Avery stepped off the elevator on the ninth morning feeling strangely aware of herself—of her pace, her breathing, even the way her fingers curled around her coffee cup. It wasn’t self-consciousness exactly. More like she was trying not to disturb something fragile that existed only when she thought too hard.

She turned the corner toward her desk.

The lunch bag was there.

Not early. Not late. Just… on time.

Exactly on time.

Her heart reacted before her thoughts did, warming in a way she hoped no one could see. She set down her bag and slid her fingers across the folded top of the lunch, the crease sharper than usual. Whoever packed it had taken care with the details—though she still wouldn’t let herself imagine who that might be.

Jenna passed by and paused for half a second, eyes flicking from the lunch to Avery’s face. “Another day, huh?”

Avery’s throat tightened. “Seems like it.”

“You must’ve made an impression somewhere.”

Avery almost choked. “Wh—what do you mean?”

Jenna shrugged. “People don’t get this kind of consistency for no reason.”

Before Avery could respond, Jenna walked off, leaving her heart racing much faster than the situation deserved.

She forced herself into work, but concentration floated just out of reach.

Around ten, an email popped up:  

**Conference Room 39-C. Ten minutes. —J**

Another meeting.

She gathered her notes and made her way to the elevator, steadying her breath. The ride up felt shorter than usual, as if the elevator had decided speed was appropriate today.

When she reached the conference room, she saw several directors already inside. She began to take her usual seat at the far end—quiet, unobtrusive—when a voice stopped her.

“Collins.”

Alexander.

He was seated near the head of the table, one hand resting on a closed folder. His expression was composed, but his eyes stayed on her for a beat longer than anyone else’s would have dared.

“Sit here,” he said, indicating the seat directly to his right.

Avery froze.

That seat wasn’t for people like her. That seat was for assistants, senior staff, people who were expected to speak.

“I—this seat might belong to—”

“It’s open,” he said, tone final but not unkind.

She moved toward it slowly, feeling the weight of multiple glances landing on her. She sat down, careful, almost rigid.

The meeting started. Numbers, projected budgets, pending approvals—talk she had heard enough of to follow but not enough to forget her own heartbeat.

At one point, a director questioned a detail in the forecasting model. Avery glanced at her notes, recognizing the line immediately.

Alexander spoke before she could reach for the page.

“Collins can clarify. She noted the discrepancy.”

Avery’s breath stalled. All heads turned toward her again—twice in two days. Too much attention for someone who tried so hard not to take up space.

She found the right line on her paper. “The vendor shifted their reporting by two days,” she said, voice steady against her own nerves. “It affected the rollover values.”

“And you caught it?” the director asked.

“Yes.”

Alexander didn’t look at the director. He looked at her.

“She catches a lot,” he said.

The director nodded, impressed. Avery nearly forgot how to breathe.

The meeting eventually wrapped, and people filed out one by one. She gathered her things, praying her hands didn’t look as unsteady as they felt.

When she stood, Alexander spoke quietly beside her.

“Walk with me.”

The way he said it made it sound like a continuation of yesterday rather than a new request.

They stepped into the hallway together. He walked slower than usual—something she noticed immediately because she had never seen him adjust his pace for anyone.

“Your notes were clear,” he said. “They helped avoid mistakes.”

Avery shook her head. “I just wrote what was necessary.”

“You wrote what others missed.”

He wasn’t complimenting her; he was stating it like a fact, which somehow made it harder to accept.

They reached a quieter corner of the floor, outside the smaller strategy rooms. He stopped there—not too close, not too far.

“Avery.”

Her chest tightened at the sound of her name in his voice. Too gentle for the cold marble hallway.

“Yes?”

“If you ever need support with the review next week, you come to me.” His tone was even, but the meaning was not. “Directly to me.”

She blinked. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said immediately. “If it’s work-related, I expect you to.”

He paused, choosing his next words with unusual care.

“And if it’s not work-related…”  

He stopped there, breath steady but unreadable.  

“…you can still come to me.”

Her pulse stuttered. “I—why would I—”

He didn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, he looked at her with a kind of restrained patience, as if waiting for her to understand something he had been telling her without saying it.

A phone rang in the distance, snapping the moment.

Alexander straightened. “Send me the revised notes before the end of the day.”

“I will.”

She turned to leave, but before she took a full step, he spoke again—quieter.

“Avery.”

She looked back.

He held her gaze for a beat that felt too long, too intentional.

“You’re doing well.”

The same words.  

But today, they landed differently—  

as if they meant something more than just performance.

She walked away with her heartbeat out of rhythm, every step feeling like she was moving closer to a line she had spent days pretending not to see.

And for the first time, she wondered—  

not with fear, but with a quiet and growing realization—  

if that line was never meant to stay where she thought it was.