The Last Good Game

Elena moved through her days like a zombie—not the lumbering, flesh-hunting kind, but the quiet variety that shows up to work, smiles at the right moments, and feels absolutely nothing. Her colleagues thought she was dedicated. She knew she was just efficient at dying slowly.

Thursday meant padel with Marcus. They'd been playing for three years, ever since he'd transferred from the London office. He was her friend, or at least the closest thing she had to one.

'You're off your game tonight,' Marcus said, smashing a forehand into the corner.

Elena lunged for it, her racket connecting with nothing but air. 'Long week.'

Afterward, they sat on the bench outside the court, sweat cooling on their skin. The floodlights buzzed. Marcus watched her with an expression she'd never seen before—calculating, tired, strangely devoid of warmth.

'I'm not actually in mergers and acquisitions,' he said.

Elena waited.

'Corporate espionage,' he said, so quietly she almost missed it. 'I've spent three years gathering evidence on your CEO's off-the-books deals. I'm filing the report tomorrow.' He laughed bitterly. 'Some friend, right?'

The confession should have shocked her. Instead, she felt something crack open in her chest—something that had been sealed tight for years. 'You felt like a zombie too, didn't you?'

Marcus stared at her. 'What?'

'Going through the motions. Pretending.' She stood up. 'I should be angry. But honestly? You're the first real thing that's happened to me in I don't know how long.'

They didn't see each other again.

Two weeks later, Elena drove to Spain. She found herself at a festival in Pamplona, caught in the swarm of bodies, heart hammering against her ribs. The ground shook. Then she saw it—a massive black bull, muscles coiled like living iron, wildness incarnate, charging toward her with absolute presence.

She didn't run.

She stood her ground and felt, for the first time in forever, beautifully, terrifyingly alive.