Service Break

Elena served against the glass wall, the padel ball ricocheting back at her with vicious spin. Across the court, Marcus laughed—a warm, practiced sound that had taken three months of weekly matches to earn. He had no idea she was documenting his startup's proprietary algorithms for his biggest competitor.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. The pyramid scheme of corporate espionage: you sell your soul to someone who sells it to someone else, and at the top, shadowy figures drink scotch paid for in betrayed trust. Elena had been at it for seven years. She was thirty-four and hollowed out by secrets that weren't hers to keep.

'Thunderstorm's rolling in,' Marcus said, gesturing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lightning fractured the sky—a violet crackle that illuminated the sudden gravity in his eyes. 'You ever feel like you're living someone else's life, Elena?'

Her hand tightened around her racquet handle. 'What do you mean?'

He stepped closer, beyond the boundary of friendly match banter. 'I mean you show up every Tuesday at seven, exactly the same time. You ask the same questions about work. You're wonderful at getting people to talk, but you never let anyone in.' His voice softened. 'My ex-wife was a spy. Not the cool kind.'

Elena's heart hammered against her ribs. The thunder arrived, shaking the glass walls.

'I'm not—' she started, but something in his expression stopped her. The lightning flashed again, and in that brief illumination, she saw he wasn't accusing her. He was offering.

'The package,' he said quietly. 'The one you're supposed to deliver tomorrow. Don't.'

She stared at him. 'How long have you known?'

'Long enough to know you hate it.' He set down his racquet. 'My company isn't worth your soul, Elena. Whatever they're paying you—it's not enough.'

She looked at her reflection in the glass: thirty-four years of calculated risks, and the biggest one was about to be choosing herself over the contract.

Outside, the rain began to fall.