Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
AUDRA
The spa is quiet.
Not silence—never that—but softened sound. Small rock waterfalls built into the walls as you walk to whatever room you’re headed to. Fabric whispering when people pass. Even my own breathing feels moderated, like the room expects calm and I’m willing to meet it halfway.
After my mud bath, I’m wrapped in a robe that smells faintly of eucalyptus and something floral I can’t name. My phone is off. Not silenced. Off.
That distinction matters.
I sink lower into the lounge chair and close my eyes as they begin my intensive facial.
And suddenly I’m back in my office, standing at Alex’s desk with a clipboard in my hands.
I laugh out loud.
The sound surprises me—sharp and uncontained against the hush of the room—but no one minds. No one intrudes.
A smile pulls at my mouth.
Alex and Karl are ridiculous.
The thought arrives fully formed, uninvited, and warm.
Alex leans back in his chair, hands laced behind his head, watching me fill out the vacation request like it’s performance art.
“Audra,” he says, voice solemn. “Is this… is this happening?”
I don’t look up. “Yes.”
He squints at the form. “Out of state?”
“Yes.”
“Multiple days?”
“Yes.”
He drops his hands to the desk. “Who are you and what have you done with our director.”
I finally glance at him. “I’m taking three days, Alex. Not fleeing the country.”
“That’s how it starts.”
Karl is already sprawled across the guest chair like gravity is optional. He nods gravely. “First it’s three days. Then it’s a yurt. Then none of us ever see you again.”
Alex snaps his fingers. “She’s right. It’s always a yurt.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself, pen still moving. “Karl is filling in. You’ll survive.”
Karl perks up. “I accept this responsibility with honor and chaos.”
Alex points at him. “You can’t promise both.”
“I absolutely can.”
The warmth settles low in my chest even now, steady and real.
I open my eyes briefly, staring at the spa ceiling, then let them close again.
I’m still there.
They ask where I’m going.
“Just… away,” I say. Which is true in the way that matters.
Alex nods like he understands more than I’ve said. He usually does.
“Who’s replacing you?” he asks, even though he already knows.
“Karl.”
Alex’s face goes thoughtful.
Dangerous.
“So,” he says slowly, “hypothetically. If Karl is acting director and I am… let’s say morale support—”
“You are not morale support.”
“—what if,” Alex continues, undeterred, “we stage increasingly elaborate fake crises just to see how fast Legal responds.”
Karl sits up. “Oh. Oh, I like this.”
I cap my pen. “You will both be fired.”
Alex smiles. “But efficiently.”
I laugh then too. I shake my head. And I ask, honestly, “How do you two get any work done when I’m not there?”
Karl grins. “Superpowers.”
Alex nods. “Chaos-adjacent productivity.”
I exhale slowly as the present returns.
A spa attendant passes, offering tea. I accept it with a nod, cradling the cup between my palms.
I didn’t take time off because I was falling apart.
I took it because I wasn’t.
Because I know the difference between processing and punishing myself. Between grief and rest.
Because I trust myself enough to step away.
I think, briefly, of how I submit the form without explanation. How no one questions it. How that, too, feels like being known.
Water hums again somewhere behind the walls.
I take a sip. The tea is warm and grounding and faintly sweet.
I am not running.
I am choosing quiet.
And when I return, it will be because I’m ready—not because anyone pulled me back.
That, I know now, is the real luxury.