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WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE (OF CUBICLES)
SEAN
The sign above the front doors proclaims Welcome to Labyrinth Solutions!in bubble letters, with cartoon monsters and humans waving like we’re all at a summer camp orientation nobody asked to attend. I’m already exhausted, and I haven’t even walked inside.
I pause before heading in. The air smells faintly like ozone and citrus cleaner—corporate optimism mixed with despair.
Perfect.
I straighten my tie. It’s the only one I own, and it’s sporting a small stain. Ketchup? Coffee? Hard to tell. At a company built on teamwork, a hint of chaos feels like the right vibe.
I’ve got this. I have to. Because rent doesn’t pay itself,family comes first, and apparently, copious amounts of caffeine and blind confidence aren’t valid income streams.
I tug at my collar, take a deep breath, and push the door open.
“Hi there!”
The woman behind the front desk flutters to her feet. Not a figure of speech. Her wings catch the overhead light like black glass. She’s gorgeous in a “winged perfection, feathers never out of place” way.
“Sean Rivers?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
“Welcome to Labyrinth Solutions! I’m Amara, your Being Resources onboarding specialist and harpy extraordinaire.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say with a gentle bow of my head, trying my best not to look like my underwear has taken up permanent residence in my ass crack.
Amara steps around the desk, feathers swishing, and gestures for me to follow. Her talons click like tiny metronomes as she leads me down a hall lined with glossy posters about collaboration, growth, and “building bridges across every difference.” They’re really selling it.
“So, Sean,” she chirps, “first big corporate job?”
“Yes, ma’am. I waited tables before this, so I’m basically a people expert.”
Amara laughs. “Well, your resume was impeccable, and those business classes will help you fit right in. You’ll be up to speed in no time.” She taps the leather portfolio in herhands. “Franklin—your new boss—can be a little cool at first, but that’s to be expected. He’s a yeti.”
“Cool. Sure.” My shirt’s already damp, and I sense a headache forming behind my eyes.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
I glance at her wings then at the exit. “Just wondering if there’s a survival guide or if we’re winging it.”
She ruffles her feathers and laughs. “Oh, you’re going to fit right in.”
At the elevator, Amara presses the button with a talon, and I catch a glimpse of her ID badge. It’s decorated with a sparkly sticker that reads “Birds Do It Better.”
“First stop: the breakroom,” she says. “It’s important you know where to hide when everything falls apart.”
“Terrific. Catastrophizing is my love language.”
“Oh, I like you.” She smiles at me over her shoulder.
The elevator opens to a wave of smells—coffee, fur, desperation. So basically, Monday.
Amara waves a wing toward the counter that runs along the length of the room. It’s overflowing with mismatched mugs, some of which seem to have… teeth.
“Communal coffee,” she says. “Drink at your own risk.”
