Mag-log inHe’s so good. Too good. Every fact lines up, every explanation checks out. But I can’t shake the suspicion that I’m missing something—an angle, a tell, a shadow that should be there but isn’t. The animal in me keeps sniffing for the lie, but all I find is the faint echo of yesterday’s perfume, still
I start typing. The work is slow, brutal, a kind of penance. The numbers blur, but I force them into columns, force my attention into the narrowest possible focus. For hours, the only sound is the hum of the computer and the hiss of the HVAC, punctuated by the occasional sigh of a door opening somew
“You’re early,” he says, as if the clock might argue. I glance at the water glass. “Couldn’t sleep.” “Could or wouldn’t?” He grins, but the eyes are sharp. “I’d wager on wouldn’t. It’s the wolf, right? You all run hot when you’re close to a big break.” I bristle, just enough for him to catch it,
I go to the window, lean both palms against the glass. My skin leaves prints, the oil and sweat already congealing into shapes that look like maps. I follow the lines with my eyes, imagine them as escape routes, then shatter the thought before it can turn into a plan. Down below, the city is eating
It starts with the hum—a fluorescent in the hallway, a single dying bee caught inside the walls. The rest is midnight: no other movement, no life, not even the janitor’s cart making its rounds. I let it overtake the office, the aftertaste of noise, the low buzz in my molars. It makes the world feel
We pass a group of teens on e-scooters, a couple tangled in their own hands and hair, and then we’re alone again, the trees making a tunnel of privacy. I keep reading, even as my feet move on their own, and only stop when we reach the narrow footbridge over the drainage creek—water barely moving, mo
The lock clicks behind me as I slip into the office. I am the wolf, even in tailored business attire. Even with it all wrapped up so tight. The edge of my existence cuts deep. The aftertaste of the night clings to my senses, a raw, metallic tang that I cannot swallow away. My steps falter, then re
There is a freedom in it, a temptation that digs claws deep into my resolve and leaves it ragged and bleeding. I have spent a lifetime restraining the urge, tightening the leash until it bites into my own flesh. But the promise of release is a seductive whisper, its breath warm against my neck, its
The crosswalk sign flashes red as I approach, an unwavering command to stop, to wait, to hold. I heed it, just this once. There is no harm in pausing when I know what lies ahead. The penthouse is a world apart from the one I now move through, but I carry pieces of it with me, fragments of luxury an
The lock clicks behind me, each sound an echoing note of freedom. I inhale the promise of the morning and the heavy shroud of Derek’s latest message unfurls in the back of my mind. I will not think about it, about him, until I must. The weight of obligation falls away as I step forward, closing the







