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It’s not the audio that makes my stomach turn.

It’s the caption.

Jessie’s already storming down the hall. I follow, barely registering the blur of pings lighting up my notifications.

We find him in the podcast lounge—sprawled across the beanbag throne like some smug, post-ironic Bond villain. Headphones in. Hoodie up. Zero guilt.

Jessie doesn’t hesitate.

She smacks the phone out of his hands. It hits the rug with a soft thunk.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Tyler blinks up, serene. “Good morning to you, too.”

“That was private,” she snaps. “You knew exactly what it was.”

“Yeah,” he says, casually retrieving the phone, “it was just a test. A creative proof of concept.”

“You don’t test with someone’s private voice memo,” she hisses. “You don’t cut up a person’s dream like it’s foley work.”

He snorts. “Relax. It was in a shared folder. Labeled ‘raw.’ She gave access. You gave access.”

Jessie’s hands are fists.

“Because we thought you’d use judgment. Sharing that folder was a mistake. Clearly.”

Tyler tilts his head like a curious puppy. “Is that what this is? Or are you just pissed she climbed Adrian before you could?”

Silence .

The kind that feels like gravity breaking.

Jessie doesn’t blink.

I step forward.

“Tyler.”

He turns to me, grin dimming just enough to look calculated. “Come on. Everyone saw this coming. The whole Discord’s been betting on it.”

“You knew I told you not to touch those files.”

“Technically, you told me not to post them.” He shrugs. “I didn’t. Not me.”

“So you’re saying it leaked by accident?”

“I’m saying”—he smirks—“it was Jessie who got us the originals.”

Jessie inhales sharply.

Tyler’s smirk widens.

I stare at him. Hard.

“You’re done.”

That lands.

His smirk doesn’t fall off—it fractures. Slightly. Enough.

“What?”

“Pack your shit,” I say. “You’re out.”

“You’re firing me? Over a voice memo?”

“No,” I say. “Over the fact that you don’t see the difference.”

He laughs once. Bitter. “Wow. Look at you. Finally picking morals over metrics.”

“Maybe,” I say.

He opens his mouth—then closes it. His jaw clenches.

Jessie doesn’t say anything.

Tyler grabs his backpack from under the chair, mutters something low and venomous, and walks out.

No slam. No fight.

Just gone.

I stand there, hands open, brain buzzing.

Jessie exhales through her nose. “What now?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know.

I walk back to my office. Close the door. Open my laptop. Then close it again.

No content today.

No clever spin.

Just silence.