Right up until I didn’t.
Failure.
The word had been circling since Margaret’s camera went dark. Chewing at the edges of my sanity.
Failure.
The elevator doors slid shut. My reflection flickered back at me in the stainless steel: neat bun, burgundy lipstick still intact, suit jacket without a wrinkle. Every detail said composed executive.
But inside, something paced.
By the third floor, the day started replaying in shards. Holt’s unnerving intensity. Nathan Bell’s smug grin. Davidson’s bored contempt on the follow-up call, like I’d wasted his afternoon.
“We need more concrete next steps,” I mocked the words, hoping it would make me feel better.
It didn’t.
The elevator hummed. The numbers glowed. I watched them tick up and tried to keep myself even. In. Out. But my lungs didn’t care. The air went in but refused to settle. It hovered somewhere high and painful.
By the time the elevator opened into the lobby, the marble floor looked too bright. The security guard nodded. I waved. My feet carried me on autopilot past the revolving door and toward the waiting car. Harold tipped his hat, ever patient, but I caught only fragments—gray hair, straight posture, concern he’d never voice.
Traffic lights smeared red and green across the windshield as Harold weaved through streets. Sirens wailed somewhere distant. Horns snapped and faded. My inbox winked up from my phone’s lock screen in a wall of red dots.
At the top of the notifications sat the Falkirk calendar block. 2:00 p.m. next Thursday. The invitation had come quickly. Then another:Following after for immediate debrief—Davidson.
My finger hovered over my thread with Read, craving distraction—connection—anything that didn’t reek of obligation or expectation. His name sat there, steady and uncomplicated. No title. No company. No demands. Just a word that hadstopped feeling like a username weeks ago and started feeling like a constant.
But I couldn’t open it, the war of emotions inside of me overriding need and logic.
The car turned, the city tilting outside, and by the time the elevator doors opened, my mind was spinning—bag dropped on the console, jacket shrugged off and missing the hook entirely. It slid to the floor in a defeated slump.
The investors’ call replayed again, more vivid now that there was nothing to drown it out.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Margaret’s pen.
Not here. Not real.But inside my head all the same, hitting the same three-beat pattern it had while she’d listened to Davidson tell me my progress didn’t count.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The air went wrong first. Too thick, as if the room had been filled with invisible cotton. Every inhale felt like sucking through another layer. My vision narrowed at the edges. Colors dimmed.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Stop,” I whispered.
The word sounded small in the room. Useless.
The chorus didn’t pause.You failed. You wasted their money. You’re dragging everyone down with you.Faces flashed in a glitchy parade: Sarah at her desk, Rebecca’s canceled Hawaii trip, Kevin’s twins, Candace crying on my couch. All of them tethered to Elion. To me.
You’re the common denominator.
“You’re fine,” I told myself. Out loud this time. “You’re fine. The call wasn’t even that bad.”
Liar.
My pulse picked up, thudding in strange places—behind my knees, in my fingertips.
