Dead Man's Float

Maria had been floating in the hotel **pool** for forty-five minutes, pretending to be another tech conference attendee who'd had one too many complimentary drinks. In reality, she was a **spy**—corporate variety, the boring kind that involved stealing trade secrets instead of overthrowing governments.

The chlorine stung her eyes as she watched through them, blurry and distorted, as David Chen from Holistic Innovations laughed with his team on the patio. He was her target. Or rather, his prototype was. Three years of this work had turned her into something resembling a **zombie**—going through the motions, extracting data, feeling less human with each extracted password.

She drifted toward the edge where he stood, letting her hand trail through the **water**.

"Careful," David said, offering a hand. "Currents are strong today."

His smile was genuine. She'd been watching him for weeks—his team loved him, his wife sent him care packages at conferences, he donated to climate charities. The kind of man Maria might have dated, in another life.

She took his hand. His grip was warm. For a moment she considered telling him everything—how she'd been hired by his competitor to steal the renewable energy prototype he'd spent five years building, how she'd planted the bugs in his hotel room yesterday.

Instead she said, "I'm Elena. From Seattle."

They talked for hours. About his daughter's first steps, about her fictional career in logistics, about the crushing weight of expectations. For the first time in years, Maria felt alive again.

When he finally said goodnight, heading toward the elevators, she stayed in the pool. The prototype drive burned in her bag on the lounge chair. She'd gotten what she came for.

Maria sank beneath the water, holding her breath until her lungs burned. When she surfaced, gasping, she made her choice.

She slipped the drive into her pocket and headed toward the hotel lobby to call the client who'd hired her. Not to deliver the prototype. To quit.