The Last Supper

The vitamin D supplement sat on her desk like a judgment—a daily reminder of the artificial light pumping through the office vents. Elena stared at it, then at the goldfish swimming in endless circles on her colleague's desk. How many times had she circled this same cubicle maze?

"You're leaving?" Marcus asked, leaning against her doorframe. His palm pressed against the wall, fingers splayed like he was claiming territory. He'd done that since their first project together five years ago, back when his predatory charm had felt exciting rather than exhausting. She'd been a fox then—clever, adaptable, naive enough to think she could outsmart the corporate hunt.

"Yes." The word tasted metallic, like blood.

Marcus's orange tie glowed under the fluorescent lights. The same tie he'd worn to every presentation, every celebration, every funeral the company hosted. He was institutionalized, and somewhere along the way, she had become institutionalized too.

"There's still time to reconsider the partnership offer," he said, voice dropping to that intimate register that used to make her lean in. "We built something here."

"We built a product that helps companies track employee keystrokes, Marcus. We built the cage."

The goldfish bumped against its glass wall, mouth opening and closing in silent screams. Elena remembered the vitamin again—artificial wellness for an artificial life. She'd stopped taking them months ago.

"What will you do?" Marcus asked, and for the first time, she heard genuine fear beneath the confidence. The fox had caught something, but it wasn't what he expected.

"I don't know," she said, and the honesty of it cracked something open in her chest. "Figure out who I am when I'm not swimming in circles."

Marcus's hand fell from the wall. The orange tie suddenly seemed garish, desperate. Outside the window, the real sun was setting—a gold she was tired of chasing in the wrong places.

Elena packed her box. Left the vitamin. Didn't look back at the goldfish, though its phantom circles would haunt her dreams for months. The palm tree on her coffee mug waved goodbye as she walked out, and she finally understood: some cages have glass walls, and some have golden ones, but the trick is recognizing you're in them before you forget how to swim in the open ocean.