The Palm Reader at the Pyramid

The air conditioning in the Atrium Pyramid Hotel never truly cooled anything; it just recycled the same stale breath of corporate ambition. Elena pressed her palm against the cold glass, thirty floors up, watching the palm trees sway in the Vegas dusk. Below, the pool glittered with people pretending to have fun.

"You're going to burn a hole in that glass," said Marcus, sliding a whiskey across the table. "HR's team-building retreat starts in an hour. Try to look like you still have a soul."

Elena laughed, but it came out hollow. "My soul left somewhere around the third reorg. Now I'm just a zombie maintaining the appearance of enthusiasm."

Marcus frowned. "That's dark, El."

"It's not dark. It's accurate." She turned from the window. "Did you know our VP hired a palm reader for this event? Calls it 'unlocking team potential.' Really, it's just another way to decide who's climbing the pyramid and who's staying in the basement."

The ballroom had been transformed with white linens and dim lighting. At the center, an elderly woman with excessive eyeliner sat behind a crystal ball, looking as though she'd rather be anywhere else.

"Next," she called, not looking up.

Elena sat. The reader took her hand, traced the lines with fingers that smelled of clove cigarettes.

"You've been going through the motions for a long time," the woman murmured. "Your lifeline... it's faint. Like you're already halfway gone."

Elena pulled her hand back. "That'll be enough."

"Wait." The reader's grip tightened, surprisingly strong. "You're not the only one."

She gestured to where Marcus stood at the bar, watching them. "Him. His palm too."

Elena followed her gaze. "Marcus? He's fine. He's up for Senior Director."

"And is that what he wants?" The reader released her hand. "You're both walking dead in that pyramid scheme you call a career. Question is: are you going to stay zombies, or actually live?"

Elena found Marcus outside by the palm trees, the desert wind tangling his hair.

"What did she tell you?" he asked.

"That I'm halfway to gone." She stepped closer. "What about you?"

"She said I'm climbing toward nothing." He looked at the pyramid-shaped hotel towering above them, all glass and ambition. "She wasn't wrong."

Elena took his hand, interlaced their fingers. "Then let's not climb anymore."

"And do what?"

"Anything else. Together."

Marcus looked at their joined palms, then at her, really looked at her, for the first time in three years of fluorescent-lit meetings and hurried coffees. "Tonight?"

"Tonight."

And for the first time since she could remember, Elena didn't feel like a zombie at all.