Cassidy
Something is wrong.
The feeling follows me from the moment I wake up, lingering low beneath my skin like an omen I can’t shake. Since stepping into the building, I’ve felt eyes on me, even though no one is looking.
My floor is at least quieter, with very few people around, and by the time I make it to my office, I’m relieved not to run into anyone.
Relieved to escape the feeling of being watched.
“Morning, Cassie!”
I blink at Gemma in surprise as she practically beams at me from where she’s sitting at my desk. Her blonde curls are perfectly styled today, glossy and bouncy around her shoulders, and there’s not a trace of this week’s misery left on her face.
No strained squinting. No pale skin. No tension.
Her heavy peach perfume fills the room, too strong for my aching head, clinging over whatever natural scent she’s covered beneath it. She stands, smoothing her blue fitted skirt with both hands.
“Oh.” I pause in the doorway, feeling like an intruder, despite this being my office. Something tightens in my throat that I don’t quite have a name for. “You’re feeling better?”
“Much!” she chirps brightly, her grin widening to show her perfect teeth. “Honestly, I’m so glad. This week has been hellish.”
The knot of anxiety I’ve been carrying all morning loosens instantly, replaced by a wave of relief so sharp I feel dizzy on my feet.
Just seeing Gemma upright, animated, hands fluttering as she adjusts her skirt, her expression lit up and not twisted with pain—it undoes something in my chest I’ve been holding all week.
I didn’t realise how much I needed to see that.
“That’s good,” I say softly, setting my bag down onto one of the chairs opposite my desk. “I was worried about you.”
Gemma waves a dismissive hand before reaching for the folders stacked neatly beside my keyboard. I had everything finalised last night, but there was a meeting in the trainee area, so I couldn’t leave them on her desk.
“I’ve had to come and grab these so I can get them submitted in time,” she says, raising a brow at me.
I grimace and try to explain about the meeting, but she just waves me off again.
“Thanks for this, babe. I’m sure you did enough that I can get my boss off my back.” She rounds my desk, leaning in to brush her cheek against mine.
I hold back the flinch, but her scent is so strong, overwhelming me in an uncomfortable way.
“You gave me the rest I needed this week.”
I stayed overnight here working around the clock, and I was even here until nearly midnight last night when they finally told me to go home, just so I could get it all done.
I am so glad she’s relieved.
“You’re honestly such a sweetheart,” Gemma says, gathering the folders against her chest. “I knew you’d be the right person to ask.”
Warmth blooms painfully beneath my ribs as the relief gives way to the exhaustion that’s been clinging to me all week, my scent glands prickling beneath the stress of it.
I glance at my nest but focus back on Gemma, knowing I can’t give in to the urge to crawl into it and bury myself under anything that still smells safe.
One more day, Cassie, then you can relax.
Well, mostly. If I ignore the gala I have tomorrow and the party on Sunday.
“Of course,” I say tightly. “I’m just glad I could help. You look so much better. How’s your mum doing?”
Gemma’s head jerks, a flicker of confusion passing over her face. “My mum?”
Her mouth forms a small, perfect “o,” her brows drawing together like she has no idea what I mean.
“My mum…” she repeats slowly, like she’s trying to remember why I’m asking.
I force a smile. “She was in hospital, right? Is she still there? How is she doing?”
She tips her head and laughs, the sound bright and brittle. “Oh, right! Yes—brain fart. You know mums, always making a fuss over nothing. She’s fine.”
Something cold creeps back into my chest. The knot tightens, and I can’t help but notice how quickly she glosses over it. The way her eyes flick away from mine, the slight tightening at the corners of her smile.
“That’s good,” I say carefully. “I was worried about you. And her.”
“You worry too much, doll.” She reaches out and squeezes my arm, her nails pressing a little too firmly through my sleeve. “Honestly, you’re going to burn yourself out if you keep taking everything so seriously.”
I pull back slightly from her touch, my skin prickling beneath the fabric. The words settle horribly—you worry too much—and I can’t help but think about the dark circles under my eyes, the ones I stopped looking at days ago, and how long it’s been since I actually slept.
I needed to do this.
“I’ll be okay.” The words sound weak, even to me.
“I know.” Her smile sharpens at the edges. “You always are.”
Gemma turns towards the door, folders tucked neatly against her chest, every curl perfect, every inch of her bright and rested and beautiful. There’s no trace of the migraine now. No wince as she moves. No careful squint against the lights.
I’m glad. I really am.
It was worth it. She’s better. It was worth it.
“Thanks again,” she adds over her shoulder. “You’ve made my life so much easier this week.”
“That’s what friends are for,” I say softly.
Gemma’s smile flickers. Then she’s gone, taking the folders with her, and the silence she leaves behind feels louder than it should.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway.
My office smells like peach perfume, wilting flowers, and the faint ghost of Evander’s dark chocolate and coffee scent.
My legs feel strangely heavy as I move around the desk, and when I sit down, the chair seems lower than I remember. Or maybe I’m sinking.
It doesn’t matter. None of this matters now.
I can breathe.
Gemma’s better.
Her mum is okay.
The files are finished.
I helped. For once, I actually helped without making a mistake. Nobody was angry, everything got done, and it cost me nothing.
That thought should help. Instead, I feel hollowed out, like somebody has scooped all the useful parts from my chest and left the rest of me behind.
My computer beeps. I flinch hard enough to knock my hand against the desk, sending a pen rolling onto the floor. I open the email app, and my heart begins to race the moment I spot his name.
Harlan Mercer.
My stomach drops, and then I see the subject line.
Subject: Come and see me. ASAP.
I press my fingers hard into my eyes until the blur softens. The ringing in my ears stays put regardless, low and persistent, like I’ve been underwater too long and can’t quite break the surface.
Cassidy,
I need to talk with you. Once you’re in, come to my office.
Don’t dawdle.
Harlan
For a long moment, I stare at it. I re-read the words, trying to find the hidden reason that I’ve been summoned.
Then I look at the folders that are no longer on my desk, the closed tabs on my computer from finishing everything, and the doorway Gemma disappeared through.
Something is wrong.
I clutch the edge of my desk, knuckles whitening. Harlan doesn’t send urgent emails. Not like this.
I’ve fucked up somehow.
My hands shake as I grab the scent neutralising spray and cover myself from head to toe, the familiar chemical blankness of it sitting unpleasantly against my skin.
My movements are slow and lethargic, my body protesting every time I make it move.
I grab my laptop from my bag and close my office door behind me.
The walk to Harlan’s office isn’t long, but my legs tremble with every step, like I’ve sprinted the whole way there. I try to move briskly down the empty corridor, praying no one will pop out of a side office and demand small talk, but my body is heavy and sluggish with exhaustion.
Halfway there, a wave of dizziness crashes over me, and I have to steady myself against the wall. My vision swims in and out of focus, and for a terrifying second, I wonder if I’ll actually faint.
The floor beneath my shoes doesn’t feel solid anymore.
Maybe Gemma is right. I am going to burn myself out if I keep overthinking everything.
I hesitate outside Harlan’s office for a full fifteen seconds, trying to think of every possible reason he might’ve called me.
My palms are damp against the smooth metal of my laptop. I pause outside the door, forcing myself to take a steadying breath before I knock twice.
The sound is pathetically soft, but his voice comes immediately.
“Come in.”
His voice reaches me through the door, though I can’t tell anymore whether the wood is thick or my ears are doing that weird underwater thing again.
I set my jaw and open the door, stepping into a room several degrees colder than the corridor. The air in here is different—less recycled office smell, more something expensive and metallic mixed with latex and the subtle tang of ink.
Every time I enter Harlan’s office, it feels like I shouldn’t be there.
Harlan sits behind a massive glass desk, absorbed in a stack of papers. He doesn’t look up at first, and I try to use the moment to compose myself, but the silence is too weighty to bear. I step forward, clutching my laptop like a shield, and close the door behind me with a soft click.
“You took your time.”
His voice cuts through my thoughts, and I freeze, throat tight, the base of my neck prickling beneath the neutraliser.
His eyes are still on the printout, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand grips the pen just a little too hard.
He’s angry.
Harlan sits behind the desk in a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, exposing fine blue veins beneath warm beige skin. Everything about him feels controlled to the point of intimidation.
His broad shoulders are rigid, his sharp jawline severe. His muted hazel eyes remain fixed on the paper, firmly ignoring me, but I can feel the pressure of his attention regardless.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can catch it. “I had to—”
I can’t actually remember what I had to do. My mind goes blank, the last ten minutes just… gone. I fumble for an excuse but come up empty, with nothing to say and nowhere to go.