Dark Fiber

The ethernet cable snapped with a sound like a small bone breaking. Elena stared at the severed end, at the exposed copper wires that looked disturbingly intimate.

"Third one this week," Marcus said from across the server room, not looking up from his terminal. "You okay?"

Elena had asked herself that question for six months since the funeral. Since her best friend—her only friend, really—had stepped in front of a train. Since she'd discovered the suicide note was addressed to her.

"I'm fine," she said, which was the lie she'd been telling everyone. The lie she'd been telling herself.

A stray cat had been appearing in the alley behind their office building. Elena had started leaving food. Sometimes she sat on the ground and let it wind through her legs, purring violently, desperately, like a small engine that might stall at any moment. The cat didn't ask questions. The cat didn't know she'd ignored Sarah's last twelve calls.

"Hey," Marcus said, softer now. "Some of us are going to O'Reilly's after work. You should come."

Elena's fingers found the frayed edge of the cable. She'd spent years connecting things—cables, networks, systems. But she'd disconnected the one connection that mattered. Sarah had been reaching out, literally and figuratively. And Elena had been too busy, too tired, too consumed by her own meaningless problems to answer.

The cat scratched at the back door. A thin, persistent sound.

"Maybe," Elena said.

Marcus nodded, like he knew she wouldn't. Like he knew some broken things couldn't be patched with cheap alcohol and forced conversation.

Elena replaced the cable. Tested the connection. Green light. Good.

She thought about Sarah, who used to say friendship was like a cable—strong until it wasn't, and then it was just something you tripped over in the dark. Elena had tripped. And kept falling.

Outside, the cat waited. Something that still wanted to be near her, even though she had nothing left to give.