“He’s done. His company’s already distancing.”
“Pierce looks awful in those photos.”
I scroll through my inbox, unhurried. Calendar invites. Status updates. A meeting rescheduled.
“Apparently Legal moved fast,” another voice says. “No names. No speculation. Just… him.”
I pause.
Just him.
I sip my coffee and keep my eyes on the screen.
Someone leans over the divider. “Audra, did you?—”
“No,” I say gently, without looking up. “I didn’t.”
A beat.
“Oh,” they say. “Okay.”
They retreat.
I don’t feel relief.
I feel confirmation.
At the printer, two people lower their voices as I pass.
“—not an employee,” one murmurs.
“—clean firewall,” the other replies.
I press the button and wait for the pages to slide out.
This is the thing about proximity to power: people assume collateral damage is inevitable.
It isn’t.
Not if the damage belongs where it started.
I collect the printout and turn?—
—and Mark is standing there.
He doesn’t look surprised to see me. He never does. He looks… steady. Like someone who noticed the temperature change and adjusted without fuss.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning.”
We walk back toward my desk together.
“They didn’t mention anyone else,” I say, more to the space between us than to him.
“No,” Mark agrees. “They didn’t.”
I stop beside my chair and set the papers down neatly. “Good.”
