity. A thin, startling clarity that cut through her tension.

You got it, Tessa said, watching her face. Holy—Lena, you got it.

Lena swallowed. The pressure in her chest loosened by a fraction, but not enough. Her body hadn’t caught up to the news. Her mind hadn’t either.

This is good, Tessa insisted. This is what you wanted.

It was. It absolutely was.

But as Lena stared at the message, one detail echoed louder than congratulations ever could.

This meant working under Silas Trent.

This meant walking into the building that carried his name. Working near someone who had looked at her with a familiarity she couldn’t decode. Someone tied, even indirectly, to a past she had spent years keeping sealed.

Her breath strained.

Tessa touched her arm. Hey. Breathe.

Lena nodded, focusing on the weight of the hand on her sleeve. It helped anchor her, drawing her out of the rising tension. Slowly, her chest loosened again.

I’m fine, Lena said.

Liar.

A faint smile touched Lena’s mouth. She picked up her bag. I should get back to the hotel. I need to look over the onboarding instructions.

You’ll call me if your body tries to rebel?

Yes.

Promise?

Promise.

Tessa walked her out of the café, offering one last look of stubborn worry before heading toward the PR office across the street. Lena watched until she turned the corner, then blended into the pedestrian flow heading toward the metro.

The city had shifted in her absence. Or maybe she had. Her mind kept replaying the interview—each question, each answer, each moment she’d sensed Silas watching her like a puzzle he already understood. She didn’t know what unsettled her more: that he watched, or that something inside her reacted to it.

The train ride was quiet. She sat near the window again, watching buildings flicker past as her reflection shifted over them. She looked composed. Almost distant. A version of herself she recognized.

But beneath that image was something else. A vibration in her thoughts, low but unsteady.

When she reached the hotel room, she locked the door behind her and sat on the edge of the bed. The bed dipped softly. Her phone still displayed the message. She read it a second time, then a third, until the words lost meaning and became shapes on a screen.

She let the phone fall beside her and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped. Her breathing remained steady, but her pulse had found a rhythm too close to the edge.

Working there would bring her closer to answers she wasn’t sure she wanted. Closer to people who might recognize her name for reasons she didn’t want them to. Closer to a man whose last name had once been said quietly in her childhood kitchen, never with affection.

Trent.

Her father had spoken it once like a warning.

The memory hit with no preamble, arriving fast enough to jolt her chest. She inhaled sharply, blinking hard. She placed a hand over her sternum, grounding herself against the sensation.

No. Not now. Not like this.

She straightened, focusing on the present. The room. The muted hum of traffic. The faint vibration of the air conditioner. She wasn’t seven years old anymore. She wasn’t powerless. She wasn’t—

Her phone buzzed again.

She froze before reaching for it. Another message from Trent & Cole.

Please arrive at 8:30 AM tomorrow for orientation. Report to the thirty-second floor.

Thirty-second. Not the thirty-eighth. A small relief. A small illusion of distance.

But Silas Trent worked six floors above.

She placed the phone face down, then stood and moved to the window. The city looked different from this height—still sharp, still cold, but less intimidating when viewed through glass.

Her reflection hovered against the skyline. She watched it for a moment, taking in the steadiness of it. The steadiness she had built over years of necessity.

She would be fine.

She repeated the phrase silently until the words carried weight.

She would be fine.

Her phone buzzed once more, but she didn’t reach for it. Not yet. She closed her eyes and let the city noise filter through the window, letting it ground her again.

Tomorrow would begin a path she wasn’t sure she could step back from.

But she wasn’t stepping back.

Not anymore.