The Orange Sky at Dawn

Marcus hadn't slept in three days. The bottle of prenatal vitamins sat on his nightstand like a accusation—orange label screaming in the darkness. Sarah had left them behind when she walked out eight months ago, taking their daughter but leaving the ghosts.

He poured himself a glass of water, hands trembling. The attorney's warning echoed in his mind: *If you testify, you'll never work in this industry again.*

But the emails didn't lie. The contamination reports. The children sick downstream. Marcus had borne witness to it all for fifteen years, complicit in silence, trading morality for mortgage payments. The weight of it sat in his chest like a stone.

His phone buzzed—Corporate Security. They knew. They always knew.

Marcus walked to the window. Dawn broke across the city skyline, painting the clouds orange and bruised purple—beautiful and violent, like the truth he'd finally speak tomorrow.

The doorbell rang.

Through the peephole: two men in dark suits, standing like sentinels. Marcus's heart hammered against his ribs. He thought of Sarah's voice when she said she couldn't watch him become this person—this hollow man who'd sell his soul for a corner office and a pension.

*You're drowning,* she'd told him. *And you don't even know it.*

She was right. But tomorrow, Marcus would finally come up for air.

He opened the door.