The Sphinx at Center Court

Elena smoothed her skirt, checked her reflection in the patio door, and stepped out to the padel court where Marcus already waited. His golden retriever, Buster, lounged in the shade of a nearby bench, tennis ball forgotten at his paws.

"You're late," Marcus called, but his smile softened the accusation. "Again."

"Work," she said, dropping her bag. "Greg has me on the new encryption project. He's convinced someone's feeding information to competitors."

Marcus's expression flickered—just for a moment, but she caught it. "Corporate spying. Sounds exciting."

"It's exhausting." She stepped onto the court, racket in hand. "Every meeting feels like an interrogation. Yesterday, Greg brought in this sphinx of a consultant—Ancient Technologies, they're called. She just sat there, taking notes, saying nothing. Sphinx-like, you know? Riddles, secrets."

They played. The rhythm of the game—the ball against the glass walls, their practiced movements—felt like a different language, one she preferred over the encrypted messages haunting her workstation. But in between points, she found herself watching him differently.

"The consultant," Elena said, as they paused for water. "Katherine. Greg introduced us. She mentioned she plays padel too."

Marcus's hand stilled on his water bottle. "Small world."

"Is it?" She met his eyes. "Because she also mentioned she has a dog. A golden retriever. Named Buster."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things. Buster whined from the sidelines.

"Tell me the riddle, Sphinx," Elena said quietly.

Marcus set down the bottle. His face, usually so open, became unreadable. "Greg's not paranoid, Elena. He should be worried. The encryption project—it's flawed. I tried to tell him. He wouldn't listen."

"So you went to Ancient Technologies?"

"I went to anyone who'd listen." Marcus stepped closer. "But then I met you. And now..."

Buster abandoned his post, trotting over to nudge Elena's hand. She scratched his ears, the familiar gesture suddenly suffocating.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Now I don't know whose side I'm on." His voice dropped. "Except yours. Maybe."

They finished the game in silence. Afterward, over sliced papaya by the pool—his house, her betrayal, their impossible middle ground—she watched him feed a piece to his dog. Both of them waiting for her move.

She'd have to report this. Greg would destroy Marcus's career. But as Buster licked juice from Marcus's fingers, Elena thought about riddles and sphinxes and how sometimes the answer isn't what you solve, but what you refuse to solve.

"Elena?" Marcus asked.

"Nothing," she said. "Just thinking."

The sphinx's riddle, she realized, wasn't who the spy was. The riddle was which version of herself would walk away from this table.

She didn't know the answer yet.