The Copper Wire Between Us

Sarah found the ethernet cable at midnight, snaking beneath her desk like a copper snake she didn't remember feeding. It glowed faintly in the darkness, connecting her workstation to the server room down the hall—to Marcus's workstation.

For three years, Marcus had been her friend. The one who brought her coffee during her divorce. The one who sat with her in hospital waiting rooms when her mother had her surgery. The one who slipped vitamin supplements into her drawer when she was too depressed to remember to eat.

"You look like you need them," he'd say with that gentle smile that made her believe in goodness again.

Now she traced the cable with trembling fingers, understanding spreading through her like ice water. Marcus wasn't just her colleague or her friend. He was the spy their competitors had planted, and for God knows how long, he'd been harvesting everything—her passwords, her research, the proprietary algorithm she'd spent five years building.

The vitamins in her drawer suddenly seemed sinister. Had he been keeping her healthy just to keep her productive? Every late-night brainstorming session, every confidential whisper over drinks—had all of it been reconnaissance?

Her phone buzzed. Marcus: "Can't sleep. Want to grab coffee?"

Sarah stared at the message, then at the cable connecting them, and finally at her reflection in the darkened monitor. She thought about how lonely she'd been before him. How desperate for connection. How she'd ignored the little things—the way he asked too many questions about her work, the way his gaze sometimes flickered toward her screen when he thought she wasn't looking.

She typed back: "Not tonight."

Then she reached under her desk and pulled the cable.

The connection snapped. Whatever he'd stolen, whatever he'd become, at least this—this wire between them—was finally broken.