Thirteen

I woke in the darkness of the loft, the silence dense and unmoving, as though the walls themselves had absorbed every sound.

The air held a hush too deep to disturb. I slid from the bed, my feet pressing against the cold wood floor, grounding me in the sharp present. My pulse was heavy. My thoughts were heavier. Each breath carried unspoken questions, lined like battlegrounds of doubt. But I stood. I stood because I had to.

Dawn crept slowly across the skyline, the glass wall framing the city’s awakening in tones of ash and steel. I moved toward it and stood motionless, letting the quiet build inside me. The night had been mine to exhale. But the day required something else. The day asked for proof.

My phone lit with encrypted messages. Investor channels showed shifting winds. Boutique partners pressed harder. My anonymous leaks had stirred discomfort, but they had not quelled suspicion. Behind every message of professionalism lay hesitation. I recognized the weight beneath the cal