Currents

The pool at the Renaissance was empty except for Marcus, who sat on the edge with his legs submerged, watching the water ripple around his calves. His iPhone lay face up on the lounge chair beside him, screen dark, refusing to light up with the message he'd been waiting for since yesterday's meeting.

He should have known. Should have recognized the way Elena avoided his gaze when she handed him that envelope—severance, they called it, as if the ties between them could be cleanly severed with two weeks' pay and a generic letter about restructuring.

The humidity was heavy, pressing against his skin like accusation. His hair, which had started graying at thirty-five, now felt suddenly too much like his father's. He'd caught his reflection in the lobby mirror earlier—how tired he looked, how visible the wear of fifteen years climbing a ladder that had just been kicked out from under him.

A crash of thunder rolled across the sky. Then lightning fractured the darkness, a white scar across the horizon, illuminating the pool's surface in stark relief. The water turned momentarily opaque, like mercury.

He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Elena's name in his contacts. They'd been lovers once, three years ago, before the promotions and the unspoken agreement to keep things professional, before she became VP and he stayed middle management, grateful for the scraps.

The message came through finally, not from Elena but from HR: Effective immediately, your access to company systems has been terminated. Thank you for your service.

Another lightning strike, closer this time. The pool water shivered, and Marcus understood with sudden, crystalline clarity: he wasn't being restructured. He was being erased.

He stood, water dripping from his legs, and walked toward the hotel. His phone buzzed again. This time, he didn't look.