Chapter Two: The black Sedan

Clara's POV

Three weeks went by in a blur of pure unadulterated anxiety.

I locked Las Vegas away in a mental box and threw away the key. Whenever my phone buzzed with a New York area code, I stared at it until the screen went black, telling myself that whatever "handle it before she gets home" meant, it was just some rich guy's business drama. It had nothing to do with a broke data analyst living in a shoebox apartment in Toronto.

My real life didn't leave any room for daydreams anyway. It was made of cheap rent, a fridge that made a loud humming noise every twenty minutes, and an office cubicle where I secretly did everyone else's job while David Park took the credit.

"Look who's bright and early," Brianna purred, sliding her hips against the edge of my cubicle wall two minutes after I sat down. Her eyes darted straight to my laptop screen, trying to read the text. "What are you hiding over there?"

I slammed my laptop lid down so fast it nearly crushed my fingers, a sharp clack echoing in the quiet office. "Just old notes."

"Right." Brianna flashed a smile that didn't reach her cold, sharp eyes. Her fingernails tapped a rhythmic beat against the gray fabric of my wall. "We're going back to Glowvert this Friday. No excuses, Clara. You're coming this time."

A month ago, I would have smiled and said yes just to fit in, desperate for a sliver of her approval. Now, my stomach tied itself into a hard, painful knot. "I can't. I'm too busy."

Brianna’s eyes narrowed for a split second, her smile tightening into a thin line that looked painted on. "Suit yourself." She turned on her heel and walked away, her heels clicking against the linoleum. I sat there staring at my keyboard, my palms sweating. Why had she pushed so hard to get me to that club in the first place? Why did she make sure I drank that specific glass of punch?

My phone buzzed against my thigh, cutting off the spiral of thoughts. A picture of my mom popped up on the screen—a photo from three years ago, before the medical bills and the roof leaks started piling up.

I swiped to answer. "Hey, Mom."

"Chuky baby," she sighed—using that awful childhood nickname she loved, the one that felt like wearing shoes two sizes too small. I winced every single time she said it, hating how it clung to me like an old stain. "The roofing guy called again. They’re saying eleven thousand now instead of eight because of the water damage underneath. I don't know how we're going to pay it..."

"I'll handle it, Mom," I said, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, pushing down the panic rising in my throat. "I'll wire the money by Friday."

"I hate this," she whispered, her voice cracking on the other end of the line. "I hate asking you for everything."

"I've got it, Mom. Don't worry."

I hung up and pressed the heels of my eyes until little white sparks flashed behind my eyelids. Rent, grocery bills, roof repairs—there was zero space in my life for the mess I left in Las Vegas. But the universe wasn't going to let me off that easy. At four o'clock, David Park called me into his glass fishbowl office, signaling with a smug crook of his finger.

I stood up, my legs feeling heavy, and walked inside.

"We're making a change on the Kairos pitch," David said, steeplying his fingers like a cartoon villain. "Myself and Brianna will be leading the presentation on Thursday."

I sat frozen in the chair opposite him, my fingernails digging deep into my palms until it hurt. Forty-seven pages of exhaustive research. Three weekends gone. Countless hours of lost sleep. "That pitch is entirely my work. My architecture, my data."

"And we appreciate your dedication," David replied smoothly, treating me like a piece of office furniture he could swap out whenever he wanted. "Big accounts need senior leadership."

I didn't yell, In this building, yelling only got you fired and blacklisted. I stood up, walked straight to the emergency stairwell, and collapsed onto the concrete step, my chest heaving as silent tears spilled over my cheeks.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. The New York number. I know you're trying to hide. There's something about that night you need to know. Tomorrow, 10 AM. Front Street coffee shop. Come alone.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I typed back with shaking thumbs: Who is this?

Instantly, the reply flashed on the screen: Someone who watched you walk out of that hotel and has regretted it every day since. If you don't show up, something else will find you instead.

I didn't sleep that night. I paced my tiny apartment until my feet were sore, watching the shadows stretch across the walls. The next morning at 9:45 AM, I stood behind my tattered curtains, peering down at the street. Right across from my building, a black sedan sat idling at the curb. I didn't know why a car parked outside my window should make my breath hitch or send a sudden, freezing chill straight through my veins, but it did. It just sat there in the gray morning light, its dark windows staring up at me like unblinking eyes, filling me with a nameless dread I couldn't explain.

As I watched the sedan sit there hour after hour, a cold sweat broke out on my neck