Counterintelligence

The spinach stuck between her incisors felt like an accusation. Elena stared at her reflection in the office bathroom mirror, toothbrush in hand, wondering how many meetings she'd sat through with that green wedge broadcasting her dental hygiene failures to the entire department.

She was thirty-four and exhausted by the performance of competence. The goldfish in the reception aquarium—bubbly, brainless, swimming in endless circles—had more authentic lives than she did. At least they didn't pretend their endless looping was forward progress.

Her phone vibrated against the marble countertop. A message from Marcus: "Meet me at the fountain. 20 minutes."

Elena's stomach lurched. Marcus was HR's golden boy, all sincere eye contact and framed photos of his nieces. But she'd seen him accessing personnel files after midnight, his face illuminated by the blue glow of monitors he claimed to have "accidentally" left open. A corporate spy, she'd decided, though what intelligence a pet insurance company could possibly possess was beyond her.

The water feature in the courtyard gurgled mysteriously, artificial stones arranged with calculated whimsy. Marcus waited on a bench, tie loosened, looking like an ad for antidepressants. When he saw her, his shoulders dropped.

"They're downsizing the department," he said without preamble. "I've been trying to find a placement for everyone. I accessed those files to see who had families, who needed insurance most."

Elena laughed, a sharp bark that startled them both. "You're not a spy, Marcus. You're just fundamentally decent in an indecent industry."

The goldfish swam in its glass prison back inside. Somewhere, spinach grew in fields tended by underpaid workers. The fountain water continued its artificial cycle. Elena realized she'd been waiting for something sinister because gracelessness had become its own kind of conspiracy theory.

"They offered me a package," she said. "I'm taking it."

Marcus nodded, understanding blooming between them like something delicate andterrifying. "The goldfish," he said suddenly. "You think they know they're swimming in circles?"

"Maybe," Elena said. "Maybe that's the point. Maybe the circle is the only shape that doesn't end."