... the Proud MarCom Professional...

The sun climbed, the air thickening, the sea stretching out forever. Andy waited, silent, as the next shimmer started to pulse on the edge of the world.

Arabella watched the group, her gaze sliding over each face, her smile a study in effortless reassurance. “You’re all doing splendidly,” she said, voice like warm syrup. “Please, be patient. Everything will soon become clear.”

Andy wanted to laugh. Instead, he sat very still in the heat and tried not to drown in it. He looked up, eyes stinging from the sun, and saw the horizon pulse again. It was never going to get easier, he realized. Not for him, and not for anyone else still to come.

He braced himself, and waited for the next shock to arrive. The universe, or whoever was bringing these women here, didn’t even bother with a breather. Less than a minute after Erin settled in, the horizon rippled again—a new, violent twist that left an afterimage in Andy’s eyes. He watched, heart thudding, as the next contestant was ejected onto the sand with almost deliberate disrespect.

A tight black bun had come loose at the nape of her neck, dark curls escaping like springs; her blouse was pressed and starched, her pencil skirt cut to surgical sharpness, but her dignity wobbled as she scrambled up, black heels sinking on the shore, expensive suit sprinkled with sand, and looked back at the closing wound in the air as though she could argue it into reopening.

Norah Rahman.

Andy recognized her instantly, though in the last few years he’d seen her only in screenshots and LinkedIn updates, always standing in front of a conference-room whiteboard or squinting skeptically over the rim of a coffee mug. In person, she still radiated the same competitive composure, an energy that bent any situation to her expectations—except, perhaps, for being spat onto a tropical beach in full boardroom attire.

She brushed sand from her skirt with impatient, flat-palmed swipes. Then, in a gesture so practiced it could have been muscle memory, she slipped her heels off and walked up the slope toward the gazebo as though she were arriving for a job interview, not a ****. Before even being told, she picked the stool nearest to Erin but turned it just a few degrees toward the Host, as if positioning herself for maximum strategic advantage.

Her gaze flicked over the group, cataloging each detail with a cool, measured speed. She clocked the seating arrangement, the carafe, the Host, the throne, the sunburn blooming over Dawn’s knees, the pattern of sweat on Andy’s shirt, the fire burning in Erin’s eyes. Then Norah found Andy’s eyes, and he felt the chill of her recognition, the way her pupils narrowed as flicked her gaze away with the **** of an accusation.

Andy tried to brace himself, but Norah moved too quickly for comfort. Her voice was a fraction lower than he remembered, but every syllable hit with the precision of a well-aimed dart. “Well, this is a novel onboarding experience. Even for you, Mr. Cooper.”

“Norah,” he said, trying for a neutral tone.

She smiled, the muscles of her face moving in perfect coordination but no warmth. “What a surprise. I suppose this is your chance to offer more constructive feedback, isn’t it?” The sarcasm was surgical, barely even raised from deadpan, but it left a chemical burn on Andy’s tongue.

Dawn, not immune to tension, shifted on her stool, and Liesa shot a glance at Andy as if to say, ‘What’s her deal?’ Claire, who had been scribbling notes in the margin of her notebook, stilled her pen and looked up with alert interest.

Andy felt his pulse in his throat, unpleasant and bright. The last time he’d seen Norah, he’d been asked to mentor a startup accelerator in New York. Norah had been assigned as his “shadow,” tasked with pitching, presenting, and absorbing feedback on behalf of her team. He had been tired—no, he had been exhausted, it was the fifteenth anniversary of Laura’s ****, and he’d spent the previous night staring at a blank wall in a Midtown hotel room—and when Norah’s pitch had gone sideways, he’d taken out every ounce of his self-loathing on her work, laying it bare in front of a dozen executives.

He had often thought about it since, and felt disgusted with the way he had poured his own pain onto an innocent person. He hadn’t seen her since she’d quit the team, though he’d kept tabs: her LinkedIn, her conference talks, the way she’d soared in spite of him. Or maybe because of him. But the memory of that meeting came back now, alive and stinging, as Norah held him in her crosshairs and dared him to flinch.

“Norah, I…” Andy tried to find the right words, but every one of them came out a mile short. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her smile didn’t budge. “That’s the thing about surprise invitations, isn’t it? They don’t exactly follow a schedule.” She folded her hands tighter, the knuckles whitening briefly before she **** them to relax. “Are you the reason I’m here?”

Arabella’s voice flowed in, oil on water. “Andy is the Master, Norah, but he’s just as much a guest as you are. I’m happy to clarify the rules once all our contestants have arrived.”

Norah snorted, a sound so subtle it could have been the wind. “Contestants,” she repeated, as if sampling a new flavor and finding it both bland and offensive. “So it is a competition? I suspected as much. What are the stakes? A million dollars?”

Liesa looked sideways at Andy, then at Norah. “Arabella does not say. But perhaps I think we leave?”

Erin, arms crossed, stared at the sea and said nothing.

Claire risked a small smile. “So far, nobody’s been eliminated. Unless you count losing your pants in the teleportation process.” She nodded at Dawn, who managed a shaky laugh.

Dawn added, “Yeah, this is more like an… icebreaker? Maybe? We’re all just trying to figure out the rules.”

Norah regarded them with a professional’s patience for small talk, then pivoted back to Andy. “And you? What do you know about any of this?” Those dark brown eyes smoldered like embers.

Andy tried to hold her gaze, but the memory of that boardroom lingered, and all he could see was her face the moment he’d torn down her pitch. “I know as much as you do,” he said, which was true, but not nearly enough.

She pursed her lips, the gears of her mind moving in neat, calibrated increments. “So the only thing we have in common is that we’re all women. And you.”

“Niet helemaal,”* Liesa said, raising a hand. “Claire and Andy know each other from school. Erin and I knew Andy at university. Erin and I also know each other a bit.” She paused, then added with a nervous laugh, “So maybe this is about old connections?”

Norah arched a brow, unimpressed. “I never knew Cooper outside of work. And frankly, I prefer it that way.”

Andy felt the heat rising behind his ears. “Norah, I’m—look, if this is about—”

She waved a hand, dismissing the apology before it left his mouth. “Not here. Not now. I’m sure there will be plenty of time for ‘team-building exercises.’”

Arabella let the tension linger a moment longer before smoothing it with her practiced hospitality. “There will be ample time for all questions, Norah. But for now, please relax. Hydration is important.” She poured another glass of water, offered it to Norah, who eyed it for a second before accepting.

Norah took a measured sip, made a face, then set the glass down, folding her hands over one knee. She turned to Erin, perhaps recognizing a fellow skeptic, and gave her a brief, respectful nod. “You seem the least enthusiastic,” she said. “What’s your theory?”

Erin didn’t blink. “Does it matter? We’re here. They can call it whatever they want, but it’s still a cage. The only question is how soft the walls are.”

Norah’s smile was a hair broader. “Well put.” She looked back to Arabella. “I take it you’re the warden?”

Arabella’s eyes flickered with real amusement. “If you wish. Though I prefer to think of myself as the Host.”

Norah tapped her fingers on the glass, then stilled them. She glanced at the other women. “Names?”

Liesa went first: “Liesa Claes. From Antwerp.”

“Dawn Moreno,” said Dawn, still hugging her knees. “Chicago.”

“Claire Freeman,” said Claire, holding up her notebook like a badge.

Erin just said, “Erin,” and left it at that.

Norah nodded once, a general’s acceptance of her new squad. “Rahman. Norah Rahman.” She looked back at Andy, eyes flinty. “And you’re still Cooper, I take it.”

He almost wanted to lie, just to break the script. “Yeah,” he said. “Still Andy Cooper.”

“Good to know,” Norah said, and for the first time there was a thread of bitter humor in her voice, faint but real. “Some of us actually grow up, you know.”

She turned her attention to the horizon, as if watching for the next arrival, and Andy saw how she kept her back perfectly straight, shoulders squared, never allowing herself to show how rattled she really was. He recognized the stance. He’d used it himself, sometimes, to keep from crumbling under pressure.

Erin looked at her, then at Andy, then went back to the ocean. Liesa tried to smile at Dawn, who managed a tremulous little grin. Claire, curious as ever, scribbled notes in her book, her eyes bright behind the glass. After Claire, Dawn and Liesa had arrived, the atmosphere had been easy… until Erin’s and Norah’s arrival. Now, a heavy, awkward silence hung over the gazebo. Andy’s eyes flickered uneasily on the remaining three stools. Who else had Arabella found? The girl from whom Andy had stolen a pencil in kindergarten, making her cry? The ice cream vendor who had given him five cents too many for his change?

Andy found himself wishing the next arrival would hurry. Every minute of waiting was another minute for all his past failures to gather in the humid air and press down on him. Arabella stood behind the throne, her posture patient, gaze locked on the path where the shimmer would appear next.

He glanced at Norah, who caught him looking. She held his gaze for one hard second, then let her attention drift back to the Host.

* "Not entirely."