The Corporate Graveyard Shift

Maya stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror—dark circles under her eyes, skin the color of old paper. She'd been working at Sterling Analytics for six years, and somewhere around year three, she'd become a zombie. Not the walking dead variety of horror movies, but something worse: the living dead, going through motions she'd long stopped feeling, a corporate drone marching to someone else's rhythm.

The bathroom door opened. Greg walked in, adjusting his tie in the mirror. He was the company's golden boy, bullish on every new initiative, always ready with a spreadsheet and a smile.

"Rough night?" he asked, not really caring.

"Just tired," she said, which was true. She was tired of being tired. Tired of the lies.

"You know," Greg said, lowering his voice, "I saw you in the data room last night. After hours."

Maya's heart stumbled. She'd been copying files—evidence that Sterling was selling client data to hedge funds. She wasn't a spy by trade, but that's what she'd become, sneaking around like she was in some Cold War thriller instead of a midtown accounting firm.

"Greg—"

"Relax." His eyes crinkled. "I've been doing the same thing for eight months. That's why I'm always so bullish on the ethics reviews—I need to know how close they are to finding us."

She stared at him. "You're leaking too?"

"To the SEC. Been building their case since before you started." He ran a hand through his hair. "You're not the only one who's dead inside, Maya. We're all zombies here. Some of us just wear better ties."

He extended his hand. She took it. His palm was warm, alive.

"Let's finish this," she said.

Together, they walked back into the office, two dead people finally ready to live.