117. Overtime on The First Day

Ashley returned to her cubicle with her new workmate. The echo of lunchtime laughter still lingered in the air—soft and fading—like the last notes of a distant song trapped in the corners of the room. But the office atmosphere had changed; it was no longer light and jovial. It had shifted into something quieter, more restrained. The kind of stillness that creeps in just before a storm. 

Ashley walked alongside a few of her new coworkers—Kiera, Nancy, and two others who had shown her the best coffee shop across the street. Their chatter was light, meandering, full of the kind of small talk that cushions the awkward edges of a new beginning. 

She laughed quietly, careful not to draw too much attention. It was her first day, and she wanted to blend in, to slip into the current of this place without causing a ripple. 

But up above, behind the glass walls of his private office, Mark was watching. His expression was unreadable—neither stern nor kind—but there was something heavy in the way he looked down at her. His gaze was sharp, unwavering. And he stood still, making a solitary figure etched in reflection and shadow. Behind him, the city skyline blurred into smudges of gold and steel. As though he were trying to decipher something hidden beneath her skin. 

He then reached for the intercom. 

His motion was fluid, practiced. Down below, the device on Ashley’s desk buzzed. She startled slightly, her fingers pausing above the keyboard.

"Hello?" she answered quickly, her voice polite but unsure.

"Hi, Ashley. It’s Mark." His voice slid through the speaker like silk—calm, low, almost coaxing.

"Oh, yes—Sir?" Ashley stammered slightly, still unaccustomed to speaking formally to Mark as an employee to her superior.

"I just sent a few tasks to your office email," he said smoothly. "Just some light things to wrap up today." There was a brief silence, not uncomfortable but deliberate. Then his tone shifted—softening, warming. "Sorry if it’s a bit much on your first day. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Snacks? Maybe something sweet—to help keep you motivated and accompany you while working?"

Ashley blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. She chuckled. "Thank you for your kindness, but no need. I just had lunch."

"Alright," he said, sounding dry and distant. "Just let me know if you need anything."

“Yeah, sure.”

Then the line went dead with a soft click.

Ashley exhaled, glancing at her inbox. A string of tasks greeted her—design assignments, layouts, revisions. And one file caught her attention. Project Eden–Visual Draft. A collaboration with one of the famous influencers. 

Her brows knit. She hesitated, but she clicked it open. 

As the first slide loaded, her curiosity deepened. The designs were intricate, loaded with visual cues that hinted at a larger narrative. Symbols woven into backgrounds, color palettes chosen with surgical precision.

Then she started working on the list of tasks that Mark had given her, one by one. 

Time slipped past her unnoticed. Minute by minute, she sank deeper into the work. Layering colors. Adjusting grids. Reimagining elements. Her mind buzzed with focus. The office around her dimmed as the sun dipped below the skyline.

By five to eight, the atmosphere had shifted again. Most of the floor had emptied. Desks once alive with movement now sat still, lifeless under the fading glow of overhead lights. The quiet wasn’t soothing—it was dense, almost too complete. 

Ashley remained, a lone lighthouse flickering in the dusk. She sat at her desk, eyes focused, shoulders hunched slightly from hours of stillness. Her cubicle, with its warm glow, stood out like an oasis amidst the growing gloom. The contrast was stark. Almost unnatural. Across the floor, 

Not far from her, Claire—the design team manager—stood. She stretched her limbs, bones clicking gently in the silence. After shutting off her lamp and grabbing her bag, her eyes fell on Ashley’s lit cubicle. She was curious, then made her way over.

"Ashley? You're still here?"

Ashley looked up, her smile genuine. "Just finishing something."

Claire’s brows furrowed. "Really? I thought you submitted everything earlier."

Ashley gestured at her monitor. "This is another one. Project Eden. Mr. Jang sent it to me and told me to do it."

Claire’s pulse quickened. Her face remained calm, but something cold stirred in her stomach. Project Eden. A future campaign. Paused indefinitely, waiting on schedules, clearances—still locked in confidential channels. The kind of material only meant for senior eyes. She stepped closer, leaning in to glance at the screen. 

Her breath caught. "Mark gave this to you directly?" She tried to make sure if she didn't hear it wrong.

"Yes."

Claire hesitated. The edges of her doubt curled in her mouth, but she bit them back. "Alright. Just don’t stay too late, okay? This place can feel different at night."

Ashley chuckled lightly. "I’m used to late nights. I’ll be fine."

Claire gave a tight smile and walked away, though questions chased her down the corridor. 

When waiting for the lift, Claire pulled out her phone. 

"Why did you give her Project Eden?" she asked, voice low. 

Mark’s response came with practiced calm. "Just testing her limits. Seeing what she can do. Whether we use it or not doesn’t matter."

"That’s—" Claire hesitated for a moment about Mark’s action, but she swallowed her words back. “Alright.”

"Don’t tell her anything. I’ll handle that."

"Alright," Claire murmured again, stepping into the lift.

In the office, silence reigned. The kind of silence that hums under human skin. 

Ashley still worked, unaware that the air around her had shifted. 

The office lights had gone out, like stars surrendering to the fog of night. The wide room was now swallowed in a hush of darkness, leaving only a single beam of light from the farthest corner—her own cubicle.

The glow from Ashley’s computer screen reflected in eyes clouded with exhaustion. Her fingers still danced across the keyboard, copying reports with the precision of a musician playing the final notes of a symphony no one would ever applaud. The digital clock on her screen read 08:43 p.m. Outside, the city had long become a sleeping beast, while Ashley kept battling deadlines and the sweet temptation of sleep.

There was no sound but the soft hum of an old fluorescent light, flickering above her like a dying star.

Until—crash!

Something fell. Loud. Sharp. Splitting the silence like shattered glass hurled against marble.

Ashley jolted out of her seat. Her breath caught. Her neck stiffened, and her eyes darted above the cubicle wall, her head barely peeking over the partition. The dim lighting turned the corners of the office into shadowy paintings with smeared details. No one was there. No movement. No signs of life.

She swallowed. Her throat was dry—desert dry. After a few seconds that dragged on like an eternity, she sat back down. Maybe a pile of folders fell. Maybe the aging AC unit had rattled something loose. Her mind scrambled for logic, like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to driftwood.

She tried to resume her work, but her focus was already fractured.

Then—crash!

The same sound. The same pitch. As if a recording was playing on repeat with intentional pauses to torment her.

Ashley looked up again. Her eyes scanned the room, tracing each cubicle gap, each shadow, as if trying to catch a hidden breath, a whisper out of place.

Nothing.

And then—ding—the elevator chimed from the hallway.

Ashley froze. Her desk was close enough to the main exit that she could hear the sound distinctly. Too distinctly.

She didn’t move. Only her eyes shifted, wild and alert, like a deer sensing a wolf in the breeze.

The elevator… but no footsteps followed. No clicking of heels like she usually heard after hours. No keys jingling. No conversations—only silence.

Ashley remained still. Her heart thudded against her ribs, refusing calm.

Then—SLAM!

The pantry door banged shut with a violence that echoed from the opposite end of the hallway. The sound thundered like a storm born within the building. Ashley’s head whipped toward the noise, her eyes wide.

No. That wasn’t the AC.

That was someone—or something—declaring itself.

"This doesn’t make sense," she whispered, though even her voice sounded foreign, frail.

She was torn. Should she stay, pretend this was all exhaustion playing tricks on her? Or run—run before her brain convinced her legs that danger had become real?

Something flickered in the corner of her eye.

A blur of black. Like someone running. Thud. Thud. Thud. The beat of soles hitting the floor, heavy and unrestrained, like war drums in an unseen battlefield.

Ashley froze. Cold sweat bloomed down her spine. Her breath became shallow, unable to reach the bottom of her lungs. She wanted to turn her head, to confirm, but her body disobeyed—rooted like an old tree to the chair.

Run, whispered a voice inside her.

Without another thought, she shut her work application with trembling hands. Her fingers fumbled, sweeping her phone and belongings into her bag with panicked urgency. She stood so quickly her foot caught on a dangling charger cable.

The hallway to the elevator stretched endlessly that night. Her footsteps were brisk, but cautious—afraid of triggering an echo.

She pressed the elevator button. Once. Twice. Over and over. As if pressing it enough times could summon salvation faster.

Her eyes kept darting around—behind her, beside her—every shadow, every silhouette now a suspect.

Silence again. But—wind?

A strange breeze brushed the back of her neck, cold and unsettling. Was it the AC? A draft? Or… something else?

Ding!

The elevator doors slid open.

But at that same moment—CRASH!—the same sound again. A falling object. Louder now. Closer.

Ashley didn’t wait to investigate.

With heart pounding in her ears, she jumped inside the lift, frantically pressing the button for the first floor, slamming the "close doors" button again and again like a desperate prayer.

The doors slid shut, so agonizingly slow, as if reluctant to rescue her.

And just before the final gap sealed into steel, Ashley might—just might—have seen a pair of eyes peering back at her from the shadows.