The Last Orange Before Drowning

Mariah hadn't realized she'd become a zombie until she caught her own reflection in the hotel pool's glass wall at 2 AM. Hollow eyes, slack features — the walking dead of corporate mergers. She was senior director of acquisitions, working eighty-hour weeks to digest smaller companies, absorb their talent, eliminate redundancy. Her job was essentially corporate cannibalism. She'd forgotten how to feel anything about it.

Then came the orange.

It sat on the nightstand in room 317, where she'd followed the man she'd been tracking for three weeks. Viktor Chen, software architect from the startup they'd just purchased. He'd been accessing proprietary files after hours, sending encrypted transmissions to unknown servers. Her job: determine if he was a spy.

The orange was still there, perfect and bright against the sterile hotel white. A small thing, absurdly alive. She'd bought it on impulse, days ago, when she'd passed a roadside stand and remembered that fruit used to have flavor. She hadn't eaten it. Couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything that wasn't delivered to her desk.

Viktor was in the shower. She could hear the water running, could see his clothes folded on the bed. His laptop was open, screen glowing. She'd already installed the monitoring software. Her job was done. She should leave.

Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and peeled the orange. The scent exploded in the air, sharp and clean. Citurus and sunlight and something she couldn't name.

"You found me," Viktor said from the bathroom door. He wasn't surprised. "I wondered how long it would take."

"You're not a spy," she said, separating the orange into segments. "You're just trying to save your work before we dismantle it."

"Is there a difference?" He walked toward her, dripping water, unashamed. "They pay you to destroy what I spent ten years building. That makes you the villain, doesn't it?"

"I'm just a zombie," she said, and when he laughed, she realized it was the first genuine sound she'd made in months. "That's what we call ourselves at the office. The ones who forgot why they came."

"Then why are you here? Why not just send the report and be done with it?"

She looked at the orange in her hands. "I don't know."

"Stay," he said. "The pool's open all night. We can float. We can remember what it feels like to be alive."

Mariah stood at the edge of the pool, Viktor beside her, the moon reflecting on dark water. She took his hand. In the morning, she would send the report. She would help dismantle his company. But tonight, she stepped into the water, and for the first time in years, she felt herself wake up.