The Last Broadcast

Mara hadn't slept properly in three weeks. She moved through the office like a zombie—responsive to stimuli but fundamentally hollowed out. The merger announcement had killed something essential in her, and now she was just going through the motions.

"You look like hell," said Harper, leaning against her cubicle wall. Harper with her fox-sharp smile and her ability to navigate office politics without ever getting her hands dirty. "You missed the meeting."

"I know." Mara didn't look up from her screen. "I was watching the cable news coverage. They're talking about layoffs."

"They're always talking about layoffs." Harper stepped closer, close enough that Mara could smell her perfume—something expensive and predatory. "It's fear porn, Mara. They want you scared so you'll work harder for the same money."

Mara finally looked at her. Harper was wearing that orange blouse again, aggressive against the beige neutrality of everything else. "I think I'm done, Harper. I think this is it."

"Done with what? The job?"

"Done with pretending any of this matters." Mara stood up and walked to the window. Below them, the city stretched toward the horizon, palm trees scratching at the sky like fingers reaching for something they couldn't name. "I had a dream last night. I was back at my grandmother's house in Florida, and she was teaching me how to read palms. She said she could see when people were going to die. She never told me my timeline."

"That's dark."

"Is it?" Mara turned back. "Or is it just honest?" She stepped into Harper's space, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her. "What if I told you I could see your timeline?"

Harper laughed, but there was something brittle underneath it. "And what would you see?"

Mara took Harper's hand. Her palm was soft, manicured, trembling slightly. "I see you waking up at forty and realizing you played the game perfectly but you don't remember why you started playing. I see you looking in the mirror and not recognizing the person staring back."

Harper pulled her hand away, but she didn't step back. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Mara's voice softened. "We're all just zombies, Harper. Some of us are just better at pretending to be alive."

The intercom buzzed. Harper's eyes dropped to Mara's lips, then back up. "I have a meeting."

"You do."

Harper walked to the door, stopped, and looked back. "Dinner tonight? My place?"

"I'd like that."

As Harper disappeared into the hallway, Mara returned to the window. The sun was setting, painting everything in bruised oranges and purples. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she was already dead. She felt like something was about to begin.