Dead Drift

Sarah found him by the waterfront, the same spot where they'd share water cooler gossip and dreams that felt too big for the break room. Five years had turned Marcus into someone she barely recognized—a corporate zombie who'd forgotten how to want anything beyond his next performance review.

"You look like shit," she said, sitting beside him on the rusted bench. The harbor water lapped against pilings, dark and indifferent.

Marcus laughed, but his eyes stayed dead. "That's the system. Burn you down until you're useful ash."

He'd been her work friend once—the one who made her laugh during 3 AM deadlines, who slipped her extra when the layoffs came. Now he spoke in HR-approved platitudes, a hollowed-out vessel wearing a tailored suit.

"Remember when we talked about starting that agency?" Sarah asked. "When we were going to actually give a shit about something?"

The water reflected the city lights, fractured and beautiful. Marcus watched it like he was reading a termination letter.

"I have a mortgage now," he said finally. "A wife who thinks I'm still someone she married. She doesn't know she's sleeping next to a walking corpse."

Sarah's hand found his. "You could still choose. Every morning, you could choose not to be dead inside."

He turned to her then, something flickering behind his eyes—not hope exactly, but the ghost of it. The kind of thing that might catch flame if someone blew on it gently.

"What if it's too late?" he whispered.

"Then we burn it down anyway," she said. "Better to die trying than live as a zombie."

The harbor bells rang out across the water. For the first time in years, Marcus didn't check his watch to see if he was late for a meeting that didn't matter.