Concrete Riddles

The corporate retreat center's outdoor pool reflected the moon like a bruised eye. Elena sat on the edge, legs dangling in chlorinated water, nursing the final gin and tonic of a devastating weekend. She'd been chosen to "bear witness" — as HR phrased it — to the coming restructure. Fourteen years at the company, and they'd given her the sphinx treatment: sit in meetings, smile mysteriously, say nothing while rumors swirled like sharks.

Behind her, the resort's main building rose like a concrete pyramid — brutalist architecture that had seemed edgy when they booked it, now just felt like a tomb. She'd spent three days watching her colleagues puzzle through team-building exercises, blindfolded trust falls, awkward sharing circles. All of it leading to tomorrow's announcement.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Elena didn't turn. Marcus from accounting sank onto the pool deck beside her, bottle of wine in hand. They'd hooked up at last year's retreat, two lonely people finding temporary warmth in a Marriott bar, then spent twelve months pretending it never happened.

"The water's warmer than you'd think," she said.

Marcus was quiet for a moment. "I heard about tomorrow."

Of course he had. Information pooled in corners, gathered depth and force while you weren't looking. "Who told you?"

"Does it matter?" Marcus set down the wine. His hand found hers in the darkness. "I'm not on the list."

Elena squeezed his fingers, hard. "I know."

"You could fight it."

"And what? Keep my job while someone else loses theirs? That's not winning, Marcus. That's just being the last person eaten." She stood up, water dripping from her legs. "Come inside. They're doing breakfast at six. One more meal before they start the sacrifices."

Marcus didn't move. "You know what the sphinx asked Oedipus? What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in evening. The answer was man. But nobody talks about what happens next."

"What's that?"

"Four legs again," he said quietly. "If you're lucky."

Elena looked at the pyramid rising against the stars, at her colleague-something-more in the pool's half-light, at the vague reflection of a woman who'd spent fourteen years climbing to witness the view from the top.

"Bearing bad news," she said, "is still bearing it."

She didn't wait for him to follow. Some things you had to walk into alone.