Dead in the Water

The fifth floor of Wilkinson & Associates had that particular stale hum—the sound of money being made by people who'd forgotten why they wanted it. Elena pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her office window, watching rain streak down like tears on a dirty face. At 2 AM, the city below was just a grid of dying embers.

"Still here?"

She turned to find Marcus leaning against her doorframe. Two years ago, they'd been something more than coworkers—drinks after close, hotel rooms with thin walls, promises neither kept. Now they were just what remained after the falling apart.

"Someone has to finish the Merger brief," Elena said, not meeting his eyes. "Judge doesn't care about our sleep schedules."

"She's not the one who's been crying."

Elena's hand moved instinctively to her cheek. "It's allergies. There's construction downstairs."

"Right. Construction at 2 AM." Marcus stepped closer, and she caught the familiar scent of him—old coffee and expensive cologne and something like "almost." "I saw David today. He asked about you."

David. The name hit her like **water** in the lungs. Three years since their friendship dissolved into something else, something that had nearly destroyed both their marriages. "What did you tell him?"

"That you're fine. That we're all fine." Marcus's laugh was bitter. "We're such good liars, Elena. Practically professionals."

"It's not lying. It's... compartmentalization." The word felt like something she'd swallowed.

"Is that what we call it now?" Marcus's phone buzzed—his wife, probably, wondering where he'd gone. He silenced it without looking. "Sometimes I look around this floor at night—all of us drafting documents nobody will read, billing hours we'll never get back, pretending this matters. And I think: this is it. This is the zombie apocalypse everyone warned us about. We're already the **zombie**s. We just wear Italian suits."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the things they couldn't say.

"David's leaving Rachel," he said finally. "He wanted me to tell you."

Elena's fingers found the cold surface of her desk. "Why tell me?"

"Because you're why."

The truth sat between them, dangerous and exposed. She and David had tried so hard to be just friends. They'd failed so beautifully.

"I should go," Marcus said, already retreating. "For what it's worth—I hope it's worth it. Whatever you choose."

When he was gone, Elena opened her bottom drawer and found the bottle she kept there now. Not for celebration. Never for celebration. She poured **water** into a crystal glass—no whiskey tonight, just the clarity she deserved—and watched the city lights blur through her tears. Somewhere in the darkness, David was likely doing the same, thinking of her, thinking of the friendship they'd sacrificed for something that might destroy them both.

She picked up her phone and began to type, then stopped. Some messages changed everything. Some messages should never be sent.

The rain kept falling, indifferent to endings that had been beginning for years.