Page 18

17

Lena

I sit back, watching her resume typing—too stiff, too careful. Like someone who knows more than they should. Someone who’s been told not to speak.

My fingers drift to my pocket, brushing against the note.

Who the hell is that woman? And why is everyone pretending she doesn’t exist?

A sharp frustration edges into my chest, but I shove it aside as my email pings. I half-expect another task from Andra. Instead, I see this:

Subject: Team Dinner - Mandatory

Lena,

We’ll be having a dinner tonight for select staff. Your attendance is expected.

6:30 PM. Transportation will be arranged.

- Andra

I stare at the screen.

A team dinner.

Mandatory.

I check my calendar. No prior invite. No warning.

But it’s not phrased like an invitation.

It’s an order.

I glance around the office. I ask a few people if they’re going, only to be told it’s mandatory. It seems strange to me, after hours and on such short notice, but no one else seems surprised. A few people are glued to their screens, others are quietly packing up.

This isn’t unusual for them.

For me?

It feels like a shift. The first ripple of something pulling me under.

I reach into my pocket, fingers brushing against crumpled paper. I exhale slowly. Then I log off. And I go to dinner.

The restaurant is upscale. Private.

The kind of place where the lighting is too soft, the music is just loud enough to distract, and the menus have no prices.

I sit near the end of the table, watching.

Andra is here. Carrie. Stewy. Others I barely know.

And at the head of the table?—

Him.

Ellis Harrison doesn’t look at me right away. He’s talking to Andra, discussing something I can’t hear, his gaze flicking in my direction as if I wouldn’t have the clearance to understand anyway. The conversation drifts, flowing around me in carefully measured tones.

I see it now.

This isn’t a normal work dinner.

It’s a performance, a test.

And I don’t know the rules yet.

Ellis’s voice cuts through the noise.

“Lena.”

My brows raise.

He’s looking at me now.

Assessing.

“You’ve adjusted well, I take it?”

It’s a simple question. A normal question.

Then why does it feel heavy?

I nod. “I think so.”

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s deciding if that was the right answer.

I hold his gaze.

He smiles.

Not big. Not forced. Just the slightest curve of amusement.

And I know—he’s not really asking for an answer.

It’s not about the question. It’s about seeing if I’ll play along.

At home, I drop onto my couch, still in my heels, the weight of the night settling heavily on my shoulders.

The Holloway is everything I thought I wanted.

Big windows. Good lighting. A kitchen that doesn’t feel like it belongs in a dorm room.

A fresh start.

I should be happy. I should feel safe.

Instead, I feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong.

The night replays in my head.

The watchful glances. The subtle shifts in conversation. The way people waited for cues before speaking. The way Ellis looked at me—not hostile. Not warm. Interested. Like he’s considering something.

I reach into my pocket. The note is still there. Crinkled. Tangible. Real.

I exhale slowly.

I didn’t want work to bleed into my evening, and I sure didn’t want it to follow me home. But it did, like a shadow I can’t shake off.

Something tells me I’m not going to like where this is heading.