The Next Morning

The alarm chimed before dawn, polite and relentless. I’d slept no more than a few hours, if that. The house lights rose automatically, too bright, catching the thin shadows under my eyes. I dressed on autopilot—pressed blouse, pencil skirt, a touch of gloss to hide the fatigue—and left for the pad.

The AeroTransport arrived the moment I stepped outside. The flight was short, the kind of silent commute that leaves too much room for thought. I watched the city grow from the horizon like a waking machine and told myself that today, at least, I’d look the part.

By the time I reached my floor, the office lights were already burning. The glass doors slid open, greeting me with the same sterile welcome as always. My desk waited—usually immaculate, now a battlefield of reports, empty cups, and the faint scent of yesterday’s perfume.

Perfect. Just what I needed before a board meeting.

I dropped my bag, powered the console, and started sorting through the debris. Half the accounts were finished, the rest half-done or untouched. There wasn’t enough time to make it look complete, let alone be complete. I felt the pulse of panic rise and buried it under habit.

Control the narrative, not the numbers.

Then I saw it—one of Brad’s accounts, buried in the cross-department files I’d pulled. A small inconsistency: a payment discrepancy hidden in the logistics data. Probably nothing, but enough. My pulse steadied as quickly as it had risen.

I leaned closer, eyes tracing the anomaly, already writing the explanation in my head. If I brought this to the meeting, even as a “concern,” the discussion would pivot to his oversight, not mine. Classic misdirection, the oldest trick in the Dominion handbook.

A smile found its way to my lips. Tired or not, I still had sharp edges.

I cleaned the visible clutter—straightened stacks, wiped the desk surface until the reflection looked passable. The rest could stay hidden in the data. The meeting wasn’t for three hours; enough time to build a story that made me look diligent and Brad careless. Maybe even ambitious enough to deserve the promotion he thought was his.

I took a long sip of coffee, bitter and burnt as always, and opened a fresh report template. The hum of the office filled the room: keyboards, muted conversation, the white noise of ambition. My headache faded into it, replaced by a sharper, more familiar focus.

There would be time to worry about exhaustion later. For now, there was opportunity. And I never wasted those.