I have no idea what you’re talking about.
But hypothetically
If someone’s subconscious had manifested their feelings about their ex-husband’s compensation vehicle
That would be hilarious.
I’M FRAMING THIS TEXT
Also CALL ME IMMEDIATELY
Cassie laughed until tears streamed down her face. Dana walked by and gave her a concerned look, which only made her laugh harder.
For the first time in years, she feltpowerful. Not out of control. Not too much. Just… exactly right.
She should have known it couldn’t last.
The trouble startedin the 2 p.m. budget meeting.
Cassie was riding high from her morning victory, still giddy about the promotion, still secretly delighted about Derek’s car. She felt invincible in a way that probably should have been a warning sign.
The conference room was packed. Quarterly reviews. Department heads droning about numbers. The kind of meeting that made her want to gnaw her own arm off just for something to do.
Then the hot flash hit.
It started the way they always did—a warmth in her chest that spread outward like someone had lit a match inside her ribcage. But this one was different. Stronger. Fed by the magic she’d been building all day without realizing it.
She’d forgotten to ground. All morning, she’d been so focused on the presentation, then the promotion, then laughing about Derek’s pink nightmare, that she’d completely forgotten Margaret’smost basic instruction:discharge the excess before it builds up.
The warmth became heat. The heat became fire.
She grabbed the edge of the conference table, trying to breathe through it.Roots into the earth. Energy down, not out. Controlled. Centered.
It wasn’t working.
The lights flickered.
“Is there a power issue?” someone asked.
The lights flickered again. The projector screen glitched, scrambling the quarterly pie charts into abstract art.
“IT should look at that,” her boss muttered.
Cassie’s skin was tingling. No—glowing. She could see it, a faint golden shimmer on her hands that was absolutely, definitely, catastrophically visible to anyone who bothered to look.
No no no no no?—
A pen lifted off the table. Just an inch. Just for a second. But the man next to her saw it, and his eyes went wide.
“What the?—”
Another pen joined it. Then a pencil. Then Dana’s phone, which rose gracefully from the table and began a slow rotation like a very small, very expensive satellite.
“My phone!” Dana shrieked.
The conference room erupted.
Cassie tried to push the magic down, tried toground it, but it was like trying to stuff a geyser back into the earth. Everything she’d built up—the confidence, the triumph, the vindictive joy about the Porsche—it was all fuel, and now it was burning out of control.
