The Glass Bowl

The goldfish stared at her through the glass, its orange scales catching the fluorescent overhead light. Sarah pressed her forehead against the cool tank, watching it swim in endless circles—three laps, then a pause, then three more laps again.

'You and me both,' she muttered.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. Marcus again. Three missed calls since lunch.

Sarah was technically a recruiter at Peregrine Dynamics, but everyone knew the real work happened in the windowless server room on the fourth floor. That's where she'd first seen him—David, with his permanent five o'clock shadow and hands that never stopped moving. He was the one who'd slipped her the encrypted drive two weeks ago, his thumb brushing her palm like it was an accident rather than a message.

Now he was missing. And Marcus, who'd never noticed her before, suddenly wanted to discuss her 'career trajectory' over drinks.

She wasn't stupid. Marcus was company security. He'd been hovering outside her cubicle all morning, asking questions about David she couldn't answer. The goldfish—David's goldfish, which she'd rescued from his empty desk—was the only piece of him left in this building.

Her grandmother used to say goldfish had three-second memories. They'd swim to one side of their bowl, forget what they'd seen, swim back, and be surprised all over again. Sometimes Sarah wished she could be like that. Forget the way David looked at her that last night in the parking garage, how he'd said 'trust no one' like it was a punchline instead of a warning. Forget the encrypted drive burning a hole in her safety deposit box.

Instead, she was swimming in circles like the fish, trapped between men who saw her as either an asset or a liability.

Marcus appeared in her doorway, his silhouette blocking the fluorescent glow.

'Working late, Sarah?'

She lifted the fishbowl. It was heavier than it looked.

'Just saying goodbye to a friend.'